Author: Jen Barry

As you can see, there was massive fail for over two years.  I came back!  With a blog about how I just can’t seem to keep a blog!

I’ve tried this before to, well, not necessarily disastrous results. I suppose I would call them more anticlimactic… ineffectual… perhaps even worthless. Nevertheless, I’m here again to give you bits and pieces of my everyday life. I can’t imagine how this could be entertaining, but I’m all about giving it a try.

This was posted shortly after a very dear friend passed away.

One of the dearest friends I could ever hope to have has gone on to be with Jesus.  When I was alone and friendless in Oneida, Bob Palfreyman and his family took me in and treated me as one of their own.  For the year that I lived in Oneida, there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t spend time with him or his family.  He was a lover of life and of his Savior.  He and his wife, Millie, cared for everyone and I could see that love in their eyes at all times.  Bob always had a moment to share, to listen, and to pray with me.  He talked me through losses in my own family, through the end of a relationship, and stood by me through a time when a terrible rumor could have destroyed us all.  His family follows in his footsteps: his son, John, always has a smile and a hug for me; his daughter-in-law, Kim, will always have a laugh and the best stories to tell; and his grandsons, JC and Robert, who still call me Aunt Jen, still light up when they see me and make me feel as if I truly could be a much-loved aunt.

Why does this touch me so?  Because I left them in Oneida.  I never forgot them, but somehow didn’t always find the time to let them know how often I thought of them.  Don’t we always think we have forever to tell someone how much we love them?  Because of this misguided belief, I missed that last chance to tell Bob just how much he touched my life.  How his insistence to help the Children’s Center encourages me to love those less fortunate.  How his work with CASA reminds me to take action when the power is within my grasp.  How his continued study, even in his sixties, reminds me that we can never have enough knowledge and that there is always more about life to be learned.  I know he’s in paradise now.  I know he has no more pain or suffering.  I know deep down that to wish for one more chance to say “I love you” is the most selfish, misguided desire of my heart.

I have a second chance with his family, though.  With open arms they welcomed me back into the fold.  What Christlike love Bob taught his family!  What an amazing legacy he has left behind!  My tribute to Bob will be to love others as Christ loves me.  To forgive others as Christ has forgiven me.  And to never again let this family believe that I have forgotten them.

In an effort to bring all of my (nearly failed) blogging attempts together in one place, I’ll be posting some very old entries from various different blogging sites. I’ll let you know the original post date so that you can be sure none of these things are actually happening to me now.  Beginning with March 21, 2007, a post titled Insomnia gives you an idea of thoughts I had when in the grip of an anxiety disorder.

I can’t sleep.  I’m reading a book, and I look up at the clock and it’s already 1 am.  Why didn’t my body tell me I was tired?  I put the book down and turn out the lights and my mind is suddenly full.  First I’m imagining the characters from my book as real people, but I move on quickly to casting them for movie roles.  This is one of my favorite things to do.  This makes me think of other books I’ve read lately that I want to cast for movie roles as well.  I start thinking about working as a casting director in Hollywood, which is crazy I know, but maybe I was just starting to drift to sleep a little bit, when I hear a small bump.  Immediately, I’m in the middle of a CSI episode, and I’m imagining the clean-up after I’m murdered by the psycho that just broke into my apartment.  My blood starts pounding and I’m breaking into a sweat and start singing The Lord’s Prayer in my head.  Another song crowds in as I’m making my way through the third repetition and I find myself running my own music video, and again, I’m casting the roles.  I get stuck on a line of the song and can’t remember how the rhythm goes exactly, and I start to sing it out loud when I see my husband sleeping peacefully beside me and I know I can’t disturb him.  I look at the clock instead and it’s 2 am.  Where did that hour go!  I roll over and sigh and close my eyes and try to erase the thoughts in my head, but they won’t stop.  Like an out-of-control 18-wheeler, and just as loud.  I can’t turn it off.  I start to sing Ave Maria to myself, but I can only remember the latin to the first verse, so I sing that verse over and over in my head.  Here comes the other song, crowding back in…There’s me, looking down at my shoes—the one smiling like the sun, that’s you.  What great lyrics.  But why won’t it just leave me alone?  I remember the weekend, the cabin, the great friends, the green beer; which makes me think of Ireland and my sisters there and how one of them is pregnant and due in October.  Ideas for presents start to crowd in, but I have to be careful because another sister is having a baby first and they presents have to be as nice as each other.  And why do I never send birthday cards?  Is it really that hard to remember these things?  Another bump, and this time I see shadows.  This is it…what will it be like to die?  I hope it doesn’t hurt, but I’m sure it will.  I snuggle closer to Liam as if to say goodbye as a cat jumps on the bed and I almost scream.  Relief rushes through me as I realize that maybe today’s not my day to die and I look at the clock again.  Jesus.  3 am.  I have to be up in three hours.  Well, four if I just bust a move and don’t dry my hair.  Can I survive a day on four hours sleep?  I don’t know because I’m getting older.  I’m not sixteen anymore.  Is this what’s keeping me awake?  That time is passing before my eyes, and I don’t want to miss a minute, even if it means not sleeping?  Surely not.  I’d really rather sleep, I think, if it’s all the same.  Here comes that song again, but I force it away and soon hear Danny Boy in my head.  This is good.  I picture the green hills of Ireland, and the pubs, and the friends I have there and I fall….

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