Easter Sunday

 I had a foreboding as I walked across the floor and spied the "present" my dog had left for me. To be fair, he is a very anxious dog. We have tried everything to try and keep him calm when we leave, but inevitably, as soon as the back door shuts, before we are even at the car, the barking starts. And upon our return we always find a little "gift". Never pee. Always poop. 

It drives me mad. It used to make me mad. But now, after two years of owning my little Frankie, I just sigh and clean it up. I might yell now and then, and he always knows I'm displeased, but I never punish him. It just isn't worth it. I don't like it, but I would rather clean it up than have the dog be afraid of me. 

What gave me the foreboding was that it was was, not to be crass, kind of runny. Oh dear, the dog isn't feeling well. 

Mini Schnauzers are prone to gastrointestinal issues, and every so often we have a problem. It was true with Belle, the lovely mini we had prior to Frankie, and now he too, was living up to his breed's special problem. 

I cleaned it up, which cost me an hour out of my day, because it meant I had to get the steam cleaner out. This required preparation and cleanup, as well as the actual clean up job, itself. 

I did this and went upstairs and thought nothing else about it. 

I hoped nothing would come of it. I dismissed it. Which I shouldn't have done.

Later on the girls came over to color Easter eggs. We had a grand time in the kitchen, trying out all the different colors, using the wax crayon to write on the eggs, and eating Easter candy. The girls had candy that is, not me. After an hour or so Mom came to get them and take them home and get them to bed, because Easter was going to be busy. We were all going to church in the morning and we would be up early. 

We both lay down in bed. The lights went off. I was almost asleep. On the verge. So comfortable. 

The Mr. sat up. Turned on the light. I took off my headphones, interrupting the show I was dozing off too. And then I heard it. Hurking. Like a shot I was out of bed, trying to find the dog. He was nowhere to be found. I could hear him, but I couldn't see him. That would be because he was behind the Mr.'s desk and he was throwing up. Ugh. This couldn't be good. That eerie foreboding came flooding back. I had a feeling we were not going to get much sleep tonight. I cleaned up the mess, and went back to bed. Turned off the light. But now I was tense. Poor Frankie was laying against my leg, shaking uncontrollably. But then he got up. Jumped off the bed. Headed to the corner and proceeded to have explosive diarrhea. 

I was now fully awake. This was definitely going to be a crisis. And so it was. All. Night. Long. Every. Single. Hour.  Alternately throwing up and having diarrhea. He would jump off the bed, I would follow with the bleach and paper towels. By four in the morning I was wasted. And angry. There may have been some words between me and the Mr., and perhaps some sobbing. By 6:45 I was just resigned. Frankie would get up, jump off the bed and I would follow without comment, without anger, without angst. 

As I tiredly cleaned, I thought to myself several times that this must be a hellish plan of Satan himself. Why else, on Easter Eve (when no vet would be open) would all this be happening? I knew we needed to be up early to take the girls to church tomorrow. I thought to myself something good must be in store for us there, and I determined that no matter what, I would not give in and just sleep in, in the morning. Because that's what I really wanted to do. I was so incredibly tired. I had been in a lot of pain the previous few days. When I say a lot of pain, I mean the Mr. wanted to take me to the ER. Thursday morning I almost couldn't walk. I sat in my recliner, pain reliever already on board, pain patch on my right knee, and just cried. He was very alarmed. The pain had finally subsided and I had fallen asleep and awakened feeling better. Not pain free, but better. 

I determined to be at church no matter what. Plans were made and would be fulfilled. So I pulled up my big girl granny panties, set my alarm, so I wouldn't oversleep, and finally, finally, the dog fell asleep. So did the Mr. and I and we did oversleep by an hour. 

I woke up feeling dead in the land of the living. The joy felt like it had been sucked right out of me. I got dressed, fixed my hair, put on my makeup and went downstairs to try to construct a pen for the dog in the kitchen. I am not a kennel girl. I hate kennels. I couldn't bear to put Frankie in a cage. I know there is a lot of positive stuff about kennels but I determined early on that I didn't want that. 

So I got out the baby gate, but before I could get it up, he sidled around me and had a go on the carpet in the coffee lounge. 

Oh. my. gosh. I may have overreacted. I let out a holler that probably would have awakened Jesus, if he hadn't already been raised from the dead. I lashed out angrily at a soda can that was on the edge of the sink, knocking it into the sink. Ally didn't take kindly to that, and she was right. I apologized, and with tears in my eyes, we headed off to church, leaving Frankie alone in the kitchen, with his bed and a small bowl of water. I was afraid of what I would come home to, but a little voice told me Just get to church, and let Me take care of the dog. 

So we got to church. First thing we found out, no children's church. This is always dismaying to me, because the girls tend to get bored in "big" church as I have always called it. It's much easier if they go to children's church where they aren't bored and I am not constantly trying to get them to sit up, not lay in the pew, kick the back of the pew, talk while the preacher is talking, etc. I mean, it is a good discipline, as I think all kids need to learn at some point, how to sit quietly in a room when other people are talking. But today I really wanted them to go to Children's church. 

Instead we would be having Communion and an Easter Message, as well as a lot of extra singing. I felt that this was going to be a long service. 

But as we began to sing, and I raised one hand, the other being wrapped around Arya, I peeked out of the corner of my eye and I saw Claire singing with her hand in the air also. I began to relax. All the dog poo in the world couldn't take the joy of worshiping God with my grandchildren and my daughter, who had also come along, away. I was so glad I had pushed through the weariness to be here. 

And then the call to Communion. As we stood to receive the elements I asked the girls if they wanted to partake. They are eligible. They have both received Christ. Last time we had been there for Communion they had both declined, which was fine. Today Claire wanted to receive it. I leaned over and talked to her for a minute about what was required and she understood. She and the Mr., and Alyssa went forward to get and bring back the "bread and the wine". Arya, like last time, declined, and that was fine. 

