When I was a little girl, I rode on the tractor with my father up the road to the next farm where we had pigs. Dad was feeding the pigs and I wandered out in the lot with all of these pigs. I thought I was just walking on solid ground, but it fooled me. I soon was up to my little knees in pig doo-doo. Crying ... and upset, my father had to come rescue me. I don't know how old I was, but I am thinking 3 or 4.
I have felt stuck in something lately. It is this uncomfortable feeling of not being myself. The out of sync feeling that one feels when life just isn't going their way. I wish I had that husband, that dad, that knight in shining armor to come rescue me and tell me everything is going to be O.K.
I found a card yesterday that I bought for myself. It says, "Put on your big girl panties and DEAL with IT!" This is going to be prominently displayed in my home. Maybe on my bathroom mirror where I will see it every morning. Now I think I need a pair of RED PANTIES to make me feel confident and strong! Maybe, if I look the part, I can get myself unstuck.
This week, I am now in the reflection mode. After last weeks debacle of life problems that included car issues, working way too many hours, and concern for my dad's health; I totally lost it on Friday evening with people I care and love. Now, embarrassed and sheepish in how I allowed these moments to happen...I have labeled it my 'IMPERFECT STORM'. I found myself swirling in a downward pattern. I wish now, I would have reached out to one of the many wonderful friends I have who have offered me to "call whenever you need me, whenever, day or night". But, I didn't. Instead, I sunk lower than you want to find yourself, throwing barbs and words at someone near and dear. That someone wasn't the real problem. The real problem I am realizing was the failed recognition of WHEN I need to reach out for help.
I do believe we learn some of life's toughest lessons in the hardest fashion. I have learned many life lessons this way. I sometimes have made the same mistake more than once. BIG MISTAKES. All of which I am not proud of. But, because of these mistakes throughout my life, I have become who I am. And, I do love myself - that is on most days and in most moments. But, not on Friday evening. There is no way to take back or put back the words that were said. I pray for healing over time for both myself and anyone I have hurt intentionally and or unintentionally.
This candid camera approach I use to share on this keyboard some rather intimate thoughts seems on most days to help me live on. I don't know how other women in my predicament have done that - Living on. It seems so difficult for me, whom I consider to be a strong independent person on most days. I have so much support, love, and family who earnestly care for me. I don't know how I will ever begin to repay all of them. All of you! For now, I know what I need to do. Hitch up those panties and keep on walking. Thats what Bruce would have done. (but he would be hitching up his jeans that constantly rode down over his no-ass!) He never wallowed in his sorrows. He accepted his fate, his life, our life. Held his head up high and continued on, day in and day out until the very end. Today, that is what I am doing. deb
If my kids are reading this. My heart explodes with love, admiration and pride in how you have handled yourselves over the past 7 months. I am so glad you take after your dad in so many mature aspects of your lives! I love you each and every one to pieces and beyond. Mom
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
The Honey Moon is over
Even Grief has a honeymoon. And I believe mine is over. Honey is the endearment we called one another and the MOON is something that I just need to see once in a while. It is what grounds me, what makes me feel part of "something". It is my daily dose of vitamins in a sense. Last night, I went and sat on a picnic table contemplating, digesting, ruminating and followed the moon through the trees. The quarter moon, clear, strong and bright. I found myself having to move on the bench to keep the moon in view between the trees. I realized the earth was moving and the moon was not rising. I wanted to moon to rise. I wanted to sit still and keep my eyes fixed on it without moving. That didn't happen.
I haven't written lately. My computer is down and in for repair. I have felt disconnected. I know now how important this writing is for me. Picking up a pen and paper seems too difficult right now. The word difficult seems to be part of my daily mantra right now. I think that is why I feel the honeymoon is over. My work in recreating the new me has begun. I still am not happy about all of this, my life in general and would love to have a temper tantrum about all of it. So, I instead displace my frustrations in other ways. Sometimes it isn't fun being around me.I don't even like me at times!
I have had compounded car problems along with computer malfunctions. Yes, you know, when something breaks down usually two more things break down. Dealing with a flat tire at 6:15am isn't my favorite thing to do. It wouldn't have been Bruce's either. I took our old car in for repairs. I want it in sell-able condition. I plan to put a FOR SALE sign in the window and see if I can do this myself. So, while that car was in the shop, my car has a flat tire. "It's ruined...you will need a new tire!" wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear.
