A Duet with Dad

In nearly 24 hours from now, a friend and I will be jetting off to a land I love, wandering around the countryside to take in the exhilarating sights and sounds of Scotland.  This isn't my first encounter there, but it is the first trip where I've made all the plans and arrangements on my own.  Yikes!!

In 2014, I was in Scotland with my Dad and 7 of 8 siblings along with a few other family members for our Clan AGM meeting.  Clan history is what tells the tale of families in this beautiful country and Scotland is steeped in amazing stories, castles, inventions, clan wars and uprisings.  

In about 5 weeks, Dad will be 90.  90 years = 32,850 days!  That's equivalent to 788,400 hours if you're counting!  I wanted to be sure I saw Dad before I traveled an ocean away.  He's spent the last 2 weeks in a rehab facility following another health concern that seems to have plagued him for nearly 2 years.  Dad took a hard fall and broke his hip/pelvic in such a way that surgery wasn't an option. Healing through pain was the only thing that was offered. Slowly, he began to heal but was taken down more than once with dehydration, infections, stumbles and heart issues.  Thus, he's in another rehab, drinking antibiotics through his veins and healing from 3 cracked ribs. And, he says, he's just tiring out.  Watching him sleep seems almost painful at times as his breathing isn't always rhythmic of a healthy man.

Tonight we chatted about a host of many things and Dad was chipper throughout.  We conversed about various family members while I shared pictures of the young ones posted on Facebook.  We discussed his upcoming birthday celebration where we will gather in his honor. Dad reminisced about Mom more than once and then with great interest we discussed my journey.  As the conversation of Scotland went on Dad said "Gee, I think you're going to have a wonderful trip and if I weren't in this condition I'd buy a ticket and go with you!" I wish you could, Dad.  We have traveled well together over the past 5 years.

Something came to Dad's mind and suddenly he broke into a song from his youthful years and in the midst said he was going to teach it to me so I could sing it with him.  He mentioned that he used to sing it with his sister Anne and then went back into the chorus, waving his finger as he often did when directing an imaginary chorus and finished with a "boom boom" in a timely staccato finish.  Singing was a huge part of life in our childhood home throughout the years and continued until the last days of my mom and dad's marriage.  I would love to sing with you, Dad!

Wistfully he spoke of Mom again and I shared with Dad a few of our intimate  moments she and I exchanged near the end of her days.   She took her last breath in 2003, but as Dad's days are closing in on him, he seems to be missing Mom all the more. It's been hard to watch this virile man with nary a day in the hospital for 88 years of life, now being bounced from pillar to post as he's growing tired and old.  When I think of Dad in my solitary minutes, a line from Dan Fogelberg's song Leader of The Band comes to mind often which says "The leader of the band is tired and his eyes are growing old".  A somber feeling comes with it.

As I got up to go, I hugged and kissed Dad and he said to me "I may not be here when you get back.  God may call me home".  I agreed and said, "He may also call me home!" 

With a hopeful heart and a melancholy mood, I will go on my adventure believing Dad will be here when I get home as we have a birthday celebration approaching.  And I'm especially looking forward to learning a new duet to sing with my favorite balladeer!

Celebrating Mom

"One of the first things that I remember about your Mother was that she was extremely bright" Aunt Pat said. "She missed a lot of school and I suspect it was because she didn't have the bus fare yet she was never behind in her work."   

 In honor of what would have been Mom's 82nd birthday,  I asked one of her dearest high school friends  if we could meet for lunch.  Aunt Pat always impressed me whenever we would see her because she was current on happenings and in great shape due to being an avid walker.  Instead, Aunt Pat offered an invitation for me to come to her home which I did and we sat and chatted a bit about Mom. When WWII broke out, Mom was sent to boarding school and while there her father re-enlisted in the Sea-bees and her mom left the state she lived in to go after work. Shortly after mom finished high school her parents divorced and her own mother was gone for 44 years and returned only after her second husband passed away. 

As we chatted my suspicions were confirmed however, that Mom was relatively homeless through her high school years. Aunt Pat recalled just how often mom seemed to stay here, there and everywhere that she could bunk in. At times she was at her sister's for more than a few nights and also stayed at some acquaintances of my grandmother's as a mother's helper.  But more often than not, Mom was fending for herself.
  

Somehow her tuition expenses were met because she went to a parochial school but she truly didn't have much family support in her circle. Aunt Pat said she suspected some family turmoil but never knew for certain because Mom never said. She guessed it to be alcohol.  Aunt Pat said she had never met anyone like my mom during those years who seemed to always be asking one friend or another if she could come and sleep at their house for a few days. I'm sure I remember my mom saying to no one in particular that she'd never had a birthday party as a child. She also never really talked about any holidays, or holiday traditions and the few pictures we have of mom as a child were taken when she was farmed out to an aunt's farm in Port Huron, Michigan. 

