Jonas passed away this morning at 12:32 am with his family around him.
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Thursday, September 04, 2014
Thursday, January 31, 2013
In Mourning
I think it was last year that we got the news my best friend's mother had cancer. She did the treatments and went into remission. Last fall she failed her tests and they found it had spread and back into treatment she went. This time, however, it had gone to her brain. The prognosis wasn't good, but trudging forward she went. Cindy has always been a spunky fighter.
Two weeks ago she decided she had her fill and couldn't take any more treatments. She went into hospice.
It's been a waiting game and we knew it was coming. That doesn't seem to soften the blow any when I got the text this afternoon.
Cindy was a fabulous person. She was direct and you knew exactly what she thought of you. Somehow I had been blessed as a permissible friend for her daughter and she allowed me free entry into her home. She was pissed when she found out that I was facing eviction and offered her cramped home for me and my children. It was an unrealistic offer, but she made it nonetheless.
It may not have been easy to be her daughter, but she was pure heaven as a second mother.
When someone's parent dies we gather around the friend and try to comfort their loss. Unfortunately, I'm not got to be very useful in comforting Booty's loss as I'm grieving right beside her.
Fuck Cancer
Two weeks ago she decided she had her fill and couldn't take any more treatments. She went into hospice.
It's been a waiting game and we knew it was coming. That doesn't seem to soften the blow any when I got the text this afternoon.
Cindy was a fabulous person. She was direct and you knew exactly what she thought of you. Somehow I had been blessed as a permissible friend for her daughter and she allowed me free entry into her home. She was pissed when she found out that I was facing eviction and offered her cramped home for me and my children. It was an unrealistic offer, but she made it nonetheless.
It may not have been easy to be her daughter, but she was pure heaven as a second mother.
When someone's parent dies we gather around the friend and try to comfort their loss. Unfortunately, I'm not got to be very useful in comforting Booty's loss as I'm grieving right beside her.
Fuck Cancer
Friday, November 09, 2012
Friday Fragments - November 9, 2012
I completed my video class and I'm rather pleased with the outcome. I kept in mind that the goal was the learning process, not so much the final product so I didn't have over-the-top expectations. I think that lack of needing perfection made it better. Yes, there are all sorts of flaws, but those mistakes were a necessary part of the learning process. I will post a link to it probably in a few weeks. In the meantime, new video opportunities have popped up. I will definitely be able to apply my newly learned skills right away.
In a perfect world I could launch into those new projects, but other ones have to be completed first. We have a new logo at work and that means the web mistress has to reconfigure the web page accordingly. Some people are under the impression that the change is as simple as "dropping in" the new logo.... uh no. Our web page is old school html coding and while I hold my own doing this, I'm not quick about it. The whole header has to be re-done, requiring me to slap on my graphic designer hat then flip back to web master to make it fit. The part that has been most challenging is screwing with the new color palate. Before I left work today I sent off what I believe will be the final version. Hopefully everyone who needs to have a voice in this will approve it. I'm ready to move onto other activities.
Ready to talk movies? It's been a while since I've posted about my journey through watching all of the oscar nominated films.
First, my confession... I don't like musicals. Of course there are always exceptions like Wizard of Oz, I mean who can resist Somewhere Over the Rainbow???? And I really like the Lollypop Guild. Oh hell, I love all of it. I also can't stop singing through Mama Mia and Muriel's Wedding (waiting for me on DVR to watch tomorrow morning), but neither of these are oscar worthy movies and honestly the stories are rather weak. Anyone who knows me understands my love for those movies has to do with ABBA, not storyline. But other musical movies? Some can be a challenge for me. So for me to find ones that are better than bearable is almost exciting.
Gigi (1958) was downright pleasant. I'm not too wild about the premise - a young Parisian girl coming of age and being taught to attract a man with money. Yet, with Gigi skipping around and singing her heart out, I actually had fun watching it.
Even more fun was The Unsinkable Molly Brown (1964). I wouldn't mind watching that a few more times. Molly was sassy and a real go-getter. She had more than a few lessons to learn, and some the hard way, but she took them head-on and without looking back. And remember, she was a survivor of the Titanic. I'm pretty sure the makers of Titanic saw this movie when they wrote Molly's character. This one is highly recommended!
Cat Ballou (1965) wasn't exactly a musical, as in the characters didn't burst into song and dance, instead there were two guys with guitars strolling through town singing her story. And it was a pretty shitty story with an upbeat tempo. Her father was wronged and died so she wanted to get revenge by holding up a train. It has a good twist at the end, but I don't see how this was nomination worthy (won best actor).
All That Jazz (1979) belongs on the stage, not the screen. It was an artsy piece about theater and this guy's relationship with his wife. The story jumped around and had a spooky ghost-chick as his conscience? I really did not like it at all and it had a dreadful ending.
For non-musical movies I watched Judgment at Nuremberg (1961). It was about the war crimes tribunal of the Nazis, specifically the judges who sentenced people to death. This was more of the caliber of movie one would expect for oscar nominations. It dealt with difficult topics, people's histories, and personal growth. I liked it and think it's worthy of recommending. You may want to remember that I'm a history junkie and usually liked the movies shown in history class.
Now a side-note to my movie watching hobby - I do not like Bette Davis. Her characters are shallow and her voice grates. I've seen four or five of her movies and just do not get her fame. It seems more constructed than anything.
Movies have been a pleasant distraction this week. My ex's father went into hospice last week and then passed away on Monday. It's been a tough time for my family as this gentle man touched all of our lives. He was a fabulous grandfather to my children, ensuring they knew they were loved and adored. My mom was long-time friends with him and I have always felt kinship with him. I may have divorced his son, but I definitely did not divorce the whole family. Yesterday was the funeral and it was a difficult good-bye. I have so much more I could write, a whole eulogy has rambled through my head, but I'm not ready.
Again we are reminded to tell those around us how much we love and appreciate them, to take time to enjoy what life puts in front of us, to make an effort to be pleasant, find ways to see the silver lining, laugh, love, and most of all - trust God's wisdom.
