Category Archives: undiscovered country

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59 Years

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In an oddly ironic way I was over prepared for today.  Usually when a holiday or birthday comes along which requires me to buy a greeting card I buy it on the way to the party or on the way to buy stamps.  This year I found the perfect card for Mom and Dad’s anniversary in June.  Today is their 59th anniversary.  Here’s the card.

Happy Anniversary
Inseparable pair

It was a card I bought mostly for Dad’s sense of humor.  My Mom is a refined lady and she would have laughed politely at it. Then she would have said, “Oh Shelly, that’s terrible.”   I imagined that Dad would have chuckled loudly and then passed the card around the dining table for everyone to enjoy while we enjoyed some ice cream.

In the last ten or so years, as happens in retirement, Mom and Dad were almost always together.  Doctor visits, lunches, hardware store trips, bus tours and snow birding in Alabama were always done together.  After a visit with a doctor Mom and Dad would compare notes of what each of them thought the doctor had said during the visit.  The facts were usually somewhere in between both of their recollections.

One of the adjustments which has been hard to share with Mom is watching her get used to life without Dad around to do the stuff he always did.  He was a fixer.  If there was a problem Dad would work out a solution for it.  He was the McGyver of his generation.  In spite of the desire to sometimes avoid the changes in her life, she is taking them on. Mom you are a TOB, Tough Old Broad.  I am in awe of you.   It seems like the most courageous act in these days after Dad’s death is getting up, getting dressed and taking on the day.

mom and dad

Mom and Dad in Gulf Shores in 2012

So I share this card and my pictures of Mom and Dad with the world today.  Fifty nine years is a long time.  They made it look easy but it takes commitment and patience to stay married that long.  Thanks Mom and Dad for giving me such a great example of love and commitment.

 

 

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Old Cars

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Last night we had a car emergency.  Sean’s old 1994 Nissan Altima will not accelerate.  It turns over and goes in reverse but it does not like the “D” on his steering column.  He was working a 5:30pm-1:30am shift at work so he needed a ride to work and then a night owl to pick him up when his shift was over.  We worked out the transportation issues but we still have the problem of the car to deal with in the meantime.  (I let him take my car.)

I started to grab the phone to call Dad about the problem and then I realized I could not call him anymore.  Dad was the kind of guy who could diagnose a car problem by a description of the soGearsund and some kind of idea of what was not working on the car.  He carried in his head a list of preferred mechanics and a general price list of the cost of repairs.  I was always amazed at his ability to know that stuff.  He also had a way of chatting with mechanics which usually resulted in additional information about repairs and avoiding unnecessary expenses.  Dad was a whiz at this stuff.

I often tried to tell Dad what his knowledge about these things meant to me.  He would just shake off the compliment.  He was not always comfortable with expressions of sentimental feelings.  Yet I know he was a tenderhearted and kind man.

I know in the coming days and months there will be so many similar experiences of loss and reminders of Dad’s place in our lives.  In meantime, are there any telephone mechanics who’d like to help me out?

 

 

 

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Dried Up Flowers

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Aftedried-flowers-8r all the flowers have dried up from the funeral

After all the cakes and casseroles have been consumed

After all the far flung family has returned to their homes

After the deluge of sympathy cards has become a trickle.

After the shock, after the denial, after the noise

there is a silence.

The house is empty.  The chair that was his is not filled.

It is quiet but there is no peace.  What is left is the internal turmoil

and all the questions.  So many questions.  Questions which may never be answered.

But first, the flowers must go out to the trash.  The dishes must be returned to the maker.

Thank you notes must be written.

Holy God, send your presence into this silence.  We need a whisper of hope and a nudge of

peace.  Come, Holy One, Come.

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Why write?

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I’m writing this blog for me.  I could just write to myself but I don’t think I would be as faithful to writing for my own sake.  I will not pretend that my sentence structure is perfect or that my punctuation is on point.  (My KSU journalism professors would have their red editing pens out and going to town on my writing.)  There are so many thoughts and feeling swirling around in my heart, head and soul.  Sometimes it seems that I can’t write it down fast enough.

The initial sho20130715-135410.jpgck and numbness is ebbing away and reality is coming back into focus.  Honestly, I prefer the numbness to the prickling thoughts that stick in my head:  what about Christmas, what about Monday lunches, what about all of Dad’s stuff, what about the questions I meant to ask him, what are we supposed to do now?  The whats and whys and hows are part of the cycle in my thoughts. I wish my thoughts would slow down a bit and I could finish an activity.    For now I will try to stay present in this moment of peace with my sweet Ginger dog on my lap, under my laptop, and a cool glass of water.

 

 

 

 

 

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Why write?

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I appreciate all the positive comments and support as I write about this time in my life.  I’m doing okay for the circumstances we are in right now.  I’m writing for my own sanity.  A place to put some thoughts and emotions.  This blog is  a way for me to look back and see where I have traveled on this journey.  It really is my undiscovered journey for now.

One of the hardest parts is watching my Mom come to terms with the loss of Dad.  Today as we were rushing from the wound care clinic to the hairdresser she noted that she had lived with her parents for the first 21 years of her life and then with Dad for the next 58 years of her life.  She’s never lived alone.  That, my friends, is some very tough stuff.  I know that Mom will adjust in time but I wish she did not need to make this huge change.

The month of August will be a tough one for lots of reasons.  Mom and Dad both had birthdays in August.  For four days every year Mom would be two years old than Dad and Dad loved to tease Mom about her age during those four days.  I do the same thing to my husband for the couple of months he is a number high than me.  No matter the years our birth certificate says we have been around on this world, it is never enough.  I wanted more time.

