And Life Goes On

The repairman is whistling behind me as I type these words.  His bill will be $300.  Maybe it’s because I’ve written so many checks these past couple of weeks, but somehow that doesn’t seem to bother me right now ---- much.  But that’s the end of this story.  At its beginning, I worried that many things would bother me, and that they would never stop.

It’s hard to think that it’s been over two weeks since mom died; maybe that’s because I was so busy much of the time and the days just flew by.  Those first days I will always remember, though.  And I will remember that it rained --- it rained almost every day --- from the day of mom’s death until the day of her being put into the ground.  All that rain seemed to somewhat fit my mood, though, and seemed appropriate, and not at all bothersome.  But then the sun finally did come out, and a clear blue sky marked the day we stood around her grave site, just me, my three nieces, the neighbor who took care of mom’s house for seven years, and the couple dad used to golf with (and who still drive his golf cart), and the deacon who intoned the final prayers that day for mom.  We all looked up at that bright blue sky, and then down at the dirt around the grave, and then at mom’s casket.  And all this, too, seemed appropriate.  A new day, a bright new day, was beginning for all of us.

Those first days after mom’s death, however, were spent in a whirlwind of meetings with the church, with the funeral home and, of course, with the lawyer.  And in mom’s case, with yet another funeral home in Wisconsin, the state where I would fly her body to be buried, to be next to dad and my brother.  I told the people at my parish church to expect perhaps 10 to 20 or so of my friends at mom’s funeral mass; she had outlived all her immediate relatives, except me and her three granddaughters, and none of my friends had even met mom.  My best friend took control of all the flower arrangements, and so when my nieces arrived that weekend from Arizona and Idaho, it seemed like things were under control, and so I smiled again. 

With their heads in a time zone three hours earlier than mine, my nieces and I played pinochle each night until 1 or 2AM, (Eastern Standard Time).  We told stories and we laughed, and on that first night, at least, I thought mom was shuffling the cards in my favor.  “You’re on fire, uncle Tom,” the girls all said.  From the first hand which I laid down on the table and melded points for every card, to the hand where I had no points in my hand --- except the double pinochle, the cards went my way against all odds.  And we laughed. 

I was so glad they took the time off from work to be with me, and their beloved grandma.

On Monday, I was surprised at the funeral when over 60 of my friends took time to be with me in my time of sorrow.  I was VERY surprised.  Some came from my work, some from my volunteer activities, some from church, some from my caregivers support group, some from the men’s prayer group, and some from the charities I support.  And then there were my mom’s two caregivers who had been there with me in her most difficult times.  Because I had been somewhat secluded for the seven years caring for mom, I hadn’t seen some of the people at the funeral mass in years.  And so, while I did shed some tears that day, it didn’t feel nearly as bad as I expected.

My nieces and I drove to Wisconsin the next day in the SUV we had rented from Hertz.  The Hertz store in Canton had only been open a couple of days; I may have been its first customer, or at least it looked like it from the sparsely furnished building I entered and the single Hertz agent there.  He apologized for the vehicle’s high rental rate, noting that it was a holiday week, but as we spoke he offered me a bereavement discount, then a Ford employee discount, and then as we talked yet another discount --- just because I’m a nice guy, I guess.  And at the end, the rate he gave me was only half the one originally quoted.  I’ll go back there.

The trip up to Wisconsin was long but uneventful (except for me getting lost in Milwaukee --- why didn’t anyone tell me that in the past 7 years they had totally re-done highway 894 bypass, and so I missed the exit).  After arriving in Appleton, we went out and bought a pile of cleaning supplies, figuring we’d have to do some major cleaning of mom’s house, unoccupied for seven years, and moving furniture donations to the Salvation Army, in preparation for putting mom’s house on the market.  But when we arrived we sat down and chatted at length with the nearby neighbor, who had been caring for the house and yard these past years.  She is a wonderful person, and indicated that she and her husband, a builder, would buy the home as is, and later tear it down and build a new one on mom’s very scenic spot on the river.  And so we didn’t need to do any cleaning at all, and suddenly we had time on our hands, and so we wandered about the area and about town.  (Later, two other neighbors also indicated an interest in mom’s house, so regardless who buys I expect selling mom’s house will be a simple matter.)