I decided to clean out my office. I am a collector of books. I dislike parting with them, but decided I must. After work one evening, I filled two grocery bags with some of my favorite books. It just doesn't seem that important to be saving them at this point in my life. Some of these books were gifts to Bruce for Christmas from relatives. How sad that he never read them. The intention was so good. Parting is such sweet sorrow, right?
I find that I cry less tears now! Why, I am not sure. I still get choked up and sad, especially when I hear a song that Bruce might have sung, or think of something that elicits a memory, good or bad. Yes, there are bad memories along with the good.
Who promised me a Rose Garden? no one ... I got a Rose Bush from a friend in Atlanta. I am hoping to keep it alive and plant it up by Bruce's grave as soon as his stone gets set. That should be soon. It will be good to see this stone set. Maybe then, I will go spend more time there. I want to put somehthing on the back of our headstone. A saying that makes one ponder about the type of person Bruce was. I have asked Abby to help me. Maybe it should be a saying about both of us. Since one day, I too will rest there.
I am listening to some public radio again in the car. This is a good sign. I can concentrate on what the program is about and find myself even thinking about the topic. My reading has been mostly about Death, Grieving, Getting on, What is Heaven like,Near Death Experiences, etc. Even though I started reading these books soon after Bruce died, I wasn't retaining any of them. Lately, their words have meaning. I have been working on crossword puzzles. I am not very good at them, but seem to be getting better. My mom is a pro, so is my sister! I believe these mind teasers help keep one's mind sharp. I am reading THE KITE RUNNER...and am almost finished. Lance had told me it was good and that I should read it. It is good. I find myself absorbed in this story. Signs of progress don't you think?
I think I can now clean out his bathroom drawers. I am preparing myself for this job. I cleaned out my bathroom drawers and medicine cabinet. I threw away a lot of old things. I threw away his old BRUT cologne. He didn't like wearing cologne. I wanted him to, but he didn't like to. I almost put it back on the shelf, but it is gone now. I am considering repainting this bathroom, HIS bathroom. I am back again thinking about making this change in color, moving on. We got some really cool contemporary art in New Orleans before Hurricane Katrina swept it away. They hang on the wall in this bathroom. They are full of color...jazz players. They remind me of Bruce and I. Colorful, irregular lines, interesting, full of life. I won't part with these.
My brother who is a widower of 10 years, (His 45 year old wife died 10 years ago) told me that after about 4-5 months people will expect you to be moving on. To not talk about your dead spouse all of the time. They will be moving on with their life. And, they will expect the same of you. I see that happening to me. While watching our local RF DAYS Parade last weekend with friends; an acquaintance of Bruce's who was at the funeral was complimenting the young man who played the trombone at Bruce's funeral. He perhaps didn't see me standing there, but he said to Kenyon; "I was at a funeral a few months ago and heard you play! It was the most beautiful Amazing Grace I have ever heard!". Right away, Kenyon's father interrupted this man and pointed to me and said, "yes, that was Deb's husband Bruce's funeral" trying to assuage the moment between uncomfortable and reality.
Bruce always said that I never noticed him, when we might meet one another coming and going on the street. He was right. I am oblivious to what goes on around me at times. I am in my own world half of the time. I am wondering now, how many people saw me downtown at the parade, noticed my singleness and thought or said to their friend ..there is Deb, her husband passed away, how sad!..and I never knew it. I am sure it was happening. I know, I myself...would have said something like that to Bruce about someone we might have known. I do know one person asked me how I was doing? People still care. Their comfort zone is just on an uncomfortable setting I think.
Getting on to another life is hard work. Yes, it is my life, my decisions and I know that maybe tomorrow it might even feel exciting. Today...it seems out of sync. Deb
I haven't written lately. My computer is down and in for repair. I have felt disconnected. I know now how important this writing is for me. Picking up a pen and paper seems too difficult right now. The word difficult seems to be part of my daily mantra right now. I think that is why I feel the honeymoon is over. My work in recreating the new me has begun. I still am not happy about all of this, my life in general and would love to have a temper tantrum about all of it. So, I instead displace my frustrations in other ways. Sometimes it isn't fun being around me.I don't even like me at times!
I have had compounded car problems along with computer malfunctions. Yes, you know, when something breaks down usually two more things break down. Dealing with a flat tire at 6:15am isn't my favorite thing to do. It wouldn't have been Bruce's either. I took our old car in for repairs. I want it in sell-able condition. I plan to put a FOR SALE sign in the window and see if I can do this myself. So, while that car was in the shop, my car has a flat tire. "It's ruined...you will need a new tire!" wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear.
