The End of the Road.............

I am writing this, whether I ever publish it or not, because it's 2 in the morning and I can't sleep.

This has been a very strange year for me.  The highs and lows have been higher and lower than usual and both came at the same time this year in my life.

I knew this year would bring my first grandchild, my own little Charli-girl, and I awaited this birth with what seems to be more excitement than the births of my own children.  I know this can't be true, but when you have your own you are dreading the last step, eager as you may be to get it over with.  With grandchildren there is no dread at all, just eager anticipation for it to happen.  This child has never been far from my mind, since I found out she was coming.  I have, in fact, been waiting for this child for several years before she was a fact in all our lives.

Tonight her mother labors, and her father stands watch, and tomorrow I do believe she will arrive.

The reason I can't sleep has nothing to do with this happy news, though.  The reason I cannot sleep is because in my heart I am sitting vigil for one of my best friends, Lori.  Lori has been fighting cancer for 2 years, and her battle is just about over.  I suppose you could say she lost that battle, but no one who knew Lori will say that.  Lori lost very few battles on this earth and even in this, she decided when she would go.  A more valiant effort I cannot imagine.  No amount of morphine could erase her urge to get up and visit every time I was there.  I would beg her to stay down and just let me rub her feet, but no.  She would insist on getting up, even when she could no longer manage that on her own, and once in the kitchen she would offer me something to drink.  She would ask if I had eaten.  She would then ask about the kids.  No amount of drugs could make her forget her manners.   Lori was a lady, right down to her toes, right to the end.

Many times she has saved me, though she never knew it.  She was the kind of person who did everything "right", whether anyone would ever know or not.  For her pure soul, all that mattered was that God knew.  Like her mother and her grandmother before her, she lived her faith every minute of every day of her life.

It often showed itself in the smallest ways.  I have seen her get fighting mad over a suggestion that she salvage lettuce  that was a little over the hill.  This was absolutely out of the question and the person who suggested that Lori do such a thing was actually glad to drive to town for fresh lettuce rather than face her wrath.  I still laugh and think it served them right.

Whenever I found myself unsure of what to do, say, or wear, I would just pretend I was Lori, and do it the way she would.  She was the kind of girl who did not consider animals less than humans, and treated all souls the exact same way.

 I remember one time going to see her, when she excused herself to feed the dog.  I thought it would only take as long as scooping out a cup of food into a bowl, like I do, but it took longer than that.  When I went to check on her, she was mixing up the food with some scraps, stirring in a raw egg (for the dog's coat) and adding cheese (for extra flavor).  Then she served that dog a meal just the same way she would have served me or anyone else, hoping and watching for signs that it was good.  It was, and I hope you will not doubt my word that even the dog knew Lori was a fine lady, because nobody, even the kindest person on earth (which Lori may actually have been) had ever served that dog a meal like that before.  Sure we feed our dogs, but do we feed them with a flourish?  Every time?  I think not.

Her attention to detail was part of her, and her work ethic was golden.  I don't care if your house, your car, or your self fell apart, Lori would be there.  She would know exactly what to do, how to do it, and how long it would take.  She was beautiful, but never seemed to know it.  She had a spirit that was much bigger than her body, and would crawl under a house to fix a broken pipe or under a car to fix (whatever you fix under there--don't ask me, I am no Lori) without a second's hesitation, and would be happy just to help you.  If she hosted a dinner, the table would be set with special little touches that only Lori would think of.  If someone treated you badly, all you had to do was tell her the story and she would immediately feel outrage and injustice, do and say all the things I wished that I had thought of to say at the time.  She guided me and she comforted me.  We laughed, cried, ran wild, grew up, worried and railed against injustice together for 31 years and I am just devastated that I will be without her physical presence here from now on.  The only time I remember ever guiding her was when her dear sweet mother had Alzheimers.