My eyes filled with tears as we broke the bread and drank the cup together. So this was it. This was what Satan had been trying to keep us from. This was the first time for both Alyssa and Claire. I wouldn't have missed this for the world. 

Pastor finished speaking and the altar call began. It was about this time that Arya became very agitated, and began to pull on my arm. I leaned over to hear her as she was trying to tell me something. She was pointing and gesticulating to the balcony behind us. I looked around. There was a man filming up there, standing next to a large spot light, which I assume was for productions. Today there was no need for it, and it was not on. 

I still didn't know what she was trying to tell me. I tried to get her to turn around and face the front, but she was adamant. And now I understood what she was saying, as her volume had increased. Gramma, Gramma, look, look at that! I looked behind me again. The man was still there. The spotlight was still there. And then it dawned on me that it was the spotlight she was talking about. Gramma, this is DANGEROUS! This is SERIOUS! Gramma, there is a LASER CANNON up there! 

All the time she was pulling on my arm, trying to get me to pay attention, to turn around, to see the danger, as she saw it. GRAMMA It's a LASER CANNON! Oh honey, it's just a spotlight. It's not a laser cannon, I promise, said I, but she would not be convinced. So it was I found myself, at service end, trying to keep up with her as she exited the sanctuary, calling behind her, I promise, I promise, it's NOT A LASER CANNON! 

I am not sure I convinced her. 

So we dropped them at home, and on the way to our house, just about three minutes from theirs, the Mr. told me he had been praying for the dog in church. He was believing for an Easter miracle. I am ashamed to say, I was not so sure. 

Upon entering we saw a couple of accidents. He was still having the same problem, it seemed. However he seemed much perkier. And there were only two spots. I had been expecting to find a poopocolypse when we returned. But it was not so. Apparently it was over. The Lord had taken care of the dog and it looked like we had an Easter miracle on our hands, after all. Let me just say I know, from experience how these things work. When the dog gets sick, especially as sick as he was, it takes antibiotics, probiotics, an expensive vet visit, sometimes doggie diapers, and a lot of sweat on my behalf, not to mention several days of extra cleaning and anxiety. 

But, against all the odds, his recovery was lightening fast. Since we came in from church he has not thrown up or had one accident. He has even managed to eat two small meals of hamburger and rice, with some probiotic powder we got from the vet with the last incident (last year), mixed in. 

I fell asleep in my chair. Upon waking I was in some pain, so I took some pain meds, slapped on a pain patch, and wandered into the office. I have been picking up the guitar again in recent weeks, and today I pulled the music stand over and began to play, turning over the pages, as I went, trying out different songs. I came across a tablature that I have never been able to play, and decided to give it one more try. I do that every once in a while, usually giving up after a few minutes and pushing that page to the back of the pile, once I remember why I didn't learn it in the first place. It's just too difficult for me. This time, however, as I looked at the music, it arranged itself before me in a way that I could understand. I tried a couple of notes, and by golly, it worked! I tried a few more, and then worked out how I could go from measure to measure without moving my fingers too awkwardly. And I realized this was not nearly as difficult as I had always imagined. I was slow, very slow, but the notes were right. I was elated. And I realized that I was actually feeling better than I had since Dad passed away. 

And part of that, I reasoned, was that I had changed my diet a few days ago. I had become tired of being tired and inflamed. My legs look like whales. I saw pictures of myself at the funeral and I couldn't believe how terrible I looked. I looked sick. 

So I decided to find an anti inflammatory diet and see if I could get some of the inflammation down. I was diagnosed with Lipedema last fall, and the doctor told me I might lose weight if I could figure out what was causing the inflammation. But, he said, I wouldn't lose the fat, and if I did it would only be in my torso, my legs and arms would not lose the weight.

But at this point I had to try. So I did something that I consider radical. I quit cheese. And milk. And grain. And artificial sweetener. And sugar. And anything processed. 

I had just been shopping the day before I made this decision, so my 'fridge was full. However, I put all of the things I could no longer eat, so I wouldn't be tempted, in a grocery bag and gave it to my daughter. I then went to the store again, and replaced it all with Almond milk, vegetables, some fruits, nuts, beans, and fish.

And within a couple of days I lost a couple of pounds. To date I have lost five pounds, in about a week. I am not getting too excited, because we have been down this path before, not on this particular diet, but I have lost five to seven pounds several times on various diets, and it always stalls and then I give up and crash and burn and go back to my comfort food. 

But I couldn't help wondering if the reason I was able to work out the music was that my brain was sharper. Maybe this is a sign of things to come? Good things I hope? 

We shall see. 

The day didn't start out well, but is ending quite peacefully. Ally is back at school, Matt is out of town, so it's just me and the Mr. and little Frankie, who is asleep in the chair next to me. 

Thank you, Lord, for my family, and for healing my dog. Thank you for those granddaughters who make me laugh and cry tears of joy. And thank you, especially this day for YOU. 
Without your sacrifice on the cross, NONE of this would be possible. Thank you, Lord, for life, and life abundantly. 

Grief

It comes in waves. Late afternoon sunshine flooding the dining room, and me standing in the foyer looking at his picture on the mantle. September When it Comes is playing on the radio. I was fine a second ago, but now the tears fill my eyes and everything becomes blurred. Yesterday while talking to someone about the funeral, I said The day Daddy died...I stopped and heard my own words with fresh appraisal. My DADDY died!. It still seems unreal. 

I find myself restless. My hands don't know what to do with themselves. My dreams are interrupted by early morning wakeups and feverish thoughts. I find myself staring into space a lot. Fiddling with my phone. 

The way he looked on his last day of life. So frail and thin. It haunts me. So precious in his weakness. 

