Had Dad for the week and it was interesting. It was nice to come home each evening and have our "cocktail hour". He was quite impressed that I whipped up my vodka gimlet in a real genuine cocktail shaker (shaken not stirred). He was drinking his martini variations in a plastic water glass the first night even though I have every type of hi-ball, martini or wine glass you would ever want. Too funny, but then so Dad.
The "boys" went bowling a couple of times and he raved about the fancy structured hand torture device the pro talked him into buying. Guess I can't judge too harshly, he promptly went out and shot a 210 with the damned thing. He and I went to dinner at a wonderful Italian place here and had a great time. Who is this guy who is talkative, witty, charming, etc.... I stopped for gas on the way home and he literally leaped out of the car (well he is 83) to do the "dirty work". For an independent woman, it was quite a revelation.
He accompanied the Burt man on his Saturn route to see what it was like to ride in a $45,000 Saturn. Now there's an oxymoron -$45,000 Saturn. It better have hot and cold running everything. The main result of that adventure was that Burt apparently runs on fumes and the low gas beeper works like a charm.
But he still wanders at night; reads everything he can get his hands on in the quiet times; turns her picture around so he can't see her face and talks around the edges of his pain. We all grieve in different ways. It's just hard to watch his.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Sunday, October 7, 2007
SCENES OF LIFE
Amazing how much the personal world can change in a heartbeat or the lack thereof. At 6:10 pm, Sunday, September 30, 2007 my sister Kathleen whispered those words in my ear that "Mom just passed away. Lori is with Dad and just called me". I literally dropped to the floor clutching the phone to my ear so all she heard was gasping breaths. Strange how the world kept spinning, dinner was being served and my heart kept beating. Expected? How can the unthinkable be expected. Don't let anyone kid you on that one.
Still coughing hard with the emotion that was pouring out of me I scrambled for the phone number of my next in line sister, Marcia. Burt was trying to make me wait until I calmed down a bit. As if I could. No, it was more important that she be with us in this horrible moment as soon as she could. There is a strength with the 4 sisters and I needed to close the circle. Again almost the same words and nothing over the phone line, that fragile phone line, besides my sister's heart wrenching sobs.
You move between the practical and the pain without clear direction or thought. "Need to get there, why didn't I go see her today, what should I pack, why can't I breathe." Very strange. Phone my daughter, who came within minutes and soaking her shirt as I had my husband's minutes before. How can you hurt that much and keep functioning. Driving there you keep envisioning silly things that make you gulp. It is not the great things that a person accomplishes that make you remember and hurt it's the little idiosyncrasies and memories of the two of you that you keep thinking of and know will never be repeated.
When we arrived, Lori and Dad were sitting outside in the beautiful, warm, soft darkness of the Sunday evening. We went to her room where she lay quietly and peacefully, already gone, but so much there. I adjusted her covers as I remember how she was always chilly never thinking it odd because of course she could not feel the chill. I talked to her like I always did, and kissed her warm forehead. She sometimes slept like that when you arrived and we always woke her up to tend to her company. Then she would get on a roll and the conversation would be loud, spirited and laughter-filled.
Next couple of days filled with the details of sudden demise. As complicated as a wedding and done in record time by professionals who do this every day. Strange occupation, but then absolutely necessary. Laughter ringing out at the oddest moments as we recalled something from the past or something unexpected surfaced and we did not know how to deal with it. Jokes and silliness such as my suggestion we all wear tee shirts that say "I told you I was sick". Amazing how your mind works, when the reality is too raw to deal with.
Worked on the obituary which "The Committee", as my husband dubbed us, edited. Prepared a memorial card which was approved by "The Committee" without change. Carried a notebook around to jot down thoughts that occurred if and when an eulogy was prepared. It was my way of coping.
Picking out flowers that were more beautiful than they had a right to be when they were draped about and surrounding her. Picked out her final resting place and containment. Dad noticing the spot under the oak tree as shady and nice. Thinking her white and gold bed was "too fancy", but he was overruled with assurances that his would be the plastic bag he always said he wanted. See what I mean? Hilarity amidst the pain.