So even though I sit here crying at 2 in the morning in my son's house, waiting for a baby, I am also sitting by her, in her mother's house, and I am loving her and wishing her a peaceful passing without fear.  I know that her mother waits for her baby to return to her just like I wait for Charli.  I know that Lori will be joyful to see her mom again, and I know that she will always be with me in my heart.  I will miss her terribly but I will see her again. There is very little we haven't weathered together and it is a bitter pill that she will not see my grandchildren the same way she saw my babies.  It was Lori that sat with my mother during The Rock Star's birth, and was there to help after we got home.  Though I feel lost and lonely without those two ladies, I know exactly what to do and they will be ever present in me while I tend to my precious duties.  I will never say goodbye.  There is no need when they are in my heart all the time.

When we met were just teenagers.  We made big plans, as teenagers will.  Some of those plans came true, and some of those plans fell through, and now at the end of this road we have traveled together all I am is grateful.  I sat in the living room watching her in a hospital bed positioned where her mother always kept her quilt rack, and reflected on how I never imagined this, of all the things I did imagine in that room.  You never know what life holds in store, and even though I am happy about that, still I was grateful to be able to be there and lend what comfort I could.

Yes, grateful.  Tonight when I went to sleep, even though I was crying, I thanked God for her life, for letting me be part of it, and for her wonderful family that has been a blessing to me, whether they have known it or not.  The love and devotion, the square jawed, fearless facing of the music, the rock solid faith, the good sense and the bravery of that family, I am so grateful to have known and been a part of.

In the last few months, Lori, the baby of the family, could not have been more cherished.  One day she complained about a tree in her view of the lake behind the house.  One of her brothers promptly cut it down, stacked it for firewood and cleaned up any stray splinters left to mar the grass.  Anything they could cook or buy for her, it was done without a thought.  I am grateful also for those "kids" getting to spend time in the house they grew up in, looking after their baby sister, as a family again.  I cannot even put into words how it makes you feel to see your best friend's brother dissolve his sister's pills in water and tenderly give them to her with a baby dropper, because it hurts her too much to swallow.   Such unconditional love, and done as if it's the most natural thing in the world.  It is, actually, the most natural thing in the world, and I don't know how we forget that.  I hope I never do again.

It is so easy to lose touch when you have your own families and obligations.  Only when death threatens us do we ever get to go back and be just who we are within our own family.  It's a comfort that there is no substitute for, and I know her parents are so very proud.  I know because if you ever mention it,  to any one of 6 children, they will all say the credit goes to their parent and the way they were raised.  And this will just multiply and go on and on, and so shall those of us left here.  For nothing can ever keep someone you love from you, certainly not death.  In fact, Lori has been in my head and my heart for 3 decades, and that will never change, not in this world and not in the next, where I know we will meet again, along with our mothers.

I have felt our mother's both close lately, and it cannot be denied that the portal is open.  I have known for months that this was going to happen.  I tried to spend as much time with Lori as I could, but now that it is imminent and she may need me most, I cannot be there with her physically.  I tell myself it doesn't matter, and I know in reality it does not.  She is well taken care of, and surrounded by her loved ones, and I am there in spirit.  I feel split in two, but I know both our mother's are surrounding us, and our mother's have been together in heaven for a while now, so it feels like we are all together spiritually, even if our physical locations on earth may be far apart at the moment.  Physical locations on earth mean very little in the spiritual world, and God's law reigns supreme.  I know this in my head and in my heart, and I am comforted no matter what happens next because I know God is in control.

When my mother was in Lori's situation, she told me that she asked God to live, but God said no.  She smiled a sad smile and said, "He does that, you know, and all we can do is say Okay, God, I will do what you ask."  I knew it was true, and I accepted it, hard as it was.  I didn't like it, but it was an important step in my life.  I watched her set an example of serenity that I thought I could never follow, but what do you know, here I am, stressed, yes, sad, yes, but also joyful and grateful.  Grateful for getting these two fine ladies for as long as I did.  Losing them could never hurt so bad that I would not be grateful to have had them for as long as I got to.

My advice is this:  Never make the mistake of praying for things you want.  God knows what you want and he is not Santa Claus.  When you pray you should be praying for Him to use you as He sees fit.  Sometimes you have to swallow a bitter pill and just have faith that God knows what he is doing,  If you can't do that then I guess it's easy to see where you should begin.