I decided to clean out my office. I am a collector of books. I dislike parting with them, but decided I must. After work one evening, I filled two grocery bags with some of my favorite books. It just doesn't seem that important to be saving them at this point in my life. Some of these books were gifts to Bruce for Christmas from relatives. How sad that he never read them. The intention was so good. Parting is such sweet sorrow, right?
I find that I cry less tears now! Why, I am not sure. I still get choked up and sad, especially when I hear a song that Bruce might have sung, or think of something that elicits a memory, good or bad. Yes, there are bad memories along with the good.
Who promised me a Rose Garden? no one ... I got a Rose Bush from a friend in Atlanta. I am hoping to keep it alive and plant it up by Bruce's grave as soon as his stone gets set. That should be soon. It will be good to see this stone set. Maybe then, I will go spend more time there. I want to put somehthing on the back of our headstone. A saying that makes one ponder about the type of person Bruce was. I have asked Abby to help me. Maybe it should be a saying about both of us. Since one day, I too will rest there.
I am listening to some public radio again in the car. This is a good sign. I can concentrate on what the program is about and find myself even thinking about the topic. My reading has been mostly about Death, Grieving, Getting on, What is Heaven like,Near Death Experiences, etc. Even though I started reading these books soon after Bruce died, I wasn't retaining any of them. Lately, their words have meaning. I have been working on crossword puzzles. I am not very good at them, but seem to be getting better. My mom is a pro, so is my sister! I believe these mind teasers help keep one's mind sharp. I am reading THE KITE RUNNER...and am almost finished. Lance had told me it was good and that I should read it. It is good. I find myself absorbed in this story. Signs of progress don't you think?
I think I can now clean out his bathroom drawers. I am preparing myself for this job. I cleaned out my bathroom drawers and medicine cabinet. I threw away a lot of old things. I threw away his old BRUT cologne. He didn't like wearing cologne. I wanted him to, but he didn't like to. I almost put it back on the shelf, but it is gone now. I am considering repainting this bathroom, HIS bathroom. I am back again thinking about making this change in color, moving on. We got some really cool contemporary art in New Orleans before Hurricane Katrina swept it away. They hang on the wall in this bathroom. They are full of color...jazz players. They remind me of Bruce and I. Colorful, irregular lines, interesting, full of life. I won't part with these.
My brother who is a widower of 10 years, (His 45 year old wife died 10 years ago) told me that after about 4-5 months people will expect you to be moving on. To not talk about your dead spouse all of the time. They will be moving on with their life. And, they will expect the same of you. I see that happening to me. While watching our local RF DAYS Parade last weekend with friends; an acquaintance of Bruce's who was at the funeral was complimenting the young man who played the trombone at Bruce's funeral. He perhaps didn't see me standing there, but he said to Kenyon; "I was at a funeral a few months ago and heard you play! It was the most beautiful Amazing Grace I have ever heard!". Right away, Kenyon's father interrupted this man and pointed to me and said, "yes, that was Deb's husband Bruce's funeral" trying to assuage the moment between uncomfortable and reality.
Bruce always said that I never noticed him, when we might meet one another coming and going on the street. He was right. I am oblivious to what goes on around me at times. I am in my own world half of the time. I am wondering now, how many people saw me downtown at the parade, noticed my singleness and thought or said to their friend ..there is Deb, her husband passed away, how sad!..and I never knew it. I am sure it was happening. I know, I myself...would have said something like that to Bruce about someone we might have known. I do know one person asked me how I was doing? People still care. Their comfort zone is just on an uncomfortable setting I think.
Getting on to another life is hard work. Yes, it is my life, my decisions and I know that maybe tomorrow it might even feel exciting. Today...it seems out of sync. Deb
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Technology and stuff
My computer is broken! I hate the inconvenience it has caused. I am having to use Abby's laptop which is like a whole different feeling under my fingertips. But, while she is on a walk, I will spill out whats inside.
As much as I love my computer, the internet, and the fast easy convenience of how it enhances my life, I wonder and worry that all of this techno crap not good.or not good in large dose. Moderation I believe is the key.