In a perfect world I could launch into those new projects, but other ones have to be completed first. We have a new logo at work and that means the web mistress has to reconfigure the web page accordingly. Some people are under the impression that the change is as simple as "dropping in" the new logo.... uh no. Our web page is old school html coding and while I hold my own doing this, I'm not quick about it. The whole header has to be re-done, requiring me to slap on my graphic designer hat then flip back to web master to make it fit. The part that has been most challenging is screwing with the new color palate. Before I left work today I sent off what I believe will be the final version. Hopefully everyone who needs to have a voice in this will approve it. I'm ready to move onto other activities.
Ready to talk movies? It's been a while since I've posted about my journey through watching all of the oscar nominated films.
First, my confession... I don't like musicals. Of course there are always exceptions like Wizard of Oz, I mean who can resist Somewhere Over the Rainbow???? And I really like the Lollypop Guild. Oh hell, I love all of it. I also can't stop singing through Mama Mia and Muriel's Wedding (waiting for me on DVR to watch tomorrow morning), but neither of these are oscar worthy movies and honestly the stories are rather weak. Anyone who knows me understands my love for those movies has to do with ABBA, not storyline. But other musical movies? Some can be a challenge for me. So for me to find ones that are better than bearable is almost exciting.
Gigi (1958) was downright pleasant. I'm not too wild about the premise - a young Parisian girl coming of age and being taught to attract a man with money. Yet, with Gigi skipping around and singing her heart out, I actually had fun watching it.
Even more fun was The Unsinkable Molly Brown (1964). I wouldn't mind watching that a few more times. Molly was sassy and a real go-getter. She had more than a few lessons to learn, and some the hard way, but she took them head-on and without looking back. And remember, she was a survivor of the Titanic. I'm pretty sure the makers of Titanic saw this movie when they wrote Molly's character. This one is highly recommended!
Cat Ballou (1965) wasn't exactly a musical, as in the characters didn't burst into song and dance, instead there were two guys with guitars strolling through town singing her story. And it was a pretty shitty story with an upbeat tempo. Her father was wronged and died so she wanted to get revenge by holding up a train. It has a good twist at the end, but I don't see how this was nomination worthy (won best actor).
All That Jazz (1979) belongs on the stage, not the screen. It was an artsy piece about theater and this guy's relationship with his wife. The story jumped around and had a spooky ghost-chick as his conscience? I really did not like it at all and it had a dreadful ending.
For non-musical movies I watched Judgment at Nuremberg (1961). It was about the war crimes tribunal of the Nazis, specifically the judges who sentenced people to death. This was more of the caliber of movie one would expect for oscar nominations. It dealt with difficult topics, people's histories, and personal growth. I liked it and think it's worthy of recommending. You may want to remember that I'm a history junkie and usually liked the movies shown in history class.
Now a side-note to my movie watching hobby - I do not like Bette Davis. Her characters are shallow and her voice grates. I've seen four or five of her movies and just do not get her fame. It seems more constructed than anything.
Movies have been a pleasant distraction this week. My ex's father went into hospice last week and then passed away on Monday. It's been a tough time for my family as this gentle man touched all of our lives. He was a fabulous grandfather to my children, ensuring they knew they were loved and adored. My mom was long-time friends with him and I have always felt kinship with him. I may have divorced his son, but I definitely did not divorce the whole family. Yesterday was the funeral and it was a difficult good-bye. I have so much more I could write, a whole eulogy has rambled through my head, but I'm not ready.
Again we are reminded to tell those around us how much we love and appreciate them, to take time to enjoy what life puts in front of us, to make an effort to be pleasant, find ways to see the silver lining, laugh, love, and most of all - trust God's wisdom.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
It's Been A Year
It's been a year since I received the call at work that Grandma fell and was taken to the hospital. They don't tell you over the phone someone died. It's smart to do that so you're not racing down 270 with tears streaming down your face.
Somehow, though, I knew. I picked up my husband and he drove. We sat in silence for nearly an hour to get to the hospital.
And it all made sense. Not all deaths make sense, but some do. Her timing, her passing, all seemed pre-orchestrated by a woman who scheduled and managed every last detail in her life. She didn't sit well with disorganization. A pattern, a path, a place for everything. Always.
My mom had just left town the day before - Grandma would not leave with Mom sitting next to her. And my mom wasn't on one of her regular jaunts across the country with friends. No, this time she was visiting with her cousins, girls that were practically sisters to her, the daughters of Grandma's younger sister. It made sense. So that when I had to make the dreadful call, she was with the women who knew her best and she wouldn't have to keep a stoic facade. She could break down then and there with the best safety net possible.
They escorted her home and shielded her as we went through the motions of planning a funeral. Of course little planning was necessary. My mom is also a master planner and had the funeral home, cemetery, plot, urn, flowers all picked out. Just roll out the folder compiled years earlier and add a few finishing touches.
I love that I got to sift through Grandma's pictures years ago. I've scanned them and most of my favorites are from before my mother's birth. But today, I think I will share the pictures that reside in my memory, the way I remember Grandma - a silver haired stinker.
Somehow, though, I knew. I picked up my husband and he drove. We sat in silence for nearly an hour to get to the hospital.
And it all made sense. Not all deaths make sense, but some do. Her timing, her passing, all seemed pre-orchestrated by a woman who scheduled and managed every last detail in her life. She didn't sit well with disorganization. A pattern, a path, a place for everything. Always.
My mom had just left town the day before - Grandma would not leave with Mom sitting next to her. And my mom wasn't on one of her regular jaunts across the country with friends. No, this time she was visiting with her cousins, girls that were practically sisters to her, the daughters of Grandma's younger sister. It made sense. So that when I had to make the dreadful call, she was with the women who knew her best and she wouldn't have to keep a stoic facade. She could break down then and there with the best safety net possible.