Tomorrow, those of us left shall take up our crosses and follow Him, and life will go on and we will be better for what we have been through.  We will set our own examples for our children and those around us, in this way we teach what we have learned, and it will multiply.  It will come back to them when it is time, and they will do as their parents taught them, when it is most needed.

There are times in life when you will have something terrible and scary coming right for you.  Plant your feet, set your jaw, and face it head on.  You are not alone, and if it wasn't God's plan, you would not be going through it.  Believe it.  You are not alone, in fact, you are so far from alone as to make that downright laughable.  When you open the door and all you see is black, do not be afraid to take that step anyway, knowing God is there.  He's known black since before there was even light, and He has already taken care of that a long time ago anyway.  There is nothing you can think of that He cannot handle.  Let that be a comfort to you, it has always worked for me.

In a few days I will make that drive again, with nothing but joy in my heart.  Nothing lasts forever, but one thing I know for certain is that you can't make old friends, and they will always be a part of you.

Lori graduated this earth on July 20, at 8 am on Sunday morning.  My uncle John followed her the very next day, and I know our families in heaven are together there just as those left of us here will be together paying them tribute.

Uncle John Leaves Browning........

The time has come for my Uncle John to have a sale.  The past few years have turned out to be the last that he will live in the house that he has occupied for the last 40 years or so.  He and my Aunt Linda raised two children here, 1 block away from my grandparent's house, across one of the two paved roads that runs through that sweet little one horse town.

This used to be the biggest joke in the world, as there was no law in Browning.....officially. ;)

Increasingly, he has needed help.  This has resulted in many trips back to what is left of my home town.  I have followed that familiar path to the lone remaining house that I have traveled to throughout my life that remains "the same" for me.  Gone is the house I grew up in, burned to the ground several years back.  Main street is virtually unrecognizable now from what it used to be.  I have made myself see it, stare at it, drive down it, make my mind accept it, but it always feels like a movie.  My eyes see what exists now but my mind and heart overshadow all that with what used to be, ghosts around every corner, cheerfully waving and welcoming me back. Coming home has changed in many ways, and yet there is still comfort and peace in it.  

I play a game with myself to see which song will play when I roll into town, my trusty box of Kleenex always standing by.  I cry a lot, but I don't worry about that here.  Here, anyone who see me either knows me, and understands exactly what is going on, or has no idea who I am and probably doesn't care what is going on.  The best time was to the accompaniment of The Bitch Is Back, ala Sir Elton, and it was the one time I laughed instead of cried.  Stone cold sober, as a matter of fact.  I see things that are no longer visible.  I drive by a tree that is no longer there and see a determined man patiently waiting out a rebellious child who has tried and failed to escape in the top of that tree.  He will have to come down some time.  The house across the street from it is gone now too, but once housed their family.  Later that house withstood a thunderstorm with a slightly crazy lady (when she didn't take her meds, at least) on the peak of the gable on the roof.  What she was shouting as the lightening flashed and the rain poured down no one could make out, but the fact that anybody heard her at all is testament to how loud she was, and I am here to testify that no one who saw that scene ever forgot it.   You would know none of this as you drive by now unless you were there.  Now it's just an empty corner, giving none of it's secrets away.

The last day I made that trip it was to meet my cousin and pack up a U-haul with what Uncle John would be taking to KC with him.  She had spent the last couple of days packing and tossing the (carefully packed and stored) accumulation of several lives "like a boss", as the marines would say, and assured me that "everything was under control".  Because she is my cousin, I understood this to mean that she had the determination and will to get through this heartbreaking and soul sucking process, as long as she didn't have to stop to think or God forbid reflect on any of it.  Which basically meant we were to get there pronto and keep moving and soon it would be over and we could all collapse.  Uncle John described it thus: "My God, she went through this house like a tornado.  I've never seen anything like it".  It was one of only a few times I failed to think he was exaggerating in my entire life.  I could see that was the God's honest truth with my own eyes.