I went berry picking this week. It was something I haven't done much of. But, I loved it. It was the perfect day, a nice breeze, a warm hot sun streaming down, and lots of blueberries. I went by myself. I felt comfortable outside, out in the country by myself. There were others there. Toward the end of my two hour stint, a clump of humans convened in the same general area. We were listening to one another's conversations. There were two families with their children out picking berries. Including the fathers. The males were off by themselves, down by me to begin with. They were talking male talk, business, making money, success talk. Soon their young children were by them. I couldn't help thinking how this was such a good family thing to do. I know that Bruce probably wouldn't have gone berry picking with me. I would have taken the kids by myself. I wondered how these women got their men to go with them? I know that all males aren't alike. Bruce was different. He didn't like the hot outside all that much unless he had a golf club in his hand. But,maybe the years have passed by and I am not giving him due credit. Lives evolve and maybe as a young dad he would have been there too, esp. with another male friend to keep him company and a promise of a cold beer and good food later on.
The conversations were about traveling and vacationing. Roadtrips with kids. A gal shared how they had just returned from CO. and the trip was only bearable because they had two laptops, their game boys and movies in their car to keep their kids occupied. I couldn't help myself. Remembering my own childhood, our own family vacations. How did we ever survive? I made some comment about.."if you didn't have technology in the car, just how would you have survived?, how did we ever make it?"
Parenting has changed. Are the expectations less? Is it easier with technology? The poor mother of course felt a bit sheepish and of course I didn't want to make her feel too guilty. But, I did want to make her think. If we don't have expectations for our children other than pushing some colorful electronic something in front of their face. Then, how do we expect them to want to take care of our planet? To care about nature? To care about other human beings?
I know, I go a bit deep, a bit off the wall and maybe this doesn't make sense, but I survived. Our kids survived, without gadgets in the car. Did we have family feuds? Yes! Did we blow up and get mad? Yes! Did the kids fight? Yes!, But...we made up, we forgave and we didn't substitute our feelings. We played car games, we sang to the radio, we created some form of group entertainment for a least a portion of these long road trips. Yes, this is much the same as my father saying, "I used to walk 2 miles to school!"
I bugged Bruce for a few years to get a cell phone. I wanted to be able to get in touch with him. Bruce did not want a cell phone. He resisted, until I cancelled our home long distance. He then decided he had to get one so that he could make a call if he wanted to. When he got one, he went all out and got a palm device. He didn't need that type of phone, but that was Bruce. He spent a least 72 hours being totally frustrated with this damn electronic device. He made a trip up to Maplewood to have them help him program it. All I had wanted for him, was a simple cell phone. I wanted to be able to call him on occassion and get a hold of him. Or leave him a message while he was away on one of his golf outings. He never did use it very well. He would have it in his suitcase instead of on his person when he would arrive back at the airport. He had it for one year. Now Lance is using his phone.
I am glad that Bruce did resist this need to stay in touch. He was himself. He was old fashioned in many ways. It made him unique. Now he doesn't need it anyway. Communication is whats important. Yes, techonology is grand. I am using it at this moment. It is drawing me closer to many wonderful people in this strange format.
He and I communicated for the most part. We talked about most stuff that we needed to talk about. We understood what needed to be said and not said. Yes, we made mistakes. We are human. I know that Bruce had some regrets in the end and so did I. But, he wasn't about looking back. It was as it was. We simply loved one another. And that is how I am ending this posting. The feelings I have for Bruce are still love. No one can take that away from me. I still love him. I love the memories I have of him. His love for me has gone with him. I believe technology will never be able to replace the memory storage our human souls have. That forever ability to remember and recognize another human being we once loved here on earth is out there somewhere. Waiting to connect once again. dialing.....redialing...into eternity. Deb
As much as I love my computer, the internet, and the fast easy convenience of how it enhances my life, I wonder and worry that all of this techno crap not good.or not good in large dose. Moderation I believe is the key.
I went berry picking this week. It was something I haven't done much of. But, I loved it. It was the perfect day, a nice breeze, a warm hot sun streaming down, and lots of blueberries. I went by myself. I felt comfortable outside, out in the country by myself. There were others there. Toward the end of my two hour stint, a clump of humans convened in the same general area. We were listening to one another's conversations. There were two families with their children out picking berries. Including the fathers. The males were off by themselves, down by me to begin with. They were talking male talk, business, making money, success talk. Soon their young children were by them. I couldn't help thinking how this was such a good family thing to do. I know that Bruce probably wouldn't have gone berry picking with me. I would have taken the kids by myself. I wondered how these women got their men to go with them? I know that all males aren't alike. Bruce was different. He didn't like the hot outside all that much unless he had a golf club in his hand. But,maybe the years have passed by and I am not giving him due credit. Lives evolve and maybe as a young dad he would have been there too, esp. with another male friend to keep him company and a promise of a cold beer and good food later on.