They escorted her home and shielded her as we went through the motions of planning a funeral. Of course little planning was necessary. My mom is also a master planner and had the funeral home, cemetery, plot, urn, flowers all picked out. Just roll out the folder compiled years earlier and add a few finishing touches.
I love that I got to sift through Grandma's pictures years ago. I've scanned them and most of my favorites are from before my mother's birth. But today, I think I will share the pictures that reside in my memory, the way I remember Grandma - a silver haired stinker.
Thursday, March 01, 2012
Sad Over Davy
I think I remember someone saying something about being "old" when your teen icons start to die off. Okay, I'm not quite there yet, but my first crush, Davy Jones died yesterday. Granted I was only a preschooler when I fell for the quirky guy with a British accent, but it doesn't erase the devastation.
That Davy died wasn't enough, but talking to coworkers a generational rift came to the surface. "WHO?"
Well shit.
Once I said "The Monkees" realization dawned upon them and they shared my sadness. Further discussion ensued and it was clear that to a younger crowd "Davy Jones" inspires immediate thoughts of SpongeBob. That defined the line between us and them, the young and the not-so-young.
A Facebook battle came about as one coworker tried to use this to define ethnic or cultural differences since I wasn't nearly as distraught over Whitney passing. Maybe there could be some truth to that, but let's compare apples to apples, okay?
Whitney has only been in my life since I was a young adult. While I loved her voice, I never wanted to kiss her or tried to see how my name would look if we got married and I took her last name. I didn't have a crush on her. I just liked her music. A lot. Davy has been with me since I was a wee tot. I'm sure I kissed the TV set when he was on and he IS the reason I love men with Brittish accents. I have an emotional attachment to the man, and I am truly sad he's gone.
I'm in mourning.
So if you'll excuse me, I'll be busy listening to Daydream Believer, Last Train to Clarksville, and one of my all-time favorite songs, the theme to the Monkees. And I will listen to them over and over bawling my eyes out because Davy is gone, never able to give me that one kiss and a toothy smile in person. Anyone who mentions SpongeBob in my year of mourning will find a square sponge promptly shoved up their ass, damn youngsters.
Farewell Davy, I loved you.
That Davy died wasn't enough, but talking to coworkers a generational rift came to the surface. "WHO?"
Well shit.
Once I said "The Monkees" realization dawned upon them and they shared my sadness. Further discussion ensued and it was clear that to a younger crowd "Davy Jones" inspires immediate thoughts of SpongeBob. That defined the line between us and them, the young and the not-so-young.
A Facebook battle came about as one coworker tried to use this to define ethnic or cultural differences since I wasn't nearly as distraught over Whitney passing. Maybe there could be some truth to that, but let's compare apples to apples, okay?
Whitney has only been in my life since I was a young adult. While I loved her voice, I never wanted to kiss her or tried to see how my name would look if we got married and I took her last name. I didn't have a crush on her. I just liked her music. A lot. Davy has been with me since I was a wee tot. I'm sure I kissed the TV set when he was on and he IS the reason I love men with Brittish accents. I have an emotional attachment to the man, and I am truly sad he's gone.
I'm in mourning.
So if you'll excuse me, I'll be busy listening to Daydream Believer, Last Train to Clarksville, and one of my all-time favorite songs, the theme to the Monkees. And I will listen to them over and over bawling my eyes out because Davy is gone, never able to give me that one kiss and a toothy smile in person. Anyone who mentions SpongeBob in my year of mourning will find a square sponge promptly shoved up their ass, damn youngsters.
Farewell Davy, I loved you.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Sunday In My City - Lincoln Tomb
Springfield Illinois - the hill in the middle of the cemetery was beautiful and serene with a gentle breeze.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Friday Fragments - September 30, 2011
So I took a little hiatus from blogging and now I'm back! I said tomorrow would be my grand return but then my grandmother died and I really needed a place to process.
Yesterday I posted the eulogy I gave. Today, although it's Friday Fragments, I'm going to ramble a little about death. Sorry, not an upbeat subject.
The thing that keeps rolling through my head is that no one really warns us about the process of death. Someone has broken down the stages of grief - denial, anger, remorse and I don't remember the rest or even if there are more. Oh there's one about negotiating with God. When I was breaking up with my first husband I went through all of those stages - nobody warns you about grief factoring into divorce either. But it's the process that we don't discuss, maybe everyone thinks their situation is unique? I suspect there is a lot of commonality between most of our experiences.
Someone has to be there. I wasn't asked to formally "identify the body" but I will assume because I was present and acknowledged grandma and cried at her bedside that I sufficed as an identifier.
My drive to the hospital was abnormally calm. I mean, Jesus, I was just told that my grandmother was found unresponsive and was being rushed to the ER. I should be a shaking, shattered mess, driving like a mad woman. No, I picked up my husband and we quietly drove for-freaking-ever. That should have been my head's up. When I entered the ER and inquired about grandma I was told a nurse would be out to talk to me. That didn't sound right. And when they opened the doors to retrieve said nurse there was a guy lingering in the hallway that looked suspiciously like the hospital chaplain. Somewhere in the back of my head I pondered if he was a chaplain and if he was whether he was waiting for me. I was escorted into a "consultation room" with a Gideon's Bible laying on a side table. A nurse, a doctor and the chaplain accompanied us into the room and from there I heard the details of where she was found, how they tried to treat her and blah, blah, blah, blah.
I know the details have to be shared and that many people find comfort in the facts, but for anyone who has to impart this information, make it quick, get to the point. Just because I didn't collapse and blubber like a fiend doesn't mean you need to keep rambling. Only two thoughts went through my head, no wait, three. 1) Shut the fuck up, 2) crap, crap, crap 3) who do I need to call. And still he kept talking.
It was nice to have clergy there but he needed to read my signals and scoot. Instead he lingered. That's not to say I don't have faith rumbling inside of me, but what he had to offer wasn't what I wanted or needed at that moment.
What I asked multiple times was "what do I need to do?"
