Death Changes Everything

I look back upon other deaths in my life and see them differently. My father didn't want any fuss to be made, no viewing, no ceremony. He just wanted to be cremated, and be done with it.

Gennie and James Deane age 85 and 90

Both my parents had expressed this as their choice for years. Yet, when Dad died, it was immediately obvious that, though we would respect the wish for cremation, we would still go through the nice dressed up appearance, the new tie to go with Dad's favorite suit, the make up for his face to look healthy and happy.

Though, I thought that smile was probably broader than any my father had ever made, it was still better in appearance than what it might have been. There was no fancy, expensive coffin, but a temporary one. I don't recall what it was called, they had a special name for it. Sturdy, yet disposable, something that would burn with him, for little expense. Perhaps some sort of cardboard?

We went against Dad's wishes for the sake of our Mom's comfort. Her grief was so intense, we did this to help give her some closure, to help her face the fact that his physical presence would not continue to be with her, to help her make that transition into widowhood as best as possible. It gave her the chance to be dressed up for him, for her to say goodbye. After all, he died when she was asleep. When we woke her, she tried to revive him. Perhaps she thought she might have prevented his death if she had not been sleeping. We like to think that going through with a ceremony, a priest, a church as she was brought up with, as was familiar to her, would help to bring some sort of comfort to her.

Dream of Mom and Dad

Dream of Mom and Dad
Feel so sad
Grief
Heavy grief

I get a message
from beyond
"see Brother Frank"
"talk to Brother Frank"

He can tell you
what you need to know.
The message is strong
it's fervent, impressing me.

I  don't want to
see Brother Frank.
I want Mom
I want Dad
I dont need preachers

Then the text
messages begin.
Messages from Mom?
Could they be from Dad?