 So today, to honor Mom for the woman she single-handedly became, we shared some lunch and some laughs and admired how she managed to get through her own childhood relatively unscathed and launched into a 53 year love affair with my father, which produced ten children, nine who survive.   We talked about mom's personality which depicts a child of alcoholism. Some detachment, some caustic conversations and trying to control everyone's life at times (since her's was out of control that's often what happens). 

How do you learn to become a parent of nine children and manage them without husbandly support?  Oh, my dad was around of course, but he worked many jobs to pay for a roof over our heads, put food on the table and parochial school for each of us whether it was some, part or all years of our education.  You learn by trial and error and never, ever give up and that's what mom did with us. She never gave up, though I'm sure she'd have liked to throw in the towel more than once and run for the hills.  The only problem was we could probably all have chased her down and dragged her back.  

Mostly mom just did what the day demanded. She seemed to enjoy baking more than cooking and it wasn't unusual to come home to the fragrant aroma of baking bread or freshly made donuts.  At Christmastime our relatives and friends couldn't wait to get their hands on one of Mom's coffee cakes.  She was an excellent seamstress, a good cook and a great baker. Mom loved to read and as Aunt Pat reminded me, her conversations had substance. She just loved each of us the best way she knew how.and loved us more than we will ever know, of this I'm certain.  

Each passing year I miss my mother all the more. The last few years of her life I was able to be with her day in and day out.  A privilege that will never come this way again.  

Have a scoop of ice-cream in honor of Donna Jean.  Or if you  are hankering for one of Mom's favorites,  German Chocolate Cake, dig in! 

Happy Birthday, Daniel

It's hard to fathom that we went our separate ways 21 years ago. I wonder if you are aware just how much I think of you, always with love.  I imagine you in your daily life but in reality I realize that I'm probably way off in my imaginary world. This happens every year as your birthday and mine ride arm in arm, back to back.

We stared at each other for such a long time, drinking in every little detail; every fine feature as if cataloging each item into a little memory byte for future recall. Finally, when the moment came and we parted, I thought my guts would come unglued from sobbing until there weren't any more tears. Guttural groans rose up inside of me like bile before a violent flu reaction. It wasn't nice. It didn't feel good at all. But it was right. Oh, I questioned myself repeatedly for days following our parting. Was this the right decision? What could I offer you besides unconditional love?

In my mind and on paper I wrote prose and poetry exclaiming my love for you. Have you ever read them? Did I ever give them to you? I loved seeing pictures of you on occasion or hearing of your life's activities proving that you were well and happy. I could never have imaged that this is where I would be when I tried to look ahead all those years ago.

You came along in a very tumultuous time in my life.  Nothing was going as planned because there really wasn't a good plan. I lived in a chaotic place trying to make sense of nonsense. Believing lies instead of seeking truth. I ran after every whim of empty promises and moments of happiness that blew my way. Where was my foundation? Crumbling underneath me. I never knew that I was struggling in denial of codependency. I really didn't know that this wasn't the way everyone lived.  I couldn't figure out how to rise above my circumstances so I wallowed and played and stomped around in the mud waiting for the next big promise to come along.

The decision I had to make was just about the most difficult one I've ever made, but it was the first step in doing the 'next right thing'. I chose your parents with great deliberation and love.   I prayed for direction and wisdom and received strength to carry out and carry on when I wanted to just throw my hands up and say "I changed my mind!". I longed for you to experience what I had known with siblings and sharing with others and not necessarily being the king of the house. I hope you know what I mean by that. :)

Today, I recalled the words from your grandfather who thanked me for such a great gift in their lives. In my heart I thank God for allowing me to hear those words and be encouraged by the decision I made so long ago.

Happy Birthday, Daniel. I pray that someday you will know for sure just how much I've loved and prayed for you all these twenty-one years. May you walk with God as you mature into the man He always planned for you to be.

He has shown all you people what is good.
   And what does the LORD require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
   and to walk humbly with your God. 

Micah 6:8

A Birthday Tale

Twas the night before Tuesday
In November that year
Everyone was sleeping
As the dawn drew so near

Dad in his boxers
And Mom in her gown
The sibs tucked in tightly
When Mom woke with a frown

Get up! Oh, Get up!
She quietly said
Get up and get going
Get out of this bed!

It’s time for the birth!
They were pacing the floor,
We really must hurry!
It’s well after 4:00

Into the Hudson
they fled, oh so fast!
It’s coming, It’s coming!
Mom said with a blast

Wait! You must wait!
Dad said with his might
We’ve so far to go in the midst
Of this night!

I can’t! Oh, I can’t!
Mom cried with such flair
Pull over now, There's
Not a minute to spare!

A minute or two
and a faint sound was uttered
The baby was here!
Choice words, they were muttered!

Glancing around this
November dark night
They noticed a blinking
A bright shining light!

Their eyes focused sharply
On something mid-air
And knew in a minute the
Airport was there!

