We forgot the watch. We wanted to hit the button in his honor during our trip.
Today we had the funeral and burial service for the Captain, my beloved Hangdog. (You know how people put stupid nicknames in the obituaries? I had a temptation to put "Hangdog" in his but reason prevailed.)
He had, and now we have, the most obnoxious watch ever made. You push a button on the side and there's a very loud ding and then it announces the time. This could be a useful tool but when you're trapped in a car, a room or a city where he pushes the button every 60 seconds, it can get be bothersome.
It's Good Friday. I am a creature of habit. I should have attended services today with my friends. Instead, I am in a hotel in Mississippi. But, Good Friday services still happened.
I watched four brothers hold each other and share tears and memories. Good Friday. I watched grandsons serve as pallbearers and then toss frisbees and balls in the hotel parking lot. I watched several generations of the Belle's family come to honor her husband. Good Friday.
There's no need for any of these contraptions in heaven but I have this vision of him. He's hitting the button on the annoying watch and yelling, "Honey! Time for me to be home."
Showing posts with label funerals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funerals. Show all posts
Friday, March 21, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
15 Years of Care Giving
My mother had two sets of parents: her biological parents (crazy Grandma and Wild Bill) and an aunt and uncle (Bobbie and Pa) who raised her and her sisters. Grandma and Bobbie were sisters; Wild Bill and Pa were brothers. This happens more often than you think.
While the husband and his two brothers were at the funeral home making arrangements on Saturday, I was flying home from Florida. I was reminiscing about the last few years -- the good, bad and ugly. My parents picked me up at the airport and we talked about care giving. We shared memories about the oldies. We shared memories about my grandparents.
My mother reminded me of something I had forgotten or chose to block out. She was a caregiver to her four parents for 15 years. I say this tongue in cheek, but she always has and always will outdo me. I resigned myself to it years ago.
I miss Hangdog and the Belle with an ache I cannot describe. I'm grieving so I burst into tears over anything and everything. Then I get angry. Mostly, there's an emptiness.
But I cannot fathom doing it for 15 years.
While the husband and his two brothers were at the funeral home making arrangements on Saturday, I was flying home from Florida. I was reminiscing about the last few years -- the good, bad and ugly. My parents picked me up at the airport and we talked about care giving. We shared memories about the oldies. We shared memories about my grandparents.
My mother reminded me of something I had forgotten or chose to block out. She was a caregiver to her four parents for 15 years. I say this tongue in cheek, but she always has and always will outdo me. I resigned myself to it years ago.
I miss Hangdog and the Belle with an ache I cannot describe. I'm grieving so I burst into tears over anything and everything. Then I get angry. Mostly, there's an emptiness.
But I cannot fathom doing it for 15 years.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Maybe We Are
As you know, we schlepped Hangdog from Indiana to Mississippi for the mother-in-law's funeral and burial. Once we reached our destination, lots of people pitched in to help. But, the traveling part (planes, automobiles and wheelchairs) was left to us.
The husband ran like a lackey. Coffee? He's on it. Don't they have any danishes? He's on it. Pop has to go to the bathroom. He's on it. Again and again and again.
At one point, we left him (in the wheelchair) parked at the appropriate gate. Then, the airline changed the gate. We were trying to steal 10 minutes. A Bloody Mary seemed like a good idea.
My wife-in-law (who had already had her flight diverted) found him in the airport and moved him to the appropriate gate. Then, she called the husband to let him know of the gate change.
In the midst of this, Hangdog said to her, "They are so lucky to be so care free." I won't repeat the conversation but I think the gist of it was annihilating him. (Kindly!) I think she told him that the stress is showing on our faces, our bodies and our lives.
So, we bolted back to take care of Pop. As we're sailing through the airport, the husband said to me, "You know how everyone always says we're saints for all that we've done? Maybe we are."
The husband ran like a lackey. Coffee? He's on it. Don't they have any danishes? He's on it. Pop has to go to the bathroom. He's on it. Again and again and again.
At one point, we left him (in the wheelchair) parked at the appropriate gate. Then, the airline changed the gate. We were trying to steal 10 minutes. A Bloody Mary seemed like a good idea.