After mom’s gravesite ceremony on Friday, just the neighbor and my nieces and I went out to lunch.  And after my nieces flew home that weekend, the neighbor invited me to lunch again, and we talked for hours about the years she and her family had spent time with my mom and dad.  It was so comforting to know how much they were loved every day in their final years together.  I checked with my dad’s lawyer in Wisconsin about what needed to be done legally to sell mom’s home, and he said he’d take care of things for me, including getting a current assessment of its value.  And so many of the things which I worried about and which could have been so time-consuming and complex, all fell into place.

And during the free time I had, alone, reading, thinking, remembering, and wondering what plans God had next for me --- for I certainly have none --- I was given a glimpse, I think, of what might be next for me.  One afternoon, sitting and reading alone in the hotel lobby, a woman stopped and asked me if I were a veteran.  After she chatted on for a while about her husband and how he had served in the Korean War, I invited her to sit down.  And then she told me why she was in that particular hotel.  Fearful of her husband’s growing depression and resistance to treatment, and his guns in the house, she had recently moved out --- taking with her the mother she cares for, who has Alzheimer’s.  She was taking a major step in her life, her own moving on, and she just wanted someone to talk to.  And I was there.

On my last night in Wisconsin, she knocked on my hotel room door at 8:30, apologizing again for disturbing me, but saying that her mom had gone to sleep, and wanting to know if she could bounce some further ideas off me.  She talked about her life and her family until 11.  She seemed a strong woman, making some hard decisions in her life, and just wanting someone to talk to, so she didn’t feel so alone in her difficult time.  Little did she know that she was talking to someone whose name is: Do Not Be Anxious.

I drove the 500 miles from Wisconsin on Wednesday in 7 ½ hours, arriving home in time to turn in the rental vehicle, drop off the books on CD I had rented for the trip, and picking up my plants and mail from the neighbors.  I opened the pile of cards from friends --- mom is having more masses said for her than anyone I ever knew --- and I realized I have lots of thank you notes to write.  But that will be next week.  For now, I thought, I was home.  I was going to relax.  The new normal, for me, was beginning.

I poured myself a drink and reached into the freezer to get some ice ---- and touched the water in the tray.  Uh-oh!  Everything in the freezer was thawed; I guess my refrigerator had decided to take the week off also. 

Yes, the new normal for me was beginning.  And like any normal life, I was reminded, into it a little rain must fall. 

Life without mom will not be some bed of roses for me, a glorious retirement of travel and fishing and golf.  No, there are still things for me to do, some trials to bear, and some people, who I probably don’t even know right now, that need some love.  No, I’m not sure my life will really be changing that much, just the focus and the needs of whom I am to love. 

And like all thing and all times, God will provide.  He will lead, and I will follow.  And I will not be anxious.

(Although that repairman’s whistling is driving me crazy at the moment!!)

 And I wish you love, my friends.

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Be With Me Lord

O Lord Jesus Christ, as in Your Passion, sooner or later we must all go on alone – and there is always that place in my heart where no one can come but You.  Without Your presence, that inner solitude becomes oppressive, even devastating – a wasteland of howling winds and dark nights.  But when you are there with me – and only You can come there – my whole life is filled with light and I can go on even in the midst of great trials.

Be with me, Lord, in the dark time, and let me rise from the darkness because You are there.  Be that friend who brings me all that I may have lost in life’s crushing and heartbreaking blows.  Give me Your hand, and I shall be saved.  Amen.

                        --- You Are Not Alone, Prayers in Dark Times by Fr. Benedict J. Groeschel

And I Remember Mama

I always liked that movie, “I Remember Mama,” which starred Irene Dunne.  The lead character was such a strong woman, one who bore up, and one who loved, especially in difficult times.  And I think of my mother that way.

Shortly after her marriage Pearl Harbor happened, and dad went off to war, and mom went home to live with her parents and younger siblings.  My sister was born, and she was about 4 years old before she ever saw dad; I was told she looked at him and cried.  Working like most women during the war days, they were days of trial for mom.  When dad finally returned, as with many of the soldiers, he had many traumas haunting him from the war, and that mom described that first year as one of fear for him, but then things got better.  I was born, dad got a good job and was quickly promoted to management, and a new house was built.  But tragedy struck again when her beloved mother died suddenly.  And mom was devastated.  Her pregnancy, then a blessing, became a trial.  And she didn’t know it then, but the trial was to continue, as they later discovered my brother was “different” than other children.  By age 7 it was confirmed he could never go to school again with the neighbor children, and so he stayed at home with mom, where she loved him and cared for him --- for the next 40 years.