The conversations were about traveling and vacationing. Roadtrips with kids. A gal shared how they had just returned from CO. and the trip was only bearable because they had two laptops, their game boys and movies in their car to keep their kids occupied. I couldn't help myself. Remembering my own childhood, our own family vacations. How did we ever survive? I made some comment about.."if you didn't have technology in the car, just how would you have survived?, how did we ever make it?"
Parenting has changed. Are the expectations less? Is it easier with technology? The poor mother of course felt a bit sheepish and of course I didn't want to make her feel too guilty. But, I did want to make her think. If we don't have expectations for our children other than pushing some colorful electronic something in front of their face. Then, how do we expect them to want to take care of our planet? To care about nature? To care about other human beings?
I know, I go a bit deep, a bit off the wall and maybe this doesn't make sense, but I survived. Our kids survived, without gadgets in the car. Did we have family feuds? Yes! Did we blow up and get mad? Yes! Did the kids fight? Yes!, But...we made up, we forgave and we didn't substitute our feelings. We played car games, we sang to the radio, we created some form of group entertainment for a least a portion of these long road trips. Yes, this is much the same as my father saying, "I used to walk 2 miles to school!"
I bugged Bruce for a few years to get a cell phone. I wanted to be able to get in touch with him. Bruce did not want a cell phone. He resisted, until I cancelled our home long distance. He then decided he had to get one so that he could make a call if he wanted to. When he got one, he went all out and got a palm device. He didn't need that type of phone, but that was Bruce. He spent a least 72 hours being totally frustrated with this damn electronic device. He made a trip up to Maplewood to have them help him program it. All I had wanted for him, was a simple cell phone. I wanted to be able to call him on occassion and get a hold of him. Or leave him a message while he was away on one of his golf outings. He never did use it very well. He would have it in his suitcase instead of on his person when he would arrive back at the airport. He had it for one year. Now Lance is using his phone.
I am glad that Bruce did resist this need to stay in touch. He was himself. He was old fashioned in many ways. It made him unique. Now he doesn't need it anyway. Communication is whats important. Yes, techonology is grand. I am using it at this moment. It is drawing me closer to many wonderful people in this strange format.
He and I communicated for the most part. We talked about most stuff that we needed to talk about. We understood what needed to be said and not said. Yes, we made mistakes. We are human. I know that Bruce had some regrets in the end and so did I. But, he wasn't about looking back. It was as it was. We simply loved one another. And that is how I am ending this posting. The feelings I have for Bruce are still love. No one can take that away from me. I still love him. I love the memories I have of him. His love for me has gone with him. I believe technology will never be able to replace the memory storage our human souls have. That forever ability to remember and recognize another human being we once loved here on earth is out there somewhere. Waiting to connect once again. dialing.....redialing...into eternity. Deb
Saturday, July 7, 2007
What I miss most lately
Big Hugs...
My friends and family have been wonderful about giving me hugs. Not just guys but my sisters and female friends. I have felt warmed, wanted and soothed by all of them. But a few stand out. These hugs are a bit different. They are stronger, I feel more enveloped and they last just a little longer than a regular hug.
My boys are just fantastic at giving me hugs. Almost each time they see me, they wrap their arms around and hold me tight. I love it.
I met up with my WCF (west coast friend)back in Iowa last week. We hadn't seen one another since HIGH SCHOOL. As she walked up to my parent's home, I opened the door and we embraced. A long, heartfelt warm hug. It felt great!
I also saw an old friend of mine, when I was back home. I used to babysit for his children many years ago. He is a big guy, a farmer who still wears his suspenders! We hadn't seen one another since the week Bruce had died. He and his wife traveled up to see me on a very cold day to let me know just how important I was to them. These people are the best. Their entire family rallied behind me throughout my ordeal. (Their three children whom I cared for, continue to pop in and out of my emails. My practice children!) It was such a gift to see them again last weekend. When we saw one another at a local pub last week, his eyes sparkled, he stood up from his meal and wrapped me in his big arms. I felt like I had died and gone to heaven.