Seriously, what are we supposed to do? I know every situation is unique but where is the set of directions of the details that needed to be tended to? Who guides us through this crap? We get wedding planners, are there post-mortem planners? And I'm not talking about funeral directors, although I met him in the following days.
So, here is my to-do list, modify as you see fit:
1. Call the immediate family. Let whoever needs to see the deceased go in and cry, don't stand in the way. Others will avoid that process, don't hold that against them.
2. Leave the hospital (yeah, they made it sound like we could stay there forever, that's not true, get out). Go gather at someone's house. I'm not really sure what we're supposed to do at this gathering. My kids played video games and our evening was uneventful. I would imagine that would be a good time to start a list of everyone else who needs to be contacted.
3. Prepare for a gathering - in this case it was at my mom's house. Clear out the fridge to accommodate party platters. We went grocery shopping for essentials thinking of gatherings over the next few days. Neighbors and church friends will also bring food. Get the house cleaned, ideally pay someone to do it professionally. Put out a call for folding chairs and load up on paper plates, cups, and plastic utensils.
4. Meet with the funeral home. Holy moly, we were there for HOURS and this was with everything prearranged. This is when you will compose the obituary, contact your minister, decide on flowers and if you don't have the luxury of prearrangement pick out a casket or urn. You will faint from sticker shock. The obituary writing, composed by a stranger and grieving family members is always filled with misinformation. A group of friends has half-jokingly suggested that we should write our own obits. After sitting through two of these, I would strongly recommend writing your own. Tuck that in with your prearrangement details (because you really have to go that route, or at least have your final requests spelled out. I cannot imagine figuring all of that out on my own).
5. Gather the family and assemble a team of callers. This cannot be done before your funeral home meeting because you need to know the arrangements with dates and times and location. Prepare for out-of-towners and sending runners to the airport.
6. Meet with the minister. This person will ask all sorts of questions about the deceased so they can compile the eulogy. I've sat through enough funerals to spot the minister who never met or never really interacted with the departed. Their eulogies smack of retelling someone else's story. I can't suggest writing a eulogy because it's a painful process, but I did find it very cathartic. If I were going through the prearrangement deal and writing my own obit, I would consider writing a letter to my loved ones. Hand that puppy over to the minister and let him pluck out pieces or maybe just read that instead of a eulogy depending on how well it's composed.
6a. Notes to the minister - this is not the time to evangelize. Prayers and words of assurance of life in the hereafter are fabulous. There have been two funerals where I nearly walked out because the minister chose that time to recruite new members into their congregations. This is a time for the friends and family of the deceased to gather and express their grief and loss. That means there will be many people from other faiths sitting through your service, please respect that. Nothing like basically telling the Jew sitting next to me that she is bound for hell because she wasn't baptized or doesn't revel in the glory of Christ The Master. I've also seen some very respectful displays of religion - low key and reassuring.
7. Gather pictures, songs and memories. Have plenty of Kleenex on hand (maybe I should have made that step number two). A small group of immediate family sat at my mom's house Friday night reviewing the selection of pictures on the picture boards. We ate pizza and goofed around. Yes, it is okay to laugh.
8. Visitation, funeral, burial... Dress nicely (Please! Just like I asked that clergy keep their evangelizing to themselves, shove your politcial statements about suits and ties somewhere and put on the button-down shirt and LOOK NICE. Comb your damn hair and put on some deodorant!), suck it up, load your purse or pockets with tissue, and just muddle through. There will be lots of introductions to people you will never see ever again, lots of names you'll forget, lots of faces that pass by in a blur. No one expects you to remember them. There will be lots of hand shakes and even more hugs. Suck it up and cope. Bottom line - suck it up.
9. The flowers and plants go with you. Jewelry that doesn't get buried has to go home with you and the picture boards need to go home too. Sic a cousin or someone to retrieve all of this stuff.
10. The day after - DO NOT TRY TO DO THIS ALONE! Find someone to stay with you or stay at their house. The first 24 hours after everyone has left and returned to work are the most mind numbing. A friend happened to have a vacation scheduled the following week when her father passed away. She went ahead and took the trip after the funeral and said it was probably the best thing to help her transition through the loss.
11. Cry. Let it out.
Yesterday I posted the eulogy I gave. Today, although it's Friday Fragments, I'm going to ramble a little about death. Sorry, not an upbeat subject.
The thing that keeps rolling through my head is that no one really warns us about the process of death. Someone has broken down the stages of grief - denial, anger, remorse and I don't remember the rest or even if there are more. Oh there's one about negotiating with God. When I was breaking up with my first husband I went through all of those stages - nobody warns you about grief factoring into divorce either. But it's the process that we don't discuss, maybe everyone thinks their situation is unique? I suspect there is a lot of commonality between most of our experiences.
Someone has to be there. I wasn't asked to formally "identify the body" but I will assume because I was present and acknowledged grandma and cried at her bedside that I sufficed as an identifier.
My drive to the hospital was abnormally calm. I mean, Jesus, I was just told that my grandmother was found unresponsive and was being rushed to the ER. I should be a shaking, shattered mess, driving like a mad woman. No, I picked up my husband and we quietly drove for-freaking-ever. That should have been my head's up. When I entered the ER and inquired about grandma I was told a nurse would be out to talk to me. That didn't sound right. And when they opened the doors to retrieve said nurse there was a guy lingering in the hallway that looked suspiciously like the hospital chaplain. Somewhere in the back of my head I pondered if he was a chaplain and if he was whether he was waiting for me. I was escorted into a "consultation room" with a Gideon's Bible laying on a side table. A nurse, a doctor and the chaplain accompanied us into the room and from there I heard the details of where she was found, how they tried to treat her and blah, blah, blah, blah.
I know the details have to be shared and that many people find comfort in the facts, but for anyone who has to impart this information, make it quick, get to the point. Just because I didn't collapse and blubber like a fiend doesn't mean you need to keep rambling. Only two thoughts went through my head, no wait, three. 1) Shut the fuck up, 2) crap, crap, crap 3) who do I need to call. And still he kept talking.