I really thought he had more time. It occurred to me that he could go that night, but I really didn't believe it. I thought maybe another week. 

When Sarah woke me early in the morning , it was a shock. So soon? I thought. I had only arrived the afternoon before, prepared to stay for weeks if I needed to, not knowing I would not be needed after all. 

But I'm so glad I was there for him on his last day. 

I had followed quickly behind her as she entered the bedroom where he had been sleeping. I stood by the bed and assessed him. His hands were warm but he was no longer breathing. I reached out and touched his chest. No heartbeat.  To my great disbelief he was really gone. Just like that. One minute here and the next gone. 

I came back home and began the forever process of grieving. I have lost grandparents and an uncle, but this is very different. I am forever changed. 

Palm Sunday Weekend

I opened my eyes to the early morning light through the window, dismayed to see that the weather had turned. The last week had been sunny and bright but today had dawned gray and damp. Not rainy, just damp. Ugh. But today was Friday and I was looking forward to seeing my sisters in a couple of hours, and my aunt (AK). Heather was flying in from South Dakota and Emily was flying from Virginia for Dad's funeral, which would be tomorrow. AK was only a half hour away but I hadn't seen her in some time. But first thing, some last minute tidying. I had been cleaning house for a week, a little at a time, my knees dictating how much got done each day. This morning it was all done, and so with a swipe of a dishtowel and the swish of a broom, Ally and I were on our way to pick up AK, and to get back home before the sisters arrived. 

Soon they were at the door and we had quite a tearful reunion, and settled in for a good visit. Later in the day I would be picking up the girls from school and then Kat would be heading our way after work, to visit the aunties and to pick up her girls. But first coffee and chit chat, and then deeper conversation about all the goings-on in our worlds. 

Ally and I decided breakfast was in order, although it was now noon. So the two of us teamed up together in the kitchen and made scrambled eggs, two kinds of bacon, crisp and cooked for the sane people of the world who like their bacon to have flavor, and the slimy kind of bacon that barely holds together, for those that just like the taste of rubber. 

We also had crepes with syrup, along with the never ending cups of coffee. 

Later I got the girls from school and the house became a cacophony of noise. Emily was on the piano with Claire, teaching her how to play a song on the piano, which to my great surprise, Clair was actually able to play...on her own, and teach to Arya! I think that was the most amazing discovery of the day, was realizing that Claire had a musical aptitude. AK was doing a little laundry, and in the middle of all of that, the Mr. decided to smoke a huge brisket for dinner. It was an everybody in and out, piano tinkling, dog barking, people talking, door slamming kind of afternoon, and it was great. 

Later Kat and Jeff joined and we had eleven people in the dining room munching on brisket, beans, and potato salad. After everyone was absolutely stuffed, the goodbyes began, if only for a few hours. We would see each other again in the morning under much more somber circumstances. Heather and I took AK home. Em and Ken departed for their hotel. Kat and Jeff took the girls home. Then it was just me and Heather, and she was literally falling asleep on her feet, so I made her a bed on the couch and left her to sleep. 

I went upstairs and fell asleep, as well. I didn't sleep well. I knew I had a hair appointment in the morning. I was very anxious to get the funeral over with. There were just too many factions and variables in play within our family, and I wasn't exactly sure what was going to happen. I had been worrying about it for weeks. Finally I just went to Jesus in simple prayer. Jesus take the wheel. 

And then I felt better. 

I woke up early and had coffee with Heather and then we headed off together to the hair place. And then it was time to get dressed. It was kind of like being in a dream. It didn't feel real to be burying my dad. It also felt weirdly like my wedding day. Hair and nails and dress and family all gathered. Only this time, Dad wouldn't be giving me away. I would instead, but giving him to Jesus, in a way. Still grieving, but not as though I wouldn't see him again. Knowing that God had taken him at exactly the right time and that he wasn't suffering anymore. Letting him go, while holding him close, exactly as he had done me, those thirty four years ago.

I was really glad that the weather had let up. It was chilly but partly sunny, and the wind was blowing just a little. It was a beautiful day for a send off. And so many of my very much loved family members were there. Aunts, and uncles, cousins, friends, nieces and nephews that I hadn't seen in years. 

There was an awning set up, with a few chairs. Not nearly enough for all of the people that showed to pay their last respects to Daddy. It was standing room only. There was a small podium just outside the front of the tent, and what remained of my father was in the small black box with his name on it. There were multitudes of flowers. I picked up the box, while no one was looking. It was very heavy. I set it gently back down before anyone noticed. I'm sure that was against the rules, but I really didn't care. I placed my flowers, an arrangement I had made myself, with roses Emily bought, and also roses from my own garden, down next to the box. 

The service began. 

And it was lovely. Nobody acted out. Nobody got nasty. Nothing mean was said. All was calm and peaceful. Heather and I had prayed about it on the way to the hair place earlier in the morning. Our prayer was answered. It was a quiet and lovely service. Heather spoke, and then I got up to speak. I willed myself not to cry and to keep my voice level, and look at my audience as I spoke. None of that happened, of course. As soon as I stepped up my hands began to shake. With my first words my voice cracked and I began to cry. I couldn't look up from the paper I had brought, couldn't meet the eyes of my audience, or I knew I would lose it. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I finished speaking and sat down, and the service was concluded. 

We kind of hung around for a bit and were among the last to leave. I decided to take my arrangement home, rather than leave it, as the funeral people told us they were going to throw away what was left. 

I hated to leave but I knew I would be back very soon and often. 

Lunch followed with the family, and then it was back out into the bright afternoon sun. Goodbyes were said to our much loved family members, and then the three of us sisters were off on our own adventure. 

We had decided to have our own little memorial. 