Meanwhile her two oldest children went to Catholic schools, and a year after graduating high school her daughter married, and bought a house nearby.   And then her elder son made her proud, being the first in the family to go to college.  But between school and work, he wasn’t home much.  I remember one day she told me she missed me, even though I lived in her house.  And then I graduated and moved far away.

Still, mom was consoled by sis’ growing family, and she became a second mom to sis’ three girls, her granddaughters.  They too went to the nearby St. Isidore elementary school, walking to her home for lunch, and after school to stay with her until sis got home from work.  Mom never got past the sixth grade herself (children had to “help out” during the Depression), but she helped her granddaughters with their homework each day.  One of her favorite pictures was of the three of them, little smiling angels, standing with their schoolbooks at the front door of her house in Illinois.   And then the picture hung on mom and dad’s retirement home in Wisconsin, and it now hangs in the house where I cared for her.

Mom was a stay-at-home mom, only occasionally working outside the home.  Women today publically scorn such women, who just wanted to love their families, and teach them how to love.  Mothers then thought that was important; though less educated, I think they knew more than mothers today.  Now many children are raised without that hugely important lesson:  learning how to give love.  There are no classes in school that teach that, and so I think many children today don’t know how to give love, and they think love is something you get.  We appreciated and craved mom’s love, but she also taught us how to give love.  And it was a lesson we never forgot.

The retirement years for mom were wonderful in their quiet home on the river in the country.  Her beloved sister (mom was one of 8 children) moved with her husband to a nearby house and they spent many good years together, but then everyone grows old.  Mom and dad were blessed with good health, never seeing a doctor for many years, but then my brother died one night.  And not too many years later, she began to show signs of dementia.  And so mother began to be mothered, by my dad.  Then her beloved sister’s husband died, and her sister was moved to be cared for by her children.  And mom and dad were alone.  There weren’t many neighbors around, but then a wonderful couple built a nice home down the road, with their three children.  And for a few more years, mom became a mom again.  She had a happy life there.

Mom and dad were in retirement for 28 years, and I have many wonderful memories of the visits I made to their home, and the times of family gatherings, with all of us there.  But then sis died from cancer, and dad, her husband of 65 years, died less than a month later of the same thing.  And suddenly it was me and mom.

Moving her to Michigan with me turned out to be a seven year adventure.  I had lots of time to catch up for all the years we had been separated, and I often ran slide shows of old pictures on the television screen.  I never had planned to take care of my parents in their old age; that was sis’ plan.  But then, God had other plans.  Mom steadily deteriorated in the time she was in my care, first not walking, then not hearing, all the while as her dementia slowly got worse, with some days were worse than others.  But she never forgot, nor forgot to say: “You know that I love you” to me.  She deeply appreciated my care, and I learned to appreciate the time I had to care for her.  You see, I did learn how to love.

I don’t write here of the many joys and laughter of mom’s life; like any life there were many.  It certainly wasn’t a sad life.  But I write here because anyone who reads these words, you too, will have difficult times.  There will be trials; there will be sadness.  These things pass, but love continues forever --- the love YOU give.  And along your life, you will have difficult choices to make; make them in love, giving of yourself.  And your life will be well-lived, and it will matter that you have lived.  You will make a difference in this world.  And fulfilling God’s plans, you will make a difference with Him in the next.

Do not be anxious.

And in those days and times of trial, never forget to say:  My Jesus, I trust in You.   

May you have a long and blessed life, my friend, and may we all be family together some day.  And on that never-ending day I’ll tell you many more stories of: How I remember mama.

Mom’s funeral will be next Monday, and she will be buried next to dad and my brother in Wisconsin next Friday.     

