My Sacred Kentucky Home

Today I cancelled my Kentucky Derby Weekend that I had been planning since sitting in the stands at Churchill Downs last May. It was going to be grand and over the top at Wrenbury Cottage in Cedar City. I was going to have a "Lillies for the Phillies" Pink Tea just for the ladies on Friday afternoon in honor of the Kentucky Oaks. Friday evening, all of my guests would watch Secretariat out back on the projector just to build the excitement and anticipation for the big race. Saturday we would do my annual Kentucky Derby party with concessions I had eaten right there at the Kentucky Derby itself. 

As much as I loved being there at the Kentucky Derby last year, I missed and longed for my own Derby party with friends or family where I could celebrate and share my love of Kentucky. 

*Just had a thought come to mind. Expectations often lead to disappointment. Duh! My mom and I had talked about that so much for the last couple years she was alive. That's my whole problem today.

As it came time to send out invitations for my over the top, first time ever, so awesome Derby Weekend, I started realizing that people don't have the love of the Derby like I do. I joked with D one day that I couldn't believe the Kentucky Derby wasn't a national holiday and that people didn't have their priorities straight. When in fact, I'm just not in Kentucky anymore. It made me sad. 

I have sobbed all day. The entire day. Still sobbing. Sad that I won't be having my Kentucky Derby party. The one day of the year, where I get to embrace, honor, recognize, and share my love of Kentucky. It's more than just the fastest two minutes in sports. It's more than the hats, the roses, the Hot Browns and Juleps. It's Kentucky. It's the Bluegrass State. It's tobacco fields and bourbon. It's the way they sound when they speak. It's the first time I left home. It's where I learned to be independent as a single mother while D was so busy with school. It's my apartment where I received and witnessed a miracle. It's the U of L Hospital where I learned for myself that I was never really alone, but that God was aware of me and loved me. It was the burn unit that I had heavenly angels help and minister to me. It was Patti, my angel nurse that loved me and treated me as her own child. It was my mom coming out to take care of me and my two little boys and the conversations that we would have for the next 28 years because of my accident and how it truly changed both of us. It was becoming friends with Jasminka, a Bosnian refugee. It was driving over that last bridge as we left Louisville, leaving a huge piece of my heart. 

As the disappointment gradually grew the last couple of weeks, it became all consuming. Nobody understands my love of Kentucky and what it really means to me. Nobody except my mom. She knew. She lived it with me. We talked and talked and referred to those days so many times. We were different because of the things I had gone through and shared with her. She isn't here to cry to or to talk to. She was Kentucky. 

I called my daughter-in-law today and asked if I could visit them for the weekend and watch the Derby together. I'll fly there on Friday. 

This afternoon, a friend reached out to me from Beliz asking "How might one throw a tea party?" As I was responding to her, she brought up my Derby Pie and how much she loved it along with details from our first party together 23 years ago. I quickly told her she was my tender mercy today. 

Mom, I've been talking to you all day. I miss you. I'm so glad you were a part of My Sacred Kentucky Home.