All of them religious
one after another
messages from the dead?
or a hoax?

~~~~~~~~~~~
Photo is of my parents taken in the 1980's at Canyon Country California
They are no longer with us.
This month Mom would have celebrated her 92nd birthday.

Watching Old Video

.

Dad's habit

patting his bald head

Mom rubbing her sore leg

How straight is his profile

from nose to chin...

that "stiff upper lip"

he always said to keep.

How tired she looks

saying goodbye

them walking... holding hands.

A Month in the Lives of Two Extraordinary People

The voice on the other end of the phone is that of a child in distress. "I c-c-c-can't do this. I I I just caaaaaaan't." she cries.

My heart goes out to her. She has been pushing for this for seven months. Begging and cajoling, cantankerous and fighting for her right to do this. And now the time is upon her. Everything has finally been arranged. All the obstacles have been overcome. She is finally getting what so desperately wanted... to go to the nursing home.

"I understand how you feel, Mom." I say in as soothing tones as I can manage. I wish I could be there for her, but live too far away. My sister is close, but has a job that keeps her from being there at Mom's beck and call. So, the best I can do is phone duty.

A part of me deep underneath is a little angry that she is acting like such a baby. But, I know, I truly know, how terrifically overwhelmed she must really be feeling to face that which she has feared all her life, even though this has most recently been her wish. She says she is a burden to Dad.

At 82, she is 85% blind with Macular Degeneration. She is becoming deaf. She has heart disease, high blood pressure and congestive heart failure. She has had three strokes already. Sometimes it seems she's not all there. She has arthritis so bad that just watching her attempt to walk upright with her walker is painful. Tiny little inch-by-inch steps, she can barely lift her feet off the ground, her hips so bad that it looks as though her knees are fused together, her ankles splayed outwards to hold her up. She cannot take care of herself. She has not been able to for a long time. Dad, at 87 has had his hands full trying to count out her pills day by day. His hands that are so arthritic and deformed, he cannot button a shirt or do any fine handwork. How he picks up each pill and puts it in the containers for the week is a mystery to me. He does not complain. He is devoted to her making up for all those lost years when he worked double shifts.

Mom is taking 37 pills per day. Dad has a chart on the wall to remind him which pill is to be taken at what time of day, with or without food. He recently got out of the hospital with pneumonia, a repcurrent complication he has faced these last few years because of his COPD. I'm glad all the arrangements have been made, and Dad will be relieved of his charge. (July 28, 2002) ~~~~~

I get a call from Mom in the nursing home. Dad comes to visit her after driving his golf cart along the busy road the couple miles it is from their home. I think maybe he is late and she's worried.

"All he does is watch the TV! And now, he's asleep on my bed again!" She is indignant sitting in her wheelchair watching him snore. "I don't know why he even bothers to come to visit!" I'm not surprised that Dad has gone to such lengths in the smoggy Los Angeles August heat. "Because he loves you, Mom, and I'm sure his misses you."

This seems to appease her and we talk of other things, how the aide was rude to her, how the food tastes terrible, how noisy the place is and she hates that man who yells all the time, even though she knows he can't help it. She's suspicious that her room mate has disappeared, even though I remind her that the family had arranged a transfer. She says they treat her like she's senile. They wont listen to her. She can't poop, she says. They wont do anything about it.

"This place is a Hell Hole!" she mutters in resignation.

By this, I know she is done complaining and I steer her into a direction of a younger time, where the thoughts are happier, a time when we lived near the lake, a time when life was full for her. I love these parts of our conversations. She always brings forth a new tidbit of information that opens the door to the past. She reminisces, calmer now. (August 20, 2002) ~~~~~

My sister calls me. "Do you know what Mom did?"

"Now what?" I'm thinking she cussed out an aide, or threw something.

"She called 911"

"What?"

"She called 911, and told them she was in terrible pain and needed help!"

"Oh, my God!"

"And you'll never guess what! They came right into the nursing home and took her to the emergency room at the hospital. She really was in pain. She hasn't been able to go to the bathroom for a week. They're going to clean her out and send her back in a day or two."

I am stunned. I can't believe what I am hearing. I'm annoyed at myself that I didn't take her problem more seriously. I'm annoyed the nursing home didn't keep track of things, or take her seriously. On the other hand, I am so proud of Mom. She's sharp as a tack. She's not losing it, after all! What a clever woman to take the initiative to call 911, and get the help she needed. I'm so glad the emergency team took her seriously. That's my Mom, Mrs. Feisty!

I'm laughing now as I picture the ambulance screaming into the parking lot, the emergency team entering the nursing home, asking where is room 134. I can see the shock on the faces of the aides. I can see the administrator swallowing his bile, as he realizes he will be reported to the state for neglect.

My sister laughs, too. "The nursing home administrator called Dad and told him to come in after she is released and take her home." (August 28, 2002) ~~~~~

I can see it now. Mom making sure things get done, running things the way she used to when we were kids. I can see Dad working double shifts helping to fix the electric problems to keep the lights bright in order to provide for her. In his spare time he sings with the choir. I can see her telling the angels what to do while he's away, maybe taking her to the thrift shop to buy some more knick-knacks to clutter up the place. I can see Dad coming home to their cloud and the two of them quietly, or probably not so quietly, spending the evening together while they discuss whether or not they will be watching Jeopardy or Star Trek on their heavenly TV. But, every night Dad will sing to her, "Good Night, Sweetheart" and she will be comforted. I can't imagine it any other way, and I know they are happy. (April 6, 2009)

Dad lived until age 90. Mom survived one year without him. But that is another story

What is happiness?

"Happiness. You deserve it. You have earned it. You get to have it and be present in this life, in this place, here and now."

This I found on the blog site of Dot Hearn  called The Writing Vein. In her writing she suggested in focusing on writing about happiness.

I think happiness is a personal thing. You and I might not experience happiness from the same source. So, here is my viewpoint on what happiness is for me.

Happiness is remembering childhood experiences, writing about them and discovering nuances I had not previously recalled.

Happiness is reading old letters from family and friends that were sent to my parents from 1937 to just a few years ago when they both left this world.

Happiness is thinking fondly of my parents in new ways, looking at them from the perceptions of others in ways I wasn't open to. It's like discovering and loving them with a door open into their lives which I never passed through. It's a treasure I never knew existed.

Happiness is seeing my adult children being successful in ways I could never foresee, learning to like them for who they are now. Yes, I would happily include them in my circle of friends if they were strangers, I recently met them and got acquainted.

Happiness is seeing the most incredible thing come true, that I never thought could possibly take place in my lifetime. I have grandchildren, some who are adults and have found their place in the world. Some who are still getting their education and well focused on their goals for their future place in the world.

Happiness is a miracle that never even occurred to me would happen. Not only do I have children and grandchildren, I have great grandchildren. They are all beautiful souls who have come into live to make our hearts break with loving them. They are the future to carry us forward. How long I will live to see where they go? I don't know. It gives me happiness just to know how they grow, how their personalities are developing, and yes, even their grumpiness, when it manifests.

Happiness is embracing the suffering and survival of my past, and welcoming the knowledge and compassion which it has brought me. It turned me unto a path I never would have taken. Happiness is knowing that I actually have strength and courage I didn't think. I can be thankful, in some ways, for the torment I endured.

Happiness is having a day without pain, a day I can walk naturally, a day where I feel emotionally as close to what one might consider "normal".

Happiness is realizing I have a smile on my face just from looking at LOL cheezburger cats, or experiencing something on YouTube I never would have consider worth watching until that moment, thanks to friends and family for sending me the links.

Happiness is going through sixty years of old photographs, having my Grandparents histories, wondering about old timey things about which I haven't a clue.

Happiness is knowing who my ancestors were, learning about their culture, geography and history of where they lived. Knowing where I came from made me feel connected to the past for many generations. It made me feel more than I am, more than one person, alone on this planet, more than just one set of DNA.

Happiness is having a digital camera so I can take as many pictures as I want without having to worry about the cost of having them printed, deleting all the unacceptable ones, and finding that one perfect picture I didn't realize I had managed to catch with my camera. Those are the kinds of pictures I want printed and framed.

Happiness is being aware I've got a smile on my face that was not there before, a smile I have when I'm by myself and not triggered by someone else, a smile that is my very own. Those smiles are so important to me, especially because of a lifetime of not smiling, of living with depression. Smiles are like little dancing sparkles bursting from my heart and warming me inside and out, even if they only last a minute.

Happiness is my 20 year old cat looking eye to eye with me while the universe and we became one during her last moments. Naturally, there was grief and sadness involved, but that experience is etched in my soul forever in a kind of deep "knowing" that truly is indescribable.

I think I would be bored if I was happy all the time. I would have nothing to compare it to, nothing to make me cherish it all the more because it is so rare and precious.

 ~~~
Present in the group photo above are: from left to right starting at the top row; Clint Mountain, David J. Deane, Bill Reuter Sr., James Deane, xxxxxx?, xxxxxx?

Bottom Row, Clint's son or nephew, Suzan Deane,  Bill Reuter Jr., Genevieve Borden Deane, Roger Deane, and last but not least our dog, Tammy

~~~

The picture of the young man on a Youtube page is my adult son, Xavier who works in the video game industry.

~~~
From the old time picture from 1911 My Grandmother's sister, Anna Evans in Thompson car in front of Ned O. Tarbox's store. Cattaraugus County, New York

~~~

The picture of the calico cat is Keli as described above