It had started as soon as Dad passed. I was there, but I had very little input into the funeral plans. The planners threw out every single idea or suggestion I had. The music, the food place, the obituary information, none of it was used. The music was not music that my dad listened to, at least not that I knew of. I was already a bit upset at this, but trying to give some grace. Then the obituary came out and the picture they chose to use outraged me. I felt it made a mockery of my Dad. He didn't even have his teeth in, and was wearing some kind of doofus hat with a giant pom pom on top. He looked ridiculous, and every single person that saw it said it was a terrible picture. 

So we, the three of us were going to have our own send off. With our own music, the music of our childhoods. And I wrote my own obituary, one with a classier looking picture. I didn't ask, and I didn't tell anyone on that side of the family, I just did it. 

So the three of us headed for the park, with a cooler full of RC Colas, because that was what my dad used to drink, and a playlist that didn't include any Alan Jackson songs, no offense to Alan, or any of his followers. We had some Marty Robbins and a kite. We walked to the top of a large knoll, put on the music, toasted the RC's to my dad, and tried to fly the kite. And had a glorious time. I say tried because we were completely unsuccessful. We had the tails tangled up in our hair and our legs, and the wind was good, but the kite would not cooperate. Finally, over the horizon, came Em's husband, and he was able to set the kite right. He had put it together for us, but had put the rods in backwards. He was able to get it to fly and it was glorious as I said. We drank our colas, realizing in adult hood, that maybe we didn't love RC as much as our dad had. We drank some and poured the rest out as a libation in remembrance of our dad. We finally let the kite go, watching as it sailed away over our heads...until it crashed in the trees in the field next to the park. I felt kind of guilty about that, but I couldn't get over there to get it. In my head I imagined it would just disappear into the sky, but real life is not like that. Real life is crash and burn and get up and carry on anyway. 

So we parted ways, Em went on her way and Heather came home with me. We would get up early in the morning and take her to the airport. 

After we did that I had no plans. I was just going to take a nap. However, as soon as my Pjs were on and I was comfortable melded to my recliner, Ally came in and unexpectedly needed a ride back to college. I sighed and got redressed and headed out the door for the half hour back to Sherman. On the way I decided I would not go back home. I would drive over to the grave yard and have a visit with dad. I waved bye to her and in no time was on my way to the cemetery, which is only about ten minutes from her dorm. The day was lovely. Eighty degrees and sunny. Wind strongly blowing. As I entered the cemetery I could see that I was the only one within a mile. Nobody was at the church. There were no cars. No people. No noise. I parked the car and walked the short distance and sat down by the gravesite. The flowers were still fresh. There was utter silence as I sat there, other than the birds and the wind in my ears. I was fully at ease as I sat there, completely alone in the middle of the graveyard. It was just me and dad and Jesus. Although, I realize of course, theologically, that Dad was not there. But his body was and that was enough for me. I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face. Felt the wind. Heard the birds. I stayed there a long time, maybe twenty five minutes, not moving. Just touching the flowers, and brushing off the headstone. Picking away the weeds. And enjoying the peace. 

I wanted to take the rest of the flowers, but I didn't quite dare. The large vase that had been left was partially buried by the funeral people, to keep it from falling over in the wind. I wanted to take that, too, but a car came down the single lane and I was parked in the road, so I decided to wait 'til later in the week. If they truly are going to throw all the leftovers away, I will rescue the vase. I left feeling much better than when I had come. 

Then I went home and had that long awaited nap. 

And woke up feeling so much better than I had felt in a long while.

Eulogy

 I got the crushing news today that Daddy is not going to make it. He isn't going to ring the bell. He isn't going to turn the corner, as we had all hoped. I picked up the phone when it rang, knowing that it wasn't good news if my sister was calling me from work in the middle of the day. Cancer is worse. No more treatment. Hospice coming tomorrow. 

I broke down, of course. So did she. 

After a few minutes she had to get back to work. I just sat in the room, still in my nightgown, and stared out the window and at my hands. 

Life without Daddy. I can't imagine it. Can't picture it. 

Memories flitted through my mind, like flickering sunshine through the late afternoon trees. 

He was a good dad, not perfect, but, to quote my sister "he was present". After Mom and Dad divorced he didn't disappear like many dads do.  He took us to the park. He took us to McDonald's. He took us to the movies. He played baseball with us, Monopoly. He flew kites with us. He spent time with us. 

I remembered, as I sat there, how he taught me to make a cheesecake, and how to expertly shuffle a deck of cards. To this day nobody in my immediate family can shuffle a deck of cards like I can. He taught me to ride a bike and to mow the lawn, which I still love to do.  He taught me the importance of keeping my room clean, and he took the three of us to church. 

He gave me a love for Rockford, Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash and Wolf chili.

I have so much to thank him for. And now so little time. 

After some time had passed I got up and moved on with things of the day. Got dressed. Combed my hair. Took out the dog. 

But then I got out my paints and put Marty Robbins on the record player. The album, the actual album is very old, full of popping noises, and permanently dirty, ruined really. I plucked it from his bedroom floor in the debris of hurricane Harvey. He would have thrown it away but I wanted that record. I took it home and cleaned it up the best I could. From time to time I listen to it, but yesterday I sat in the office and painted and played it over and over while memories fell softly around me. The feeling of his big hand in mine as he took me trick-or-treating for the very first time. Him holding my bike as I took off for the first time without training wheels. All the Christmases. Barbie sailboats and Nancy Drew books. Baseball gloves and dolls. Tea sets and wind up trains. Decorating the Christmas tree. Sitting on the floor between his knees while he sat in his chair and brushed my hair. As a teenager, when he would have to go on trips he would always bring something back. A doll. A puzzle. Always thinking of us. 

When I got older and moved out on my own he brought me dishes and kitchen towels. He cosigned on the Scooter I bought, because I didn't yet have a driver's license. And when I got my license, he bought me my first car, a 1974 Toyota Corona, for four hundred dollars. He taught me financial responsibility. I paid every cent of that four hundred dollars back to him. 