It was nice to have clergy there but he needed to read my signals and scoot. Instead he lingered. That's not to say I don't have faith rumbling inside of me, but what he had to offer wasn't what I wanted or needed at that moment.
What I asked multiple times was "what do I need to do?"
Seriously, what are we supposed to do? I know every situation is unique but where is the set of directions of the details that needed to be tended to? Who guides us through this crap? We get wedding planners, are there post-mortem planners? And I'm not talking about funeral directors, although I met him in the following days.
So, here is my to-do list, modify as you see fit:
1. Call the immediate family. Let whoever needs to see the deceased go in and cry, don't stand in the way. Others will avoid that process, don't hold that against them.
2. Leave the hospital (yeah, they made it sound like we could stay there forever, that's not true, get out). Go gather at someone's house. I'm not really sure what we're supposed to do at this gathering. My kids played video games and our evening was uneventful. I would imagine that would be a good time to start a list of everyone else who needs to be contacted.
3. Prepare for a gathering - in this case it was at my mom's house. Clear out the fridge to accommodate party platters. We went grocery shopping for essentials thinking of gatherings over the next few days. Neighbors and church friends will also bring food. Get the house cleaned, ideally pay someone to do it professionally. Put out a call for folding chairs and load up on paper plates, cups, and plastic utensils.
4. Meet with the funeral home. Holy moly, we were there for HOURS and this was with everything prearranged. This is when you will compose the obituary, contact your minister, decide on flowers and if you don't have the luxury of prearrangement pick out a casket or urn. You will faint from sticker shock. The obituary writing, composed by a stranger and grieving family members is always filled with misinformation. A group of friends has half-jokingly suggested that we should write our own obits. After sitting through two of these, I would strongly recommend writing your own. Tuck that in with your prearrangement details (because you really have to go that route, or at least have your final requests spelled out. I cannot imagine figuring all of that out on my own).
5. Gather the family and assemble a team of callers. This cannot be done before your funeral home meeting because you need to know the arrangements with dates and times and location. Prepare for out-of-towners and sending runners to the airport.
6. Meet with the minister. This person will ask all sorts of questions about the deceased so they can compile the eulogy. I've sat through enough funerals to spot the minister who never met or never really interacted with the departed. Their eulogies smack of retelling someone else's story. I can't suggest writing a eulogy because it's a painful process, but I did find it very cathartic. If I were going through the prearrangement deal and writing my own obit, I would consider writing a letter to my loved ones. Hand that puppy over to the minister and let him pluck out pieces or maybe just read that instead of a eulogy depending on how well it's composed.
6a. Notes to the minister - this is not the time to evangelize. Prayers and words of assurance of life in the hereafter are fabulous. There have been two funerals where I nearly walked out because the minister chose that time to recruite new members into their congregations. This is a time for the friends and family of the deceased to gather and express their grief and loss. That means there will be many people from other faiths sitting through your service, please respect that. Nothing like basically telling the Jew sitting next to me that she is bound for hell because she wasn't baptized or doesn't revel in the glory of Christ The Master. I've also seen some very respectful displays of religion - low key and reassuring.
7. Gather pictures, songs and memories. Have plenty of Kleenex on hand (maybe I should have made that step number two). A small group of immediate family sat at my mom's house Friday night reviewing the selection of pictures on the picture boards. We ate pizza and goofed around. Yes, it is okay to laugh.
8. Visitation, funeral, burial... Dress nicely (Please! Just like I asked that clergy keep their evangelizing to themselves, shove your politcial statements about suits and ties somewhere and put on the button-down shirt and LOOK NICE. Comb your damn hair and put on some deodorant!), suck it up, load your purse or pockets with tissue, and just muddle through. There will be lots of introductions to people you will never see ever again, lots of names you'll forget, lots of faces that pass by in a blur. No one expects you to remember them. There will be lots of hand shakes and even more hugs. Suck it up and cope. Bottom line - suck it up.
9. The flowers and plants go with you. Jewelry that doesn't get buried has to go home with you and the picture boards need to go home too. Sic a cousin or someone to retrieve all of this stuff.
10. The day after - DO NOT TRY TO DO THIS ALONE! Find someone to stay with you or stay at their house. The first 24 hours after everyone has left and returned to work are the most mind numbing. A friend happened to have a vacation scheduled the following week when her father passed away. She went ahead and took the trip after the funeral and said it was probably the best thing to help her transition through the loss.
11. Cry. Let it out.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Grandma's Eulogy
My grandmother passed away last week - Tuesday, September 20, 2011. I had the extreme honor of giving her eulogy....
Everyone here knows Dorothy McDowell in a different capacity – as a friend, neighbor, as Aunt Dorothy, mom… To my children she is Grandma Mac, but to me she has always been nothing but Grandma. My mom tells me that when I tried to distinguish whom I was talking about I described her as “Grandma with the white hair”. Grandma really did know how to rock her silver locks, didn’t she? And now that I’ve become a grandmother myself I figured it’s okay if I let my own silver start to show through.
Letting our true colors show is only one of many lessons we can take away from this strong, vibrant, little person. Grandma wasn’t a particularly loud person and she didn’t make herself the center of attention, yet she was always a strong presence.
All of the people in this room can only account for so many years of Grandma’s life. Everybody here has only known her as Dorothy McDowell, but before she had that name, there are another 24 years, before any of us met her, her formative years, that most defined her.
When Tom Brockaw described “The Greatest Generation” he was talking about my grandmother.
Dorothy Dickson was born in 1916 in Richmond, Missouri, a little town in the farm fields north of Kansas City. When she was born there were still people around who could give firsthand accounts of the Civil War. She would have seen parades with 80 and 90 year old veterans marching next to recently returning WWI vets. In her childhood farmers talked about the devastation of the dust bowl of the 1920’s and she came of age during the Great Depression.