 

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Low Tire Pressure

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On Monday, July 25, after I received the call from Mom about the accident, I dropped my lunch companion off at her house and headed for the highway.  Of course, the “low tire pressure” light flashed on my Fusion console.  I briefly considered driving on to Columbia with the light on but I decided to stop at the Casey’s  to fill up the low tire.   The only problem was that I didn’t know where the air pump was located at the Casey’s on 151st Street.  A quick cruise through the parking lot did not offer any signs to help me out in my search.  On the  second pass through the parking lot I found the pump.  I topped off the offending tire and hit the highway.

The only reason this is of note is because this tire and I have been on an ongoing battle of wills with the correct pressure levels.  I’ve had the tire checked twice and both times I was assured that all was well with the tire.  On this day I did not need that tire to be a problem.  I’m writing this post on Sunday night, two weeks after the accident, and my low tire pressure light came on again.  I’d completely forgotten about the tire and the light   I know that life gotpms_icones on after the death of a loved  one but I’m not ready for this new normal.  Usually I call my Dad about car stuff.  He was the kind of guy who “knew a guy” who could fix my cars.  Or you could describe the symptoms of the problem and he could diagnose the solution with just a phone call.  I remember well the time I called him about a problem with my minivan.  I described the problem Dad diagnosed it as a malfunction in the starter and told me where to take, who to ask for and about how much it should cost.

Now I’ll take my car to the shop and get my tire fixed without his input.  I probably have not needed his input on car stuff for a long time.  The routine of calling him and talking about car stuff with Dad will not happen again.  Thank you, Dad, for all you have taught me about cars, life and love.

 

 

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Day 14

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In the first hours after my Dad’s death our biggest concern was my Mom’s injuries.  It was hard to tell the extent of her injuries because of the bruising and swelling.  When we finally had a better picture of her injuries, around midnight on Monday, the emergency room doctor was all ready to release her to home.  All of us standing around Mom’s bed just looked at the physician in shock.  The idea of driving my mom two hour and half hours to her house in the middle of the night was too much to comprehend.  After some consultation the decision was made for Mom to spend the night in the orthopedic hospital.

As a family we decided to divide and conquer the road ahead of us to get Mom home.  My sister went to the lake house to retrieve the dog and the stuff my Mom needed, my brother was to drive my Mom home and I went early to get the house ready for her arrival.  My first stepsDads shoes into the house were surreal.  Under a table by my Dad’s chair sat his SAS shoes which he wore almost every day.  Those shoes were the tipping point for me in tears.  The tears that had been saved up from the previous day were not to be denied today.  There’s no handbook for this stuff.  We just make it up as we go along.  I left the shoes because I couldn’t bear to think of Dad not returning to those ugly, orthopedic shoes.  Fast forward a couple of hours later and the second thing my mother does is move the shoes into the bedroom.  She can’t stand to look at the shoes sitting in the living room and I can’t stand the idea that the owner of the shoes will not return.

See that’s the thing about death.  There’s no second chance or one more conversation.  Just nothing.  The End.  There is a reunion later but I am just trying to make it through the moments of right now.  I kept repeating to myself: “left foot, right foot, breath.”  But you see, even in my basic mantra, I am back to shoes.  All roads lead me the same place for right now.

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An Undiscovered Country

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I’ve been a lifetime student of grief, death and dying.  I have written papers, read books. and given lectures on how a person of faith lives through the death of a loved one. I’ve held the hand of many people as they passed from this world to the other side of life.  Thirteen days after my father’s death and I finally must realize that I know nothing at all about grief.  Every sign post I thought I might pass or mile marker I would see on this journey has not appeared.  We had no warning about Dad’s death.  It was one phone call from my mother, as she laid in a hospital emergency room, telling me that he’d been air lifted to a bigger hospital for his injuries that turned our lives upside down.

The next twelve hours are crystal clear in my mind yet jumbled and fuzzy too.  Another car crossed the center line on a two lane highway.  My Dad saw the car and tried to move to the inadequate shoulder but the other car kept coming at his F-150.  There’s more details, which I am sure I might share as I continue blogging about all of this, for now I can say that telling all of my family that the patriarch of our family has died from his injuries is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  It wasn’t hard in the moment because my training in Clinical Pastoral Education taught me how to do this kind of stuff.  What is  hard is remembering their faces and their voices as they received the information and tried to process this unfathomable fact.  A stranger has to tell me the news as I entered into the ICU. I wasn’t surprised but hated to have my worse fear confirmed.

When I walked into the room that was so quiet and still, I longed for the usual noise of a ICU room.  Dad looked like he was asleep, as if he were taking nap in his favorite chair.  I reached for his hand and knew he was not asleep.  I missed his passing by one hour.  The nurses and doctors were all very kind.  The sad looks and supportive words were helpful.  I was probably in his room for more than an hour before the next family member arrived.  The rest of the evening was filled with telling each family member the news as they rushed toward this turning point in our lives.  Each retelling made Dad’s death more real but it also felt like I was living someone else’s life.

mv5bmtkyode4mdixnv5bml5banbnxkftztcwnzyxndi4oa-_v1_ux182_cr00182268_al_I’m calling this new section of my blog, The Undiscovered Country for a couple of reasons. I like Star Trek.  The last movie with the original cast was called The Undiscovered Country and explores how the Starfleet adapts to peace.  It wasn’t one of the better Star Trek’s but it was a great title.  I am living in an undiscovered land now.  Many of my peers have already walked into this land but it is new and frightening landscape for me.  I have already discovered the kindness of others through this ordeal.  Yesterday’s blessing was the Sprint technician who was able to download my voicemail onto my new phone, which included my last message from Dad inviting me to lunch.  And so I begin in place I do not want to be but life requires this forward movement.