He gave me away at my wedding. 

The concern on his face after the birth of my first child. As soon as he heard I was in labor he dropped everything and drove eight hours to be there. I wasn't recovering well and in fact I nearly died. When he entered the room I could see the worry etched into his face, as well as the weariness from driving all night just to see me and newborn Katie.

And when I had Matthew...he called me and the first thing he asked me was who does he look like? I looked down at my sleeping baby, with the big brown eyes and said You, Dad, he looks just like you! And it was true!  In pictures of them as children the two of them look like twins from different eras, fifty years apart. From the blonde/brown hair to the identical nose they share, and those beautiful big brown eyes. When Ally came along, he delighted in her, as well. 

He made them toys from his workshop. Wooden 18 wheelers with cars that went inside. A ferry boat with more cars. They loved those toys, and they are still loved by my own grandchildren. 

And he was there for them, as well. When Katie had Arya, he came to visit and to hold the baby. He was so proud. And when Claire was born he took care of two year old Arya so that we could be with Katie in the hospital. The look on his face when I placed Claire in his arms...He just smiled this huge smile and then put his hand over his heart and melted mine.

And Harvey. I was worried about him. He refused to leave his house, even as the hurricane devastated the Houston area. He finally conceded that he needed to go somewhere safer, and went to a nearby hotel. When that began to flood he finally decided, at the urging of all of his daughters, to get out. Only he couldn't. All the roads were closed and he was, essentially, trapped. Stuck on a country road with only the clothes on his back and some bologna sandwiches in a cooler. He called me from the road and told me he was stranded. He didn't know where to go. The water was everywhere. I had a divinely inspired idea and told him I was going to look at the road closures and call him back. I found a way out for him and I called him back and gave him instructions on how to get out. He called an hour later and said they were on there way here, they had done what I told them to do and they were now safely out of the hurricane perimeter. 

I was so relieved. I had been so scared. After he had been here a couple of days he asked me to go with him, now that the waters had receded, to survey the damage to his house. I jumped in his truck and off we went.

His house was a total loss.  As we entered the house, I could hear his anguish. God Almighty! he said, after crawling through a back window and wrenching open the front door from the inside. It was unbelievable. The refrigerator was laying face down in the kitchen. All the furniture had floated out of place. The water had gone over the top of the house. There were dead fish. It smelled like death and sewage. The beds and mattresses had moved. The couch was in the dining room. High up on a shelf, all of Joyce's bell collection was intact, with the addition of one of Dad's bedroom slippers that had floated up behind them. It was unreal. We rescued what we could. Soaked photo albums. Old glass that had belonged to Joyce's parents. There was little else to salvage. 

He left with a broken heart. 

But dad is a tough old nut, and at 72 he started completely over. Built a new house three hours closer. Bought Joyce a new wedding ring. Started a new workshop. Made new friends. And carried on. 

And that is Dad. No matter what gets thrown at him, he carries on. When he was in the fourth grade he broke his arm. But they didn't know it for a month. They took him to the doctor and the doctor saw that it wasn't growing back correctly...So I asked him...what did he do, Dad? He grabbed it and rebroke it. He said. Just like that? I asked...No anesthesia? No pain killers...He just...grabbed it and...BROKE IT? Yep, he replied. Just like that. 

I cringed. I'm still cringing. I can't imagine that. But, in true Dad fashion, he carried on. 

And in spite of the cancer he is still carrying on. Taking care of Joyce. Going to the grocery store. Taking her to her medical appointments. Making sure all of his end of life care plans are carried out. 

End of life. 

That's where I get stuck. I know he is ready. But I'm not ready. At 58 years of age, I still need my Daddy. 

So today I will put on the Marty Robbins again. Today I will close my eyes and let the memories flood over me. Today I will think about and pray for my dad. Tomorrow I will go see him and spend time with him, and like my dad, I will carry on, one day at a time. 

Two months, almost to the day I wrote this down, my dad flew away.  I had wanted him to stay longer. I had wanted him to be healthy. I had wanted to see him well again, working in his woodshop, cooking eggs with onions for breakfast, or taking himself out for breakfast at the local restaurant on a Saturday morning, as he had done for years. 

But it was not to be. I arrived at his house, determined to stay with him until the end, no matter how long it might be, even if it was weeks, on the afternoon of March 13. I looked in on him as he slept. He was so precious in his frailty. No longer the big strong daddy I had always known, Yet, even in his weakness his larger than life presence was not diminished. The last time he looked at me he gave me a wide eyed wink and a half cocked smile. Still Dad, right up to the end. Then he went to sleep. The next morning he was with Jesus. 

What will I do without my Daddy? 

I will think of him often. I will have an RC Cola in his honor. I will listen to Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash, and Glenn Campbell when I play my music. I will think of him every time I shuffle a deck of cards, play monopoly, make a no bake cheesecake, mow the lawn, or see a dad flying a kite with his kids,  swinging a child at the park, or teaching how to ride a bike. 

I will remember him when I watch the old reruns on TV that both of us loved so much, back in the day.  I will have a slice a fruitcake on Christmas, his birthday, remembering how he told me that Ila Mae's fruitcake was his birthday cake every single year. And I will look forward to seeing him soon.

As he would say...See you later alligator...

 

Departure

I fell into a dream in my chair in the afternoon. I was so tired and the blanket was so warm, with the dog on my lap. I closed my eyes and found myself in a two story house. I went into a room on the top floor and saw a bed in the corner with a lot of rumpled covers on it. I turned left to go into the adjoining bathroom, and saw that there was a mess on the floor. There was pee all over the place. I made a remark aloud, only to realize that Jo was sleeping in the bed, amidst the rumpled covers. I'm not sure exactly what happened next, I just knew that she was on the floor and needed help up. I called out for help and to my great surprise, Joyce's father came walking through the door! Only not as I had last seen him, elderly and frail, and fragile. He was strong and capable and handsome. His hair was white, just as I had known him, but his face and body were that of a younger man. He came and picked her up and took care of her. He was her caretaker. 