Grandma’s family were not wealthy people. They may have owned land, but they also worked it. These were not merchants and bankers, judges and congressmen, but farmers and laborers. Her father and grandfather and great-grandfather were coal miners. Her father even worked for a few years at the Kansas City Zoo. Workers – a long legacy of workers.
Grandma received an education and even graduated high school, something not necessarily guaranteed for a person of her generation. After high school she got a job. It was grandma who bought the family’s first car. When her parents and younger sister moved to Los Angeles, it was Grandma who drove her grandfather across the plains and mountains and desert to join the rest of the family.
It was after her arrival in Los Angeles that Grandma became the person most of us remember. Grandma was introduced to a widower a few years her senior. They went on a blind date and months later on Christmas Day 1940, Willard and Dorothy drove to Las Vegas and got married. They enjoyed over 50 years of wedded bliss until my grandfather’s death in 1994.
It is impossible to think of Dorothy without Willard. They were the funniest couple to see – her barely over five foot and him towering at 6’4”. You’ll see the McDowell genes well represented in this room with my cousin and my brothers… even my own sons aren’t lacking in height.
Grandpa was a gentle man, but it seemed the person who was most able to provoke him was Grandma. I remember riding in the backseat of their 70-something Maverick and listening to them bicker over the directions to get to the grocery store. And they would bicker over what to eat at dinner and what to watch on TV and just about anything else under the sun. My husband accuses me of being feisty, but once he met my mother and grandmother he started to understand that I came by it honestly.
Grandma continued to work after she married. I grew up surrounded not by stay at home moms, but with working women. Women who contributed to the family’s income and dealt with the modern problems of juggling a 40 hour week with home and children and a social calendar. She had a strong work ethic that was much more than someone who didn’t know how to sit still. And she did not know how to sit still - even when she was sitting she was busy. You can look back at her childhood to her parents and grandparents to see where it generated. She was a coal miner’s daughter, a farmer’s granddaughter. She came from rural Missouri during a time of extreme poverty and loss. Work was not available to everyone so it was something to be valued and cherished.
Grandpa, like his father and his father-in-law, was a mason. He and Grandma joined Eastern Star. They were active with the lodge and were instrumental in building a new masonic temple in San Fernando, California. They supported the masonic youth groups. Their son, my Uncle Don, was a Past Master Councilor of his DeMolay Chapter. My mother is a majority member of Job’s Daughters.
Job’s Daughters, DeMolay, Eastern Star, lodge, Shriners - initiations, installations, receptions, fund raisers – all made for a very busy calendar and Grandma kept up with it all. Is it any wonder those of us related to her are always on the go? It’s in our blood!
Not only did Grandma attend all of these functions but she usually was the one behind the scenes orchestrating them. It was nothing for Grandma to put on a dinner reception for 200 people. She knew how to command a committee, design the decorations, and corral people through a buffet line. Long before the title “event planner” ever existed Grandma was doing just that and could do it in her sleep with both hands tied behind her back!
As Grandma’s memory failed these past few years, something she would resurrect in her less lucid moments was that she was preparing for a large dinner event and she would complain that the same few people were the ones who always did all of the work.
We will all carry different memories of Dorothy McDowell. Mine center mostly on an active couple who had a beautiful house in Sylmar California with a perfectly manicured yard maintained by my grandfather. I can still vividly remember Grandma laying a piece of lettuce on her back porch, ringing a little brass bell and then patiently waiting for a snapping turtle named Petey to lumber out of his hiding place in the decorative grasses or from behind a cactus to slowly saunter across the lawn and come get his daily treat.
My brothers will probably remember riding bikes with Grandpa to collect stray golf balls. Grandma would wash the golf balls, store them in egg cartons and stash them away in the garage until they could be sold back to the golf course. After one of the big earthquakes they opened the garage only to have hundreds of golf balls spill out onto the driveway and roll down the street!
There are a million more memories of Grandma – so many of them intertwined with the people in this very room.
I never properly thanked her for showing up after my youngest son was born. I was still recovering from a cesearan and had this very tiny baby to tend to. She whisked in and made sure my older children were fed, that the laundry got done and my dishes washed. All of us know those are simple enough tasks, but for me at that time they were daunting and would not have been completed. She did what she knew best – rolled up her sleeves and went to work.
She was an industrious worker, a devoted wife and a caring mother and grandmother. Grandma was a vibrant spirit. She may have been small but she was mighty. She spoke her mind and never diced her words. She came from a time and a place that was very traditional and in many ways quite conservative, yet she was in every way a modern woman.
While you can physically see the legacy of my grandfather in this room, it is my grandmother’s legacy that will be heard. You will hear it as the women here gather, as we cackle and laugh, as we reprimand our children and suddenly start directing everyone around us. It is in our voices and in our movements. We carry with us Dorothy McDowell’s spirit of getting things done.
We can only hope to live such full and meaningful lives. Even at 94 it feels like she left us too soon. We know as she knew that she had lived life to the fullest. She had seen it all and done it all and now it’s time for her to guide us from the spiritual realm… which we all know will be done quietly from behind the scenes.
It is amazing to have seen her in action and to know she will continue to watch over us.
Letting our true colors show is only one of many lessons we can take away from this strong, vibrant, little person. Grandma wasn’t a particularly loud person and she didn’t make herself the center of attention, yet she was always a strong presence.
All of the people in this room can only account for so many years of Grandma’s life. Everybody here has only known her as Dorothy McDowell, but before she had that name, there are another 24 years, before any of us met her, her formative years, that most defined her.
When Tom Brockaw described “The Greatest Generation” he was talking about my grandmother.
Grandma’s family were not wealthy people. They may have owned land, but they also worked it. These were not merchants and bankers, judges and congressmen, but farmers and laborers. Her father and grandfather and great-grandfather were coal miners. Her father even worked for a few years at the Kansas City Zoo. Workers – a long legacy of workers.
