Each of us has a story to tell, something about our lives that has the potential to help others in ways we can’t imagine. My goal with 12.1 is to help tell yours.
Let me begin by saying that I used to think my life was boring. No really! I thought, if I wrote a book about my life, who would read it? What I didn’t realize is that just because I’ve lived it and it was normal for me, it’s not normal to others. This is where my husband would chime in, “You’re not normal, period!”
So through out the course of my blogging for this site, I’d like to tell you a little bit about myself in hopes that it will loosen your fingers and compel you to share something about yourself.
I grew up in a good home with a mother and father who loved us. The middle child of 3 girls, (yes I was that child!) I can tell you that all the stereotypical personality traits of the middle child is correct. I did things to get attention, I was an instigator, an idea person, class clown, always in trouble for talking and stubborn as all get out. This was me in a nutshell. Who am I kidding, it’s still me!
Every Sunday on our way to church, dad would give us the lecture of, “If I catch you talking in church, you’re getting a spanking when we get home. Understood?” My prayer was always that he would somehow forget or not catch me. It was so rare when I didn’t get my butt whacked after dinner on Sunday that if it happened, I sure don’t remember!
One thing I do remember though, dad never spanked us in anger. In fact, my mom told us later that he always went down to the basement to cool down first because he didn’t want to hurt us, just teach us a lesson. Can’t say I repeated that process on my own children. I never said I was perfect!
But on the day before Thanksgiving, 1967, 3 months before my 13th birthday, our lives changed forever. My dad had purchased a chain saw and trimmed up some of the dead branches around us. Our neighbors had a huge oak tree that had died several years before and it was leaning toward their house. Dad offered to cut it down for them. That’s just the kind of man he was, always helping others.
We girls were at school, mom was watching and asked if he was sure he knew what he was doing for the third time. He patiently explained the process again, but decided to wrap a chain around it and hook it up to his John Deere tractor to give it a gentle tug down the driveway.
The phone rang and mom went back inside to answer it. When she heard the tree fall, she quickly excused herself, hung up the receiver and went out to see the empty tractor going off into the woods. She ran toward the tree and to her horror, found my dad lying under a tree that the first one had taken in it’s path.
Glenn Thomas Hulbert, 7/2/1932-11/22/1967 in a freak accident, leaving behind a wife, Doris and three daughters, Vickie, Sandra and Sharon and the son they were in the process of adopting, Brian.
Nothing could have prepared us for that day. It wasn’t expected by anyone. The church he had served in as associate pastor was packed with people standing in the lobby. My mom collapsed on the casket during the viewing and the thought crossed my mind, “I’m an orphan!”
I remember every detail of every moment from the time I arrived home from school to the time the coffin was lowered into the ground. The emptiness. The loneliness. My last memory of trying to sneak past dad in the morning with a skirt that was too short, only to hear him tell me to turn around and change it. The anger I felt. Him making me give him a kiss before I left even though I didn’t like it. Knowing that was the last time, the last kiss. The guilt I carried. Hearing my mom cry as though her heart was being ripped from her chest.
This wasn’t the end of my life, but part of my beginning. There were many more things I’d experience along the way that would be painful, but it was part of my race and I’m still running. I’ve determined that if it can help someone else, I’ll share it. If it encourages others, I’ll be vulnerable.
Please feel free to comment and share with others and by all means, email me at Sandy@12.1runyourownrace.com so I can help you tell your story.
Run!
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