Back downstairs after Jo had been rescued, and towards the end of the dream before I was awakened by something or another, I pondered on the thought that I knew he was only there taking care of her in the absence of my father. I remember being so comforted that he was there, and yet poignantly sad that my own father was not. 

And then I awoke. 

The dream was very powerful, evoking emotions of an absent father who, in reality, hadn't left yet,  and a found father who had, in reality, been gone for many years. Profound. 

Later that evening the hospice nurse called me. Dad had fallen again. He wasn't hurt, but was hurting. He was requesting pain medication for the first time. Not Tylenol. The real stuff. 

The hospice nurse said he would not be allowed to be without 24 hour care from now on. And he would be getting the medications around the clock from now on. And she mentioned that the hired caretaker, was overwhelmed this evening, because not only had dad fallen, but Joyce had peed all over the bathroom floor. 

I was a little bit stunned by all of this as I hung up the phone, but especially after that dream. The pee, the caretaker, the falling. So much coincidence. 

That night I fell into a second dream. It was very simple. I was on my way to Dad's house to take care of him until he died. But not just him, I would be taking care of my grandmother and my uncle, who were in reality, long dead. I don't know what the significance of my grandmother and uncle was, I never did figure that out. But I pondered on that for awhile. 

The next morning, on my way out the back door, at 7 AM, I saw a text, a new one from the hospice nurse. Dad is in a ten out of ten amount of pain. He is in bed. He won't be getting back up. 

I sat in the car with the Mr. and we discussed all of this, as the sun rose. 

And I knew what I was going to do. I'm going to Dad's. I'm going to stay there until he passes. I will be his caregiver. The Mr. was opposed, at first, to this idea. He would be alone for as long as it would take for Dad to go. Since I am his caretaker, post liver transplant, this was of great concern to both of us. My husband needs a wife and a caretaker. I took this into account, weighed my options and made the final decision. I would go. 

So I came in the house and refilled his pills for the week, cleaned up my room, packed my bag and left one house for another. Traded one caretaker position for another. 

I prayed as I went that things would be mercifully short. And most of all that he wouldn't suffer. 

I arrived and came in the house. Joyce was in her chair. Daddy was in his bedroom, asleep. I could hear him snoring. In fact, although his loud snoring had always been an issue, I was thankful for it now, because I could hear him in the living room, even over all the talking. It wasn't an annoying sound, just a calm background noise, letting us know he was still with us.  

To my surprise, I found out my sister would soon be there. I wasn't sure how I felt about this, not because I didn't want her there, I just began to wonder why I was there. Surely we didn't both need to be there. However, I had driven a long way to be there, and she would only be there for the weekend. So I settled in. We visited. We talked. I went to the store. She went to the store. I cooked dinner, which no one ate but me. My other sister, Sher, stopped by and visited for awhile. We talked, every so often lowering our voices to listen for the snoring. As my dad has sleep apnea, this led to some anxious moments. But he always resumed breathing and so would we. 

Every so often we would give go in and give the sedating meds to Dad. 

The first time I had come in the room he had awakened slightly, just enough to catch my eye and give me a sideways wide eyed wink, with a tiny bit of a smile and a little head cock. 

After that he slept. Every so often we would go in an check on him. He still slept. I wondered how long I would be there. As I had left my house I had told my husband it could be a couple of weeks. He had been somewhat dismayed at being so long without me. I am not puffing myself up, he was really disconcerted. My daughter was disconcerted as well, as she would be his caretaker while I was gone. I put my arm around her and gave her a little hug. Look, I'm taking care of my daddy, and you are taking care of YOUR daddy. We are doing God's work. 

And so we were. 

My Aunt Jo Ann and Uncle Walter and cousin Robbie came to see him. Joyce had called Aunt Joann and told her what was going on early in the morning, while the hospice nurse was still there. Aunt Jo Ann decided she was coming today, even if she had to drive herself the couple of hours it would take to get here. She is 84 and my uncle is older, still. They don't drive anymore. That's how anxious she was. My cousin, who was actually at work, saw the angst her mother was in and took off work to drive her and my uncle to see my dad. She had actually called me. Do you think tomorrow would be better? I said, sure, I don't think he is going to die tonight. You never know she said. 

I asked Joyce whether they should come today or tomorrow. She gave it a quick thought and said today. And so they came. They stayed for a little over an hour and then had to go home before dark, and traffic. We shared some laughter and some tears, some stories. I waved and cried as they drove away and went inside. 

It got late. The Sher left and Sarah went to lay down in bed next to Daddy, to keep an eye on him and because there were no more beds. I had brought an air mattress. I inflated it and settled down, so tired I could barely keep my eyeballs open. I tossed and turned and then felt a touch on my shoulder and jumped out of my skin. It was Sarah. It was five AM. And Dad was gone. Had just left, in fact. 

I remembered later that Dad always got up at five AM in his healthy days, ready to start the day. 

Now he was starting a new day in a much better place. 

And so, just as I had prayed, his time of pain was mercifully short. 

And my first thought, after How do we tell mom, was I am SO glad Aunt Jo Ann came to visit yesterday, instead of today. 

Mercifully short. And pain free. And at peace. 

All answered prayers. 

I had wanted him to stay longer. I had wanted him to be healthy. I had wanted to see him well again, working in his woodshop, cooking eggs with onions for breakfast, or taking himself out for breakfast at the local restaurant on a Saturday morning, as he had done for years. 