Grandma received an education and even graduated high school, something not necessarily guaranteed for a person of her generation. After high school she got a job. It was grandma who bought the family’s first car. When her parents and younger sister moved to Los Angeles, it was Grandma who drove her grandfather across the plains and mountains and desert to join the rest of the family.
It was after her arrival in Los Angeles that Grandma became the person most of us remember. Grandma was introduced to a widower a few years her senior. They went on a blind date and months later on Christmas Day 1940, Willard and Dorothy drove to Las Vegas and got married. They enjoyed over 50 years of wedded bliss until my grandfather’s death in 1994.
It is impossible to think of Dorothy without Willard. They were the funniest couple to see – her barely over five foot and him towering at 6’4”. You’ll see the McDowell genes well represented in this room with my cousin and my brothers… even my own sons aren’t lacking in height.
Grandma continued to work after she married. I grew up surrounded not by stay at home moms, but with working women. Women who contributed to the family’s income and dealt with the modern problems of juggling a 40 hour week with home and children and a social calendar. She had a strong work ethic that was much more than someone who didn’t know how to sit still. And she did not know how to sit still - even when she was sitting she was busy. You can look back at her childhood to her parents and grandparents to see where it generated. She was a coal miner’s daughter, a farmer’s granddaughter. She came from rural Missouri during a time of extreme poverty and loss. Work was not available to everyone so it was something to be valued and cherished.
Grandpa, like his father and his father-in-law, was a mason. He and Grandma joined Eastern Star. They were active with the lodge and were instrumental in building a new masonic temple in San Fernando, California. They supported the masonic youth groups. Their son, my Uncle Don, was a Past Master Councilor of his DeMolay Chapter. My mother is a majority member of Job’s Daughters.
Job’s Daughters, DeMolay, Eastern Star, lodge, Shriners - initiations, installations, receptions, fund raisers – all made for a very busy calendar and Grandma kept up with it all. Is it any wonder those of us related to her are always on the go? It’s in our blood!
As Grandma’s memory failed these past few years, something she would resurrect in her less lucid moments was that she was preparing for a large dinner event and she would complain that the same few people were the ones who always did all of the work.
We will all carry different memories of Dorothy McDowell. Mine center mostly on an active couple who had a beautiful house in Sylmar California with a perfectly manicured yard maintained by my grandfather. I can still vividly remember Grandma laying a piece of lettuce on her back porch, ringing a little brass bell and then patiently waiting for a snapping turtle named Petey to lumber out of his hiding place in the decorative grasses or from behind a cactus to slowly saunter across the lawn and come get his daily treat.
My brothers will probably remember riding bikes with Grandpa to collect stray golf balls. Grandma would wash the golf balls, store them in egg cartons and stash them away in the garage until they could be sold back to the golf course. After one of the big earthquakes they opened the garage only to have hundreds of golf balls spill out onto the driveway and roll down the street!
There are a million more memories of Grandma – so many of them intertwined with the people in this very room.
I never properly thanked her for showing up after my youngest son was born. I was still recovering from a cesearan and had this very tiny baby to tend to. She whisked in and made sure my older children were fed, that the laundry got done and my dishes washed. All of us know those are simple enough tasks, but for me at that time they were daunting and would not have been completed. She did what she knew best – rolled up her sleeves and went to work.
She was an industrious worker, a devoted wife and a caring mother and grandmother. Grandma was a vibrant spirit. She may have been small but she was mighty. She spoke her mind and never diced her words. She came from a time and a place that was very traditional and in many ways quite conservative, yet she was in every way a modern woman.
While you can physically see the legacy of my grandfather in this room, it is my grandmother’s legacy that will be heard. You will hear it as the women here gather, as we cackle and laugh, as we reprimand our children and suddenly start directing everyone around us. It is in our voices and in our movements. We carry with us Dorothy McDowell’s spirit of getting things done.
We can only hope to live such full and meaningful lives. Even at 94 it feels like she left us too soon. We know as she knew that she had lived life to the fullest. She had seen it all and done it all and now it’s time for her to guide us from the spiritual realm… which we all know will be done quietly from behind the scenes.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
I Thought I Would Cry
Patty Higgins, a woman I knew as "Pateeta", passed away on Easter. She has been fighting ovarian cancer for a long time and since Christmas has been in and out of the hospital. She knew she was terminal but chose to live on her terms. Several weeks ago she held a living wake, giving her the chance to tell us good-bye personally. I was unable to attend the wake, but tipped a glass of wine in her honor as did several of her online friends. Since then she declined slowly, painfully, but still on her own terms.
There is no way to properly eulogize Patty. She was bold and funny and super friendly. I had the tremendous honor of meeting her in person several years ago. She greeted me as if we had been long time friends and quickly loaded me up with quirky gifts. I will never forget her easy generosity. For the last several months she posted a perky morning greeting on Facebook, usually welcoming the sunshine. Can we ever look at another sunrise and not think of her? Most simply, Patty reminds us to welcome each day with gratitude.
Her death was imminent and I thought of her daily, hoping she wasn't in pain. When I lost my friend David a few weeks ago I was sure Patty would die that same weekend, making me a slobbering mess losing two friends so close together. But Patty persisted, she had more farewells to say, more time to spend with her children.
When her time came, it was right. I thought I would cry, but I didn't. I have found happiness for her, for leaving on her terms, for living on her terms, for fighting in what she believed in. She is a strong woman and she reminded us to live and to live strong, loud, to be present.
I am a marked woman. I have had the honor of meeting, knowing, and being influenced by the most amazing person. If you have not had the honor, please read her blog. It's blunt and honest and beautiful to the end.
Shades of Blue
Pateeta, you were well loved and are already sorely missed. Thank you for touching our lives.
There is no way to properly eulogize Patty. She was bold and funny and super friendly. I had the tremendous honor of meeting her in person several years ago. She greeted me as if we had been long time friends and quickly loaded me up with quirky gifts. I will never forget her easy generosity. For the last several months she posted a perky morning greeting on Facebook, usually welcoming the sunshine. Can we ever look at another sunrise and not think of her? Most simply, Patty reminds us to welcome each day with gratitude.