Touch is just so important. I think of Tom Hanks in his roll in the movie Cast-Away All alone on that island with his soccer ball. How he craves humans. I crave hugs. I am giving them out free whenever I meet and see someone. And I do have two new babies in my life that I can wrap in my own arms. But,I am now conscious of my hug giving. I don't want to turn-off anyone. I am NOT that desperate. Yet, I miss that from Bruce. His physical presence. The house echoes in his absence.
At a birthday bash party, I got a hug from a friend. He too, wrapped me in his arms, an held onto me. His wife has been through some cancer treatments. I wonder if he worries about her mortality in that strong hug. It felt good. It is like a really warm blanket right out of the drier that you wrap around yourself.
I did that for Bruce in the last weeks of his life. On the bitterly cold January days, I warmed up the fleece blanket I had made for him. I would pull it out of the dryer and tuck him in. Maybe tonight, I will have to put that blanket in the dryer and curl up in front of the television. Even though it is to get to 95 degrees today, I guess, I need a hug. Love, deb
My friends and family have been wonderful about giving me hugs. Not just guys but my sisters and female friends. I have felt warmed, wanted and soothed by all of them. But a few stand out. These hugs are a bit different. They are stronger, I feel more enveloped and they last just a little longer than a regular hug.
My boys are just fantastic at giving me hugs. Almost each time they see me, they wrap their arms around and hold me tight. I love it.
I met up with my WCF (west coast friend)back in Iowa last week. We hadn't seen one another since HIGH SCHOOL. As she walked up to my parent's home, I opened the door and we embraced. A long, heartfelt warm hug. It felt great!
I also saw an old friend of mine, when I was back home. I used to babysit for his children many years ago. He is a big guy, a farmer who still wears his suspenders! We hadn't seen one another since the week Bruce had died. He and his wife traveled up to see me on a very cold day to let me know just how important I was to them. These people are the best. Their entire family rallied behind me throughout my ordeal. (Their three children whom I cared for, continue to pop in and out of my emails. My practice children!) It was such a gift to see them again last weekend. When we saw one another at a local pub last week, his eyes sparkled, he stood up from his meal and wrapped me in his big arms. I felt like I had died and gone to heaven.
Touch is just so important. I think of Tom Hanks in his roll in the movie Cast-Away All alone on that island with his soccer ball. How he craves humans. I crave hugs. I am giving them out free whenever I meet and see someone. And I do have two new babies in my life that I can wrap in my own arms. But,I am now conscious of my hug giving. I don't want to turn-off anyone. I am NOT that desperate. Yet, I miss that from Bruce. His physical presence. The house echoes in his absence.
At a birthday bash party, I got a hug from a friend. He too, wrapped me in his arms, an held onto me. His wife has been through some cancer treatments. I wonder if he worries about her mortality in that strong hug. It felt good. It is like a really warm blanket right out of the drier that you wrap around yourself.
I did that for Bruce in the last weeks of his life. On the bitterly cold January days, I warmed up the fleece blanket I had made for him. I would pull it out of the dryer and tuck him in. Maybe tonight, I will have to put that blanket in the dryer and curl up in front of the television. Even though it is to get to 95 degrees today, I guess, I need a hug. Love, deb
Coming and Going Home
Over the pre-Holiday weekend, I traveled HOME..to my first home...to Iowa and spent time with my mom and dad. It has been a rollercoaster week of emotions and feelings. Being away from my computer has created a bit of angst. I am 'itching' to write...so here goes.
What a blessing it has been for me and my brothers and sisters to have our parents healthy and alive all of these years. We are considered a fairly close family. We have our differences. From politics to food choices, we are a mixed bag of nuts. But, many positive things come to mind of why we are who we are, and do what we do. It is our roots.
We were raised on a farm, where WORK did start early in the morning and none of us were excempt! ( if you ask the boys...they may say they worked harder than the girls, and if you ask an older sibling, they may say they had it harder)...but all in all, we have survived. We respect, support and LOVE one another. Not only were we taught to WORK HARD, but we also were given time to PLAY together. Not just the kids, we all played together. From sack races in the front yard, making play houses in the weeds, taking a picnic down to the creek and drinking fresh cold water out of the tile, to going minature golfing...and boating! yes, we had a boat when I grew up. It was a very common theme on a nice hot summer day that dad would decide by one o'clock pm that he had done enough work that day and could take off for the RIVER! Mom would fix a picnic lunch for us to eat...creative cooking in a jiffy...and away we would all go! It was this spontaneous yet, hardworking lifestyle that created five independent strong-willed adults.