But I put my wishes aside. There is a bigger hand at work here than my own. And deep inside I knew that God would take him at exactly the right time. So it was, that this morning,  at 5 AM, my dad, having arrived here on Christmas Day, 1944,  departed to have Saturday breakfast with Jesus.

What will I do without my Daddy? 

I will think of him often. I will have RC Cola in his honor. I will listen to Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash, and Glenn Campbell when I play my music. I will think of him every time I shuffle a deck of cards, play monopoly, make a no bake cheesecake, mow the lawn, or see a dad flying a kite with his kids, or swinging a child at the park, or teaching how to ride a bike.  

I will remember him when I watch the old reruns on TV that I love so much, particularly Rockford. 

And I will look forward to seeing him soon. 

Drifting

   

Claire is really feeling March, I guess. 

Feeling adrift today. Not much to do. It's stormy outside so yard work is out. Housework is done, except that I need to organize a couple of cabinets. I'm not feeling that. Was on school duty with the girls this morning, so I tried to go to bed early, but slept lightly and woke up tired. The girls arrived a bit late, about six twenty. This didn't give me much time to make the pancakes they requested, but I gave it a go, anyway. Things were hampered by the fact that I hadn't put away last night's washed dishes. I had just stacked them on the sink and there were one or two things in the sink. My fast and hard rule for myself is that I never start cooking before the kitchen is cleaned up. So I decided to empty the dishwasher just as the girls were coming in the door. Things were chaotic. Grill was on and hot but empty. Dishwasher hanging open, water running, dog barking. I got a bit overwhelmed with it, not in an emotional way, just in a hurried way. I looked at the clock and realized we only had ten minutes to leave and I hadn't even mixed the pancakes yet (but at least the kitchen was clean)! Claire came in the kitchen and saw my frenzy. She walked straight up to me, encircled me with her arms and squeezed very tight. I see you are having a hard day she said. Did I mention that I have the sweetest granddaughters in the world? How is that for blood pressure reduction? So I got the cakes on the griddle (life ain't nothin' but a funny funny riddddle) and the plates on the table, everything buttered, syruped, cool whipped, and while they were eating did a disappearing job on what remained of the clean up from breakfast. We got the girls out the door, and nobody argued about whose turn it was to sit behind grandma. (why do they want to sit behind me? I have told them many times that I like to see them, but still they insist). On the way to school Arya told us a lovely story, of which I don't remember a single word. We had a rousing game of Baby Grandma, and also Baby Grandpa! Drink your bottle, Baby Grandpa! Followed by the most disgusting combination of things that definitely do not go in milk, that you can imagine. Garlic milk, salad milk with green olives, green bean milk, etc. 

The girls got out, we drove around for a bit and then came home for coffee and quiet time. Today I decided quiet time would be in my recliner rather than in the office. My knees have been absolutely killing me the last few days. 

Predictably I fell asleep in the chair. I woke up later and spent a ridiculous amount of time doomsday scrolling on my phone, bored the whole time, and wondering why I didn't have the umph to get up and do something else. Doomsday scrolling is a new term for me. I hate it, yet I find myself spending way too much time engaged in the social media that is probably contributing to my high cholesterol. 

I don't have to pick up the girls from school this week, at least not that I know of. It's just morning duty for us, as their dad is out of town. 

I did have to have a talk with Arya yesterday. A nice, not lecturing kind of talk. She got into the car and told me that she had been on the playground doing something called the "Bootie Scooty". I only knew what the "Bootie Scooty" was because I had been doomsday scrolling (See, HA, sometimes it CAN come in handy)!  a few days before and had come across an article about an irate mother who had been toy shopping for her kid and had come across a "Booty Scooty" Robin toy, as in Batman and Robin. It is literally a twerking Robin. A twerking. freaking. Robin. What on God's green earth is this world coming to. So when she told me she had been doing the "Booty Scooty" on the playground, we had to have a little talk about what is and what is not appropriate for school. 

Seriously, my nine year old granddaughter, was twerking at school. I mean you gotta laugh. It was all done in complete innocence, but the talk still has to happen. 

The house next door to Katie and Jeff is for sale. The Mr. and I have been talking about it. Not seriously enough to schedule a tour or anything, but just supposing that we could buy it, (280K). It would be so seriously fun to live next door to the kids. Imagine all the stories I would have to tell about time spent with the girls. And no stairs would be nice. But, I think we will probably just be content to be a mile away instead of fifty feet. Still it makes you wonder...what would that be like? 

Maybe it isn't the thought of a new place that intimidates me, maybe it's the thought of leaving this place that gives me such pause. 23 years here, and a lot of memories. A lot of water under the bridge. We have poured our souls out into this house and part of me is afraid of what happens to my house when I'm gone. I couldn't bear to see it not properly cared for. I think it would kill me. That would be a cholesterol riser, for sure. 

But I digress. 

I had better find myself a project so I can quit drifting around being bored with nothing to do. Or rather, nothing I want to do. 

Maybe I will go to the gym. 

Naah. 

I knew you would want to see this. 

School Daze

School duty. Awake at 530 in the morning to meet the girls at the door and get them ready for school. This would have been fine if I hadn't stayed up all night watching You Tube videos of Jerry Reed, Merle Haggard, Marty Robbins, Clark, and Glen Campbell. I thought I would just watch a couple and drift off to sleep. Maybe wake up well rested when the girls arrived. But that's not how it went down. I enjoyed the videos so much that I found myself still up at two AM, laughing and amazed at the pure genius and talent of these now gone superstars. I mean, come on, Glen Campbell playing the William Tell Overture on an electric guitar OVER HIS HEAD? The first time I saw that video, coincidentally, also in the middle of the night, I literally gasped and sat straight up in my bed, eyes and mouth wide open. I had never seen anything like it. From that moment on I was a diehard GC fan. I don't know how I missed out on his music when I was a kid and it was everywhere. My dad listened to him, I just never really got into it. I was more into Marty Robbins. I loved Marty's Gunfighter Ballads of the Old West. I was never into Roy Clark, or Jerry Reed. I didn't discover JR until Glenn passed. I watched a video of the two of them singing on Glenn's show and fell in love with him. And his singing, too. He reminds me of a cross between Jed Clampet and Toby Keith. 