Her death was imminent and I thought of her daily, hoping she wasn't in pain. When I lost my friend David a few weeks ago I was sure Patty would die that same weekend, making me a slobbering mess losing two friends so close together. But Patty persisted, she had more farewells to say, more time to spend with her children.
When her time came, it was right. I thought I would cry, but I didn't. I have found happiness for her, for leaving on her terms, for living on her terms, for fighting in what she believed in. She is a strong woman and she reminded us to live and to live strong, loud, to be present.
I am a marked woman. I have had the honor of meeting, knowing, and being influenced by the most amazing person. If you have not had the honor, please read her blog. It's blunt and honest and beautiful to the end.
Shades of Blue
Pateeta, you were well loved and are already sorely missed. Thank you for touching our lives.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Both "ends" of the cirlce of life
Sitting at work I get the message that my daughter's friend had her baby! YAY! Please keep them in your prayers, momma has low blood pressure so they're keeping an eye on her.
And then, the other end of the spectrum, sad news came across Facebook - a schoolmate died over the weekend. My graduating class has already suffered a couple of deaths. The first one was Eileen who died in college after dental work. I'm not sure of the details around Brian's death, but it's rattling all of us pretty bad. He was one of the popular NICE guys. Everyone loved him. Even his ex-wife had nice things to say.
So while you have the prayer box open, please put Brian's family in the mix.
And then, the other end of the spectrum, sad news came across Facebook - a schoolmate died over the weekend. My graduating class has already suffered a couple of deaths. The first one was Eileen who died in college after dental work. I'm not sure of the details around Brian's death, but it's rattling all of us pretty bad. He was one of the popular NICE guys. Everyone loved him. Even his ex-wife had nice things to say.
So while you have the prayer box open, please put Brian's family in the mix.
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Terrible News
On Friday my father passed away.
I'm grappling with how to deal with this, but the advice-giver in me would tell anyone in the same situation "to quit worrying about it, there is no right or wrong way to grieve, no timeline to follow." It's hard and it's supposed to be hard.
All I'm left with is to do what I do best which is to keep busy. There is nothing to "do" concerning his death at the moment. I made the necessary calls. I'm glad the kids weren't home when I got the news and when I called them they were each with someone so they weren't alone. Watching anyone burst into hysterics isn't something I want to deal with at the moment, especially my own children. I don't want to be a mother at the moment, soothing weeping, hurt children.
The last person I called was my mother. That's a weird situation. I know I would be upset hearing anything happened to my ex. I'm glad the exchange was over the phone - again I didn't want to have to mop up anyone else, nor do I really want anyone to mop me up.
So I called my brother in Florida and in his own way showed his shock and dismay and sorrow. Then I called my other brother's wife. He's stationed in Iraq so the Red Cross is involved getting him shipped home. I think today he'll be home. Kind of a sucky way to get to see your wife and family, but you take it any way you can, I guess.
That was Friday at 9pm. Yesterday I needed to be at the auction. Set up was at 6am. I went into auto-drive and did what needed to be done. The hardest part was my mom showing up, but we were fine. And the auction was BEAUTIFUL. My daughter worked her ass off and was totally in her element. She needs to be in this realm professionally.
And today is my son's thirteenth birthday. Please go over to Parenting Woes Whoas & Wahs as I'm celebrating Ian's big day. Not much is planned today. He requested a "Samoa Cake" that I later figured out he meant german chocolate. There are some new movies out and we'll make it a trip to the theater soon. Just not today and unfortunately probably not in the next week. But when we go, it will be his choice.
When someone dies it seems the world stops and when you look up you marvel that everyone else is puttering around like they always do. Right now, nothing has stopped and that seems weird. So I'll do what I do best and that's keep busy until it's the right time for my world to stop and wonder why everyone is bustling around like nothing happened.
There is no timeline, it's not easy, and there is no right or wrong.
I'm grappling with how to deal with this, but the advice-giver in me would tell anyone in the same situation "to quit worrying about it, there is no right or wrong way to grieve, no timeline to follow." It's hard and it's supposed to be hard.
All I'm left with is to do what I do best which is to keep busy. There is nothing to "do" concerning his death at the moment. I made the necessary calls. I'm glad the kids weren't home when I got the news and when I called them they were each with someone so they weren't alone. Watching anyone burst into hysterics isn't something I want to deal with at the moment, especially my own children. I don't want to be a mother at the moment, soothing weeping, hurt children.
The last person I called was my mother. That's a weird situation. I know I would be upset hearing anything happened to my ex. I'm glad the exchange was over the phone - again I didn't want to have to mop up anyone else, nor do I really want anyone to mop me up.
So I called my brother in Florida and in his own way showed his shock and dismay and sorrow. Then I called my other brother's wife. He's stationed in Iraq so the Red Cross is involved getting him shipped home. I think today he'll be home. Kind of a sucky way to get to see your wife and family, but you take it any way you can, I guess.
That was Friday at 9pm. Yesterday I needed to be at the auction. Set up was at 6am. I went into auto-drive and did what needed to be done. The hardest part was my mom showing up, but we were fine. And the auction was BEAUTIFUL. My daughter worked her ass off and was totally in her element. She needs to be in this realm professionally.
And today is my son's thirteenth birthday. Please go over to Parenting Woes Whoas & Wahs as I'm celebrating Ian's big day. Not much is planned today. He requested a "Samoa Cake" that I later figured out he meant german chocolate. There are some new movies out and we'll make it a trip to the theater soon. Just not today and unfortunately probably not in the next week. But when we go, it will be his choice.
When someone dies it seems the world stops and when you look up you marvel that everyone else is puttering around like they always do. Right now, nothing has stopped and that seems weird. So I'll do what I do best and that's keep busy until it's the right time for my world to stop and wonder why everyone is bustling around like nothing happened.
There is no timeline, it's not easy, and there is no right or wrong.
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