My parents are both 82 years old now. Time has been good to them. They live alone in an EARTH HOME, that they built 28 years ago. They have a huge lawn to mow, both have riding lawn mowers and their place looks like a park! It is beautiful. It is where I used to tromp through on summer days to get to the creek to cool off. Dad's heart hasn't been good for the last ten years. This spring, he noticed a definite difference in how he felt. Doctoring weekly with different specialists, he still isn't feeling up to par. He doesn't like it and neither do we. He is a goer and doer. Even at his age, he just doesn't like to sit! He wants to keep on keeping on. He is frustrated that he feels so weak and out of breath. It is very hard especially as a nurse to see him like this and not be able to offer him anything but support. And, that is rejected by him especially if he is being treated like an invalid. (ie; assistance walking, etc)
So, when he wanted to go "burn trash" in the big hole he had dug down in the back of a field and mom suggested I go with him. I did jump at the chance. It felt like 45 years ago. I was 9 then...and many times, we would HAVE to go help him do something. It might be hold open a gate and watch so the cattle or pigs didn't get out. It might have been to go hook up a wagon, just something that made his work a little bit easier. So, away we went, he driving and me being the little girl helping her dad once more. We loaded up the trash, grabbed some newspapers and away he slowly drove. Back behind their home, through the oak trees, into the pasture and back by the creek. He talked the entire way, pride beaming with every word. This is his life, his home and his world. He showed me the volunteer apple trees, we drove back by the corn to see how big it was. He showed me where he mowed the paths to get back to the 'dump' area and we talked about the land. What is was worth, was it wasn't worth. My folks have sold off some of this non-tillable land to eager homebuyers who have built lovely homes. I am a bit envious. This land where I grew up, that I don't have really any future connection to. My homeland...is now someone elses. We then stopped up to the garage and picked up the gas weedwacker. He wanted me to help him trim around the big machine shed. I was more than glad to help him do this. When I got done doing the weedwacking, with trembling muscles in my arms and hands (yes, I am out of shape!) he then took me inside the machine shed, showing off his possessions. His world. He pointed out each tractor, his very old road grader that he purchased last year. (yes, he made a service road..I got to drive that one too) and then all the way in the back, the brand new combine that my brother has just purchased. We climbed into this combine and sat. He explained all that he knew about it.
These precious moments spent with him are cemented in my memory. All of our days are numbered. Perhaps something will happen to me, before it happens to him. But, these moments are priceless. This time spent with him. He is the patriarch and he will always be in that role, no matter how weak he gets.
Mom and I spent our time in the kitchen. She is the one who taught me to cook. She has this relaxed approach to everything she does. I love her for that. I have picked up that same approach. We made 3 gallons of homemade potato salad for a 4th of July Birthday Bash we attended for my brother-in-law! Mom is known for her delicious potato salad. Her dump, mix and taste method works. No recipe sits on her counter for this salad. It was delicious, I must admit.
I was given a book called "Companion Through the Darkness" by Stephanie Erickson. She too is a widow, her inner dialogues on grief as she calls them are honest, open, raw and touching. Her widow experience is different from mine. She is pregnant with her first child when her husband dies. But, many of her feelings are my feelings. Some of what I am reading is too much for me. It hurts, I am not ready to move where she has moved to. But, I understand, that someday I will be there too. She writes about her home, their home that she is leaving. She looks around and remembers all of the memories it contains. ...we are still here, in the air, in the walls. ...our lives together are soaked into the thirsty sheetrock like permanent paint. They can be covered maybe, but never removed. So it is, with my two homes. My life as a child, my life as an adult with my own family remains intact. I am still there and I am still here.
One year for our anniversary, Bruce bought me this piece of art/work in a frame, It is a home that is etched into a piece of homemade paper all done in white. It hangs in our foyer hallway. It says, Home is where your heart is I am so glad he bought that for me. Enjoy, Deb
What a blessing it has been for me and my brothers and sisters to have our parents healthy and alive all of these years. We are considered a fairly close family. We have our differences. From politics to food choices, we are a mixed bag of nuts. But, many positive things come to mind of why we are who we are, and do what we do. It is our roots.