The visitation day full of friends and family and much laughter and full throats. She looked so beautiful in bright red and gold. Her girls wearing the colors that she always liked us in. The day of the funeral when you couldn't breathe without hurting I observed my sisters. The oldest bending over to pick up and cuddle her grandchild much like our Mother. The middle one looking and sounding much like her and the youngest coming up with "Mom ism's" and her little one resting his cheek against her legs during the service very much like he did when we first came home that Sunday night. No words just assuring himself that "his" Mother was still there.
The eulogy that I gave borrowing Dylan Thomas and my son-in-law's words to describe his relationship with my Mother plus all the thoughts I jotted down from everyone the last few days. Focusing on the 3 words that I thought described her best: Passionate - Strength - Family. It seemed easy to speak watching the people and seeing them laugh or nod. I only faltered at the end, when I had to say the final good-by. But then the Irish Rovers singing the Unicorn song for the recessional was so fitting, you just had to smile.
Still coughing hard with the emotion that was pouring out of me I scrambled for the phone number of my next in line sister, Marcia. Burt was trying to make me wait until I calmed down a bit. As if I could. No, it was more important that she be with us in this horrible moment as soon as she could. There is a strength with the 4 sisters and I needed to close the circle. Again almost the same words and nothing over the phone line, that fragile phone line, besides my sister's heart wrenching sobs.
You move between the practical and the pain without clear direction or thought. "Need to get there, why didn't I go see her today, what should I pack, why can't I breathe." Very strange. Phone my daughter, who came within minutes and soaking her shirt as I had my husband's minutes before. How can you hurt that much and keep functioning. Driving there you keep envisioning silly things that make you gulp. It is not the great things that a person accomplishes that make you remember and hurt it's the little idiosyncrasies and memories of the two of you that you keep thinking of and know will never be repeated.
When we arrived, Lori and Dad were sitting outside in the beautiful, warm, soft darkness of the Sunday evening. We went to her room where she lay quietly and peacefully, already gone, but so much there. I adjusted her covers as I remember how she was always chilly never thinking it odd because of course she could not feel the chill. I talked to her like I always did, and kissed her warm forehead. She sometimes slept like that when you arrived and we always woke her up to tend to her company. Then she would get on a roll and the conversation would be loud, spirited and laughter-filled.
Next couple of days filled with the details of sudden demise. As complicated as a wedding and done in record time by professionals who do this every day. Strange occupation, but then absolutely necessary. Laughter ringing out at the oddest moments as we recalled something from the past or something unexpected surfaced and we did not know how to deal with it. Jokes and silliness such as my suggestion we all wear tee shirts that say "I told you I was sick". Amazing how your mind works, when the reality is too raw to deal with.
Worked on the obituary which "The Committee", as my husband dubbed us, edited. Prepared a memorial card which was approved by "The Committee" without change. Carried a notebook around to jot down thoughts that occurred if and when an eulogy was prepared. It was my way of coping.
Picking out flowers that were more beautiful than they had a right to be when they were draped about and surrounding her. Picked out her final resting place and containment. Dad noticing the spot under the oak tree as shady and nice. Thinking her white and gold bed was "too fancy", but he was overruled with assurances that his would be the plastic bag he always said he wanted. See what I mean? Hilarity amidst the pain.
The visitation day full of friends and family and much laughter and full throats. She looked so beautiful in bright red and gold. Her girls wearing the colors that she always liked us in. The day of the funeral when you couldn't breathe without hurting I observed my sisters. The oldest bending over to pick up and cuddle her grandchild much like our Mother. The middle one looking and sounding much like her and the youngest coming up with "Mom ism's" and her little one resting his cheek against her legs during the service very much like he did when we first came home that Sunday night. No words just assuring himself that "his" Mother was still there.
The eulogy that I gave borrowing Dylan Thomas and my son-in-law's words to describe his relationship with my Mother plus all the thoughts I jotted down from everyone the last few days. Focusing on the 3 words that I thought described her best: Passionate - Strength - Family. It seemed easy to speak watching the people and seeing them laugh or nod. I only faltered at the end, when I had to say the final good-by. But then the Irish Rovers singing the Unicorn song for the recessional was so fitting, you just had to smile.
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