But I digress. 

So I stayed up way too late, and was so tired when they got here. I met them at the door and the first thing Arya asked was if she could watch TV. The TV is in my bedroom, so with the Mr. sick, that was a no go. She was not a happy camper and told me several times that she was bored. I finally addressed her about it. You know, when you are bored, that is a sign that you need to do something creative. Color, or make something. You don't have to be bored. 

We went downstairs and I made them scrambled eggs with cheese, yogurt, and bacon. We sat together and ate, watched a short little movie on my phone, that both girls, to my great surprise did not like at all. As the closing credits rolled across the screen Claire just looked at me and said Gramma: Do not let me EVER watch that movie again. It's just too sad. 

It had been a little allegory of the gospel, called Forevergreen about a tree who took care of an orphan bear. The orphan bear was happy in the shelter of the tree and the tree provided all it's needs and protected it from harm. But one day a bird dropped a bag of potato chips nearby. The bear ate one of the chips and became junk food crazy. He left the shelter of the tree and went far away, across a great divide to a park full of trash and leftover junk food. 

In his lust for garbage he accidentally starts a forest fire. He can't escape. His arms full of trash and garbage, he reaches for the tree, but the tree cannot reach across the divide without uprooting itself. So the tree lays down across the gulf and reaches for the bear, who has his arms full of trash. He can't take the arm of the tree and be rescued until he makes a choice. The trash or the tree. So he throws the trash away and grabs onto the tree. He makes it safely into the middle of the tree, but the tree begins to break, and to burn, and ultimately to fall. He jumps across the gulf but the tree is gone. He is mournful, but he sees a part of the tree, a small branch left behind. He plants it and it grows. At the end of the movie, the tree, which was dead, is alive! The bear has lots of cubs, and they are living under the shelter of many trees, but especially under the resurrected tree. 

I loved it, but I guess the kids just weren't ready for the intensity. Sigh. I felt bad for a minute or two, but I know they both love Jesus. They don't have to love the movie and I would never make them watch something that is uncomfortable for them. I don't want to be pushy. 

But again, I have digressed. 

I came home after dropping them off and fell asleep. I awoke to a horrible text from the hospice nurse. Firefighters got your father back in his chair. He got out of his chair and tripped and fell. Something has to be done, he cannot be there by himself any longer. I read between the lines that she is getting ready to call Adult Protective Services. There was other stuff in the text, too, but I won't write it down here. 

Of course I panicked. Firefighters? I texted my sister, the one who has been working on getting them into some kind of assisted living. 

Have you talked to the nurse? Yes. Is he OK? Yes. What are we going to do? 

We talked for a little while, but my mind was spinning. I had talked to him the night before. He had sounded good to me. 

And he wasn't hurt. He had just ended up on the floor instead of the chair. The "firefighters" were actually lift and assist people that came and helped him get back up, as my step mom does not have that capability. 

But something has to give. I worried my brain about it all day. I am still worrying my brain about it. 

I got a call later that evening from Katie. Mom...in the most unenthusiastic voice I had ever heard her use...I'm going to have to bring the girls a lot earlier...I have to go into work at 4 AM...Ugh. 

Oh my. So I went to bed and I slept. Well. 

It was actually 445 when they arrived and again, Arya was not happy about the TV. However, apparently, she had really been listening to what I had told her about being bored, yesterday. She just said Well I will go in the office and color. I was also headed to the office, in an effort to stay awake, so we went in together. Claire had climbed in my bed and gone back to sleep. 

It wasn't long before she asked me for some scissors and glue. And then if I had a small box. I found one for her. I read a few pages from the Psalms while she colored and cut and glued. Today was Psalm 23. The Valley of the Shadow of Death. I remembered that when Dad was first diagnosed I had done a deep dive into that Psalm and had discovered to my amazement that the word "evil" as in I will fear no evil, actually in the original text meant malignancy. I had shared that with Dad and told him the Lord was with him, and not to fear. 

How appropriate that Psalm was. 

Turning around I saw that Arya was very intent. She had cut out the images she had colored and was gluing them into the inside of the box. 

It was five o'clock in the morning, and my granddaughter, since she couldn't watch TV, was making her own TV. To say I was astounded would be an understatement. 

With a remote. The "remote" had Netflix, Prime, and Disney channels. The channel we were watching inside her "TV" was the Pokemon channel. With recognizable figures. 

Wow. Just wow! 

She finished and we went downstairs and made pancakes, and hash browns, and biscuits. Claire had water, but Arya went for the pickle juice. She is truly a unique child. And shoutout to her great grandmother, who also drinks pickle juice. 

Tomorrow we have a doc appointment for the Mr. We went to the urgent care yesterday and he was diagnosed with strep. 

But I think he has something secondary going on. He is coughing just like me. I think he has also caught what I had. And what I think I may have had was walking pneumonia. My lungs sounded like Snap, Crackle, and Pop for two weeks and I was miserable. I finally recovered and am back to normal, except for this persistent coughing, which won't leave. The Mr. seems to be following in my footsteps, but at least he now has some antibiotics on board. 

Well, just got the call I will be on school duty in the morning, after all. This time, though, I just have to swing by and get them and go straight to school. 

So after that, the Dr. And after that the airport to pick up Sis. And after that we will see Dad. And after that a hotel for sleep and then Dad again, and then we will be back home. I sense that there will be a lot of Marty Robbins in my immediate driving future.