Pain From Loss

My first experience of loss occurred when I was in grade school. We had just moved from Davenport to East Moline. My school