Indeed, when we arrived the front lawn was already full of everything she and her 11 year old daughter could carry out, which was quite a lot.  We have 3 sixteen year old sons between the two of us, and they got the show right on the road.  Uncle John sat in his recliner throughout the morning as boys disassembled and carried out beds and furniture.  Any break in the carrying would find all the kids sprawled out in the living room floor, watching either a ballgame or a race with Uncle John.

It was actually exactly like it had always been in that house.

My cousin and I steadily worked our way through bedrooms and closets.  She pretended not to notice when I cried and I pretended that it was easy to finally get rid of the clothes that have hung in those closets, undisturbed, for almost 20 years.  I held those clothes to my face and inhaled, and then put them in bags for Goodwill.  May they be worn again by a good looking guy who will plays a guitar and can identify cars coming down the road at 50 yards.  I know the next guy will not be as sweet as the last person they belonged to, but men that sweet don't happen very often.  

We remembered the times that we girls would lock the boys out of the house as children but never remember to lock the windows, and how the boys would scare us when they snuck back in.  I don't think any of our parents EVER knew about that.

We crawled again into the "cubby holes" in the attic that we had played in as children (which seemed MUCH smaller now), discovering childhood treasures and what must surely now be "genuine antiques".  We sealed the house up for winter.  I took down all the sun catchers from the kitchen window where we always ate as kids.  That same window looked right down the road to our grandparent's house when we were little, and my cousin Jon and I used to get out the binoculars to watch each other when I was staying at Big Grandma's.  Between us was the paved road that separated Big Grandma's from Aunt Linda and Uncle John's houses, and the tree that we used to climb endlessly.  That road got oiled every summer, and Big Grandma made us put bread sacks over our feet to cross it, so we wouldn't track up either house with tar.  That tree's shade was where we learned to walk on stilts and shoot bb guns, our first target practice.

Standing in the driveway under that tree, while some of the other's searched the top of the garage for God only knew what, we found the trap shooter.  Is that even what they are called?  The things that sling the blue rocks into the sky so you can shoot them?  See?  THAT is how good Uncle John was as an uncle.  I don't even know what they are called for sure, but I can run one and I will have you know I can hit anything slung from them a very good percentage of the time.

It was always Uncle John that took us places.  He was definitely an adult to us kids, but he was the adult that also frequently got "in trouble" with our mothers, sometimes right along with us kids.  It was Uncle John that taught us to shoot, to bat, to fish, to ski, to drive, to canoe, to be brave when you got hurt bad, and to take your punishment when you made bad choices and everybody found out what you had done.  Of course, everybody would find out what you had done.  That was a fact of life for us.  Uncle John was the go-to guy when you wanted to go get ice cream for no reason at all.  He was always game.  The trick was to get him talked into going before either of our moms realized where we were going.  We were always going somewhere, and often they were so glad he was taking all of us that they didn't question us closely.  From our perspective, we knew there was always plenty of time to take our punishment when we got home around suppertime and got in trouble for him ruining our appetites.  That's the kind of uncle he always was, and remains so as far as his health will allow.

When I would bring him groceries or do his laundry these last few years, Uncle John was extremely grateful.  He always thanked me profusely, more than once.  And that bothered me.  How could  he not know how much I owed him?  

When I was 13 and had knee surgery for the first time, I got all whiny about not liking the food in the hospital.  He asked what sounded good when he called me on the phone from our hometown, an hour away.  I said Pizza Hut pizza sounded good, pepperoni.  I thought he was just being nice and talking me out of my bad mood.  An hour later he showed up at the hospital with Pizza Hut pizza. Pepperoni.   He made me feel like I mattered, and that he would go to the ends of the earth to make me happy, if it was within his power.

Exactly 10 years and a few months after that, I had my first baby.  Everyone came to the hospital, including Uncle John.  He asked me what sounded good after I got back to my room and with no hesitation whatsoever I ordered french fries and a hot fudge brownie sundae.  As always, he delivered within about 20 minutes.  I dread ever going through any big event without his funny, derring -do spirit.