My wife-in-law (who had already had her flight diverted) found him in the airport and moved him to the appropriate gate. Then, she called the husband to let him know of the gate change.
In the midst of this, Hangdog said to her, "They are so lucky to be so care free." I won't repeat the conversation but I think the gist of it was annihilating him. (Kindly!) I think she told him that the stress is showing on our faces, our bodies and our lives.
So, we bolted back to take care of Pop. As we're sailing through the airport, the husband said to me, "You know how everyone always says we're saints for all that we've done? Maybe we are."
Friday, January 18, 2008
Another Sleepless Night
We're sleeping in fits and starts. I don't really know what that means but it seems to be appropriate.
The husband and I went to visit Hangdog in the Home this morning. Beforehand, we had our coffee, competed on the crossword and did our normal routine. (Repetition gives me comfort.) Then the husband said, "Want to know what I was thinking about at 3:00 a.m.?"
I'll give you a few clues:
Yep, I was awake too and thinking about many of the same things.
The husband and I went to visit Hangdog in the Home this morning. Beforehand, we had our coffee, competed on the crossword and did our normal routine. (Repetition gives me comfort.) Then the husband said, "Want to know what I was thinking about at 3:00 a.m.?"
I'll give you a few clues:
Guilt
Benefits, insurance, etc.
Obituaries
Funeral Plans
Financial things that need to be done
Paperwork and more paperwork
Yep, I was awake too and thinking about many of the same things.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
I Want to Hold Your Hand
It's cold and flu season. According to the experts, the best way to protect yourself is constant hand-washing, get a flu shot and avoid hand-to-hand contact. I'm about as likely to do that as I am to sell a kidney on eBay.
Holding hands gives me comfort. It makes me feel loved and safe.
I've had doctor's appointments that frightened me. My mother or Mickey held my hand. I've had biopsies and minor surgeries. My parents or Big Sal held my hand. When I put my old dog to sleep, Abby held my hand. When Pam's daughter and the baby both headed off for college, we shared some laughs and tears. We held hands and walked down memory lane. I've been to funerals and memorials where I held hands with lots of people. It's comforting and I need it.
Cynthia has let me weep uncontrollably. She reaches for my hand.
Jan used to grab my hand in public. She knew I was horrified so she found this very funny. Today, I would find it an honor. She's held my hand through an awful lot of things in my life.
When the baby was little, we would kneel and say our prayers. I put my hands over his during this ritual. When we say grace in our home, we hold hands. When the husband and I go for a walk, we hold hands. Sometimes I watch my parents meander into a restaurant or some other function. They still hold hands. When I go to church with my parents, I hold their hands.
If I'm sharing a memory or a laugh with you, I will probably hold your hand. In some ways, it's complete intimacy. It's raw, honest and vulnerable. It says, "I trust you. I need you. Let's help each other."
Lots of other people have held my hand or let me reach for theirs. I remember. I'm going to get my flu shot tomorrow. But I won't stop holding hands.
Holding hands gives me comfort. It makes me feel loved and safe.
I've had doctor's appointments that frightened me. My mother or Mickey held my hand. I've had biopsies and minor surgeries. My parents or Big Sal held my hand. When I put my old dog to sleep, Abby held my hand. When Pam's daughter and the baby both headed off for college, we shared some laughs and tears. We held hands and walked down memory lane. I've been to funerals and memorials where I held hands with lots of people. It's comforting and I need it.
Cynthia has let me weep uncontrollably. She reaches for my hand.
Jan used to grab my hand in public. She knew I was horrified so she found this very funny. Today, I would find it an honor. She's held my hand through an awful lot of things in my life.
When the baby was little, we would kneel and say our prayers. I put my hands over his during this ritual. When we say grace in our home, we hold hands. When the husband and I go for a walk, we hold hands. Sometimes I watch my parents meander into a restaurant or some other function. They still hold hands. When I go to church with my parents, I hold their hands.
If I'm sharing a memory or a laugh with you, I will probably hold your hand. In some ways, it's complete intimacy. It's raw, honest and vulnerable. It says, "I trust you. I need you. Let's help each other."
Lots of other people have held my hand or let me reach for theirs. I remember. I'm going to get my flu shot tomorrow. But I won't stop holding hands.
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