Oh Yes! On that night
I was born in the car
Across from City Airport
In front of “Happy Landings Bar”

This small tale of mine
Tells the night of my birth
It’s funny and true
How I came to this earth!

Happy Birthday To Me! ;)


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The Maturing Process

Does the maturing process change an addicted or alcoholic person? I'm not sure about that but something is different with Cliff.

Our conversations are not all about him, if you know what I mean. Cliff's not asking for money, he's not whining about his situation or justifying his choices. No, our conversations instead are about life, about his future and relationships. He listens to me as well as makes sound statements about himself. I know he's clean right now (and some may think that's because he's incarcerated but he could use in there too and isn't) and that certainly puts a different light on life but I believe Cliff is a changed man. He's calmer, he's listening and many times before while locked up there was a great deal of anger, but this time, I don't hear anger. That's a milestone to be sure!

Tuesday is Cliff's 28th birthday. I think he's really getting tired of this life. He's remorseful for all the past and lost years, but knows that he still has a shot at changing his life and starting fresh again. I know God's hand has been on Cliff's life repeatedly when I go over the situations and results of his choices. God knows there's also so much more I don't know that I've been shielded from! Come to think of it, God's hand has been on my life too. Thank you, Lord.

Anyway, something is different with Cliff and it's a positive difference. Today I'm in a content and peaceful state of mind and I'm going to eat blueberry pancakes and drink coffee and be thankful.

Keep growing Cliff...it's a good, good thing.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Today would be Mom's 78th birthday! My parents married at a young age on January 14th, 1950. Children followed rather quickly and Mom had to hold down the fort for the bulk of those years because Dad worked 2 jobs at a minimum, during most of their child raising years.

And no wonder! Amazing Mom had a total of 10 babies and 8 of them within 10 years! Mom had a gleam in her eye that was mesmerizing when she was happy or lovingly teasing someone but especially when she was sharing a happy moment with one of her children. I recall at the funeral home when Mom passed away, a friend of my parent's told me I had my mother's eyes. I loved that! She was an awesome, self-taught, seamstress making who knows how many shirts and dresses, and sometimes winter coats for her family. Not only that, for years she made countless recital costumes for aspiring dancers like me that took months to complete. I still see her late into the night, hunched over her machine, as a light shined down on her work and the only sound was the hum of the wheel whirring as she stitched.

The flip side of Mom, in my observation, is that she carried an underyling sadness though she would never tell you so. I'm only beginning to recognize things I didn't understand. Coming from the generation of secrets, Mom didn't talk much of her childhood. Often one or two of her children sit down together and we discuss family things and marvel at how, for years, Mom was "mum" on most things that had to do with her childhood. And many times we never noticed because she was so busy with a house full of activity but becoming an adult slowly brought about a rite of passage to ask questions. Sometimes Mom just wouldn't go there. She was evasive. Then her story began to unfold, though I'm certain we only ever learned snippets; smidgeons of what her life was really like.

Over the last few years, dealing with my son Cliff, I've lamented in my mind that Mom didn't teach me some of the things I needed to know as an adult. We weren't skilled in the ways of running a home, keeping order and setting boundaries. Only recently my frustration with this issue has turned to sadness and compassion for Mom. You see, as you may have already guessed, Mom was raised by a terribly dysfunctional father who was a lifelong alcoholic. It sounds like he was an abusive one, at that. Mom had very few memories to share of Christmas with her family or any other happy moments. Constantly being farmed out and left in boarding schools didn't give her many treasures in her heart.

We didn't know that. For years Mom, like so many of us family members who don't get it, kept her life story under wraps. These things simply didn't get discussed. Not just by Mom either. It seems that whole generation approached life with a "pull yourself up and button your lip" attitude. My Dad would say it wasn't necessary to dwell on difficult things as it could lead to feeling sorry for yourself. Sometimes that is true and totally applicable. My parents were great about living in the present. But sometimes, when people are unable to function to their God-given ability that answer is an unacceptable lie. If you never address it, "it" never goes away. In moments of trials while raising us, Mom would often be a raging, crazy lady! At least that's what it seemed. Now I see that she didn't know how to handle all these children and was frustrated by what must have seemed overwhelming tasks and challenges. No one taught her and the only life she had was in the light of an insane lifestlye her parents lived.

Oh, but, Mom was a wonderful mother in so many ways! Our biggest cheerleader, always beaming with so much pride when there was some special moment in one of her little chicks lives. She loved my Dad with an unconditional love that exhibited itself over and over and NEVER talked poorly of her husband. My father was her hero; her knight in shining armor who moved her out of a lifestyle where her mother and sister suffered. Yet, the silent offender lurked within Mom's life and robbed her, I'm sure, of certain accomplishments, pleasures and fullfillments she was entitled to. I can't quite pull out all my thoughts yet, but I know I will continue down this path.

For today, I want to celebrate her life as she best knew how to be. She left a loving husband and a legacy of children who were devoted to her.

Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you so :)