Once when I was in my early 20's and alone in my parent's house when they were on vacation, someone tried to break in.  Well, they seemed to be trying to break in, crazy as that is in a small town.  They snuck all around the house and tried every door.  My legs were shaking I was so scared, because this just DID NOT happen in my town.  I got the gun that I was not even sure was loaded and guess who I called before I was going to (possibly) shoot someone?  Uncle John!!  He answered the phone, we made a plan, and he was there in about 3 minutes.  Up he pulled into the driveway, out the front door I came, and with our guns, stepping gingerly, investigated all the way around the house.  Twice!  Uncle John was just starting to accuse me of being crazy when we finally found a guy from the next town over peacefully passed out in his truck, snoring away.  He was not happy to be woken up by me sticking a rifle in his stomach and I do admit I did get a little carried away with the forcefulness of my wrath, but nobody died and he never made that particular mistake again as far as me or Uncle John ever heard.  I think he may have taken to drinking at home after that, which was probably for the best anyway.  To the best of my knowledge he didn't even come to my town again for many years. Apparently I told him not to, although I don't have a clear memory of anything I say or do when I get into such a state.  People were watching for him, believe me.  :D  It all worked out in the end.  We were that kind of town.

I looked around the front yard of that house, old memories laid over what my eyes were seeing now.  The curving sidewalk that seemed so long when I drove down it on a tricycle.  

Across the road to the left here is the field that the Montgomery boys used to cross when I babysat them (which was against the rules, not that they cared), calling me and laughing hysterically at their "escape", so they could play with Jon and Kristen, from Uncle John's house.  Good times.  Good times.

 Seriously I wouldn't have missed it for the world

The spot I was standing in the night my finger got knocked out of joint playing kickball.  Uncle John driving me and my mother to a Dr's (that might have been a vet, there was an argument and it was never determined what the truth of the situation was) where I was given many shots, wouldn't stop crying, and finally just buried my face in Uncle John's shoulder while he tried to straighten it out.  It was not straightened out, but has worked just fine, ever since.

How many times was Uncle John Mayor of this town?  How many cars did he sell or work on?  How many teams did he play ball on?

The pitcher's mound my cousin spent hours practicing on, pitching to Uncle John....how many hours?  How many years?  How could we leave that there????  Everything we did that seemed.....wrong, but was right.  It was the right thing to do.  We kept reassuring ourselves and each other about this.

I still think this should go with Kristen.

The picnic table we ate on every summer of our lives, where the boys figured out how to take the wings off flies and no one could help but laugh, even our mothers, when the flies would keep hopping up but never fly away.  Using the magnifying glass to burn ants on the front sidewalk..........and figuring out that we could start fires all by ourselves.

Aunt Linda joined an "album of the month" club and we listened to an eclectic mix of Meatloaf, Helen Reddy and Barry Manilow until we knew every song on every album by heart the summer I was 12. The other 3 would have been 8 or 9.  This never really served any of us very well, I might add, but does that matter now?  No!  THAT is how memories are made!

Finally everything was loaded.  The freezers were defrosted, the house was winterized, the thermostat turned down, everything locked.  It felt like the house was mourning, but it could have just been us.  It felt like we were abandoning a baby, or an old person, someone who thought they could trust you. Someone who should be able to trust you.  It felt like we were untrustworthy.  But we're not.  It's hard to explain, and I hope you never have to go through it.  However, the only way to avoid going through it would be not to get attached to a place, and that would hardly be any way to live at all.

As I loaded my car to leave I noticed that my cousin's kids had found the magnifying glass and were burning ants on the front sidewalk.  My poor cousin still had a 3 hour trip to make and all that stuff to unpack and arrange and was determined to do it that evening.  I knew it was time to leave so she could keep going.  Stopping now was not an option, not if she wanted to get through it without a nervous breakdown.  I left them burning the ants with the magnifying glass.  The song playing in my head was Twilight Time.  I have no explanation for that, and I blamed Big Grandma's influence as I smiled.  I frequently picture my grandparents and all their peers in heaven now, looking down and lending us strength.  

By 10 that evening I got a picture from my cousin.  Uncle John was settled in his new place.  It was over, except for the sale.  She could now collapse.  It was done.  She had made it.  I knew she would.  She comes from a long line of strength.

Uncle John in his new place.