We were raised on a farm, where WORK did start early in the morning and none of us were excempt! ( if you ask the boys...they may say they worked harder than the girls, and if you ask an older sibling, they may say they had it harder)...but all in all, we have survived. We respect, support and LOVE one another. Not only were we taught to WORK HARD, but we also were given time to PLAY together. Not just the kids, we all played together. From sack races in the front yard, making play houses in the weeds, taking a picnic down to the creek and drinking fresh cold water out of the tile, to going minature golfing...and boating! yes, we had a boat when I grew up. It was a very common theme on a nice hot summer day that dad would decide by one o'clock pm that he had done enough work that day and could take off for the RIVER! Mom would fix a picnic lunch for us to eat...creative cooking in a jiffy...and away we would all go! It was this spontaneous yet, hardworking lifestyle that created five independent strong-willed adults.
My parents are both 82 years old now. Time has been good to them. They live alone in an EARTH HOME, that they built 28 years ago. They have a huge lawn to mow, both have riding lawn mowers and their place looks like a park! It is beautiful. It is where I used to tromp through on summer days to get to the creek to cool off. Dad's heart hasn't been good for the last ten years. This spring, he noticed a definite difference in how he felt. Doctoring weekly with different specialists, he still isn't feeling up to par. He doesn't like it and neither do we. He is a goer and doer. Even at his age, he just doesn't like to sit! He wants to keep on keeping on. He is frustrated that he feels so weak and out of breath. It is very hard especially as a nurse to see him like this and not be able to offer him anything but support. And, that is rejected by him especially if he is being treated like an invalid. (ie; assistance walking, etc)
So, when he wanted to go "burn trash" in the big hole he had dug down in the back of a field and mom suggested I go with him. I did jump at the chance. It felt like 45 years ago. I was 9 then...and many times, we would HAVE to go help him do something. It might be hold open a gate and watch so the cattle or pigs didn't get out. It might have been to go hook up a wagon, just something that made his work a little bit easier. So, away we went, he driving and me being the little girl helping her dad once more. We loaded up the trash, grabbed some newspapers and away he slowly drove. Back behind their home, through the oak trees, into the pasture and back by the creek. He talked the entire way, pride beaming with every word. This is his life, his home and his world. He showed me the volunteer apple trees, we drove back by the corn to see how big it was. He showed me where he mowed the paths to get back to the 'dump' area and we talked about the land. What is was worth, was it wasn't worth. My folks have sold off some of this non-tillable land to eager homebuyers who have built lovely homes. I am a bit envious. This land where I grew up, that I don't have really any future connection to. My homeland...is now someone elses. We then stopped up to the garage and picked up the gas weedwacker. He wanted me to help him trim around the big machine shed. I was more than glad to help him do this. When I got done doing the weedwacking, with trembling muscles in my arms and hands (yes, I am out of shape!) he then took me inside the machine shed, showing off his possessions. His world. He pointed out each tractor, his very old road grader that he purchased last year. (yes, he made a service road..I got to drive that one too) and then all the way in the back, the brand new combine that my brother has just purchased. We climbed into this combine and sat. He explained all that he knew about it.
These precious moments spent with him are cemented in my memory. All of our days are numbered. Perhaps something will happen to me, before it happens to him. But, these moments are priceless. This time spent with him. He is the patriarch and he will always be in that role, no matter how weak he gets.
Mom and I spent our time in the kitchen. She is the one who taught me to cook. She has this relaxed approach to everything she does. I love her for that. I have picked up that same approach. We made 3 gallons of homemade potato salad for a 4th of July Birthday Bash we attended for my brother-in-law! Mom is known for her delicious potato salad. Her dump, mix and taste method works. No recipe sits on her counter for this salad. It was delicious, I must admit.
I was given a book called "Companion Through the Darkness" by Stephanie Erickson. She too is a widow, her inner dialogues on grief as she calls them are honest, open, raw and touching. Her widow experience is different from mine. She is pregnant with her first child when her husband dies. But, many of her feelings are my feelings. Some of what I am reading is too much for me. It hurts, I am not ready to move where she has moved to. But, I understand, that someday I will be there too. She writes about her home, their home that she is leaving. She looks around and remembers all of the memories it contains. ...we are still here, in the air, in the walls. ...our lives together are soaked into the thirsty sheetrock like permanent paint. They can be covered maybe, but never removed. So it is, with my two homes. My life as a child, my life as an adult with my own family remains intact. I am still there and I am still here.
One year for our anniversary, Bruce bought me this piece of art/work in a frame, It is a home that is etched into a piece of homemade paper all done in white. It hangs in our foyer hallway. It says, Home is where your heart is I am so glad he bought that for me. Enjoy, Deb
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