I Want To Go Home To My Father

The forecast didn’t call for rain today, but promptly at 7:30 this morning the thunder roared loudly, and the downpour began.  That’s okay; I wasn’t sleeping.  As I got up off the couch and prepared to leave mom’s home, I took one last look around, and then walked out into the pouring rain.  Across the street, the neighbor Mario was fiddling with his fishing rod in his open garage door, and so I slowly walked through the downpour to greet him.  He looked up at me, soaking wet, in a bit of a surprise, but that was okay.   I was still not used to the words, and so the rain hid the tears as I said:

My mother died last night.

It was a most peaceful death as I watched her last breath at 2AM, and said goodbye.  I think at least some of the hospice workers will be surprised today; we had a meeting scheduled for Thursday to consider how she’s doing, and her future care.  Her strength had surprised everyone.  Her breathing increased yesterday evening, as she slept through another day without eating, and at 8PM I went home.  But my life-in caregiver texted my niece, telling her she was scared.  And my niece called me, and so I rushed back to the house.  That was a great blessing, for having the caring caregiver, and for the loving niece --- who is an eldercare nurse and knows of these things.  It may be time, Uncle Tom.  I had prayed for God’s blessing and mercy for mom, and that I might be with her at the end. 

Great is our God.

These last days she has slept continuously, and took nourishment only (it seemed to me) as a swallowing reflex, as we poured Ensure in her mouth.  But she didn’t say anything.  Among her last words to me last week were words to tell me again that she loved me, and once to say:

I want to go home to my father.  She couldn’t hear me, but I softly responded to her: I know, mom.  And I’m sure he’s waiting for you.  I wish I could go with you, but you go on ahead to him.  It’s okay.  I’ll come along later.

Mom was the last of her seven siblings to go home, and I am the last of mine.  For a while I wondered if she would be the last one standing, but in this too, God heard my prayers. 

And I thank you for yours.    

King of the United States

When I was growing up in Chicago we used to watch a television show titled: Garfield Goose, King of the United States.  Garfield was a hand puppet that could clap its wooden beaks together and “talk” to the show’s human host, Frazier Thomas.  They discussed all sorts of funny things with humor that even adults smiled at, and of course, showed lots of cartoons.  It was a very enjoyable hour each day, but we knew it was totally a farce.  Very early on we learned in school that our forefathers sailed to America to avoid being ruled by a king, and eventually revolted to be ruled by “the people.” 

I wonder if kids are taught that nowadays, and if they think about the implication of our forefathers’ decision.

The reason why I muse about this is because of the recent Scripture readings at mass and in the breviary which mention Melchizedek, priest and king of Salem, and Jesus, prophet, priest, and king.  And I got to thinking about how, after God rescued his people from Egypt, he appointed Moses and his successors to be Judges over the people --- that is until Samuel.  For in his old age Samuel was going to appoint his sons Joel and Abijah as judges, but the people said they were corrupt, and the people wanted “a king to govern over us … like all the nations.”  God told Samuel to warn them about all the bad things kings would do, tax and abuse them, but they still said they wanted a king.  And so God agreed, after issuing them a final warning about the future: “In that day you will cry out because of your king whom you have chosen for yourselves, but the Lord will not answer you in that day.”   

We usually think of kings as succeeding one another in a family line (or at least I do), but God noted that the people “have chosen” their king.  Certainly there were kings, victors in battle, who appointed themselves king, but there also must have been kings chosen by the people.  So a king, therefore, is one who rules with a dictatorial power, regardless of how he came to be in that role.  It’s how he exercises the power that defines kingship.

So, considering that our current president --- with the apparent consent of the people --- ignores some laws of Congress and creates others by Presidential Decree, is his ruling style any different than that of a king?  Like other kings, is he frustrated when others don’t obey his wishes?  Does he punish them?  Does he seek to punish other kingdoms which don’t agree with him, and build alliances solely on power, not righteousness?  Do we have, effectively, a King of the United States? 

And I wonder: while he may understand his goals and desires, does he come across to the world any clearer than Garfield Goose does clapping his beaks together?  (At least Garfield had an interpreter for us kids.)

Is this the type of ruler the early Americans fled from; why would we like a king now?

And would God give the people today who have chosen him any different a warning than he gave to the people in Samuel’s day?

…. Just thoughts, on a warm Summer’s day, when there are so many things going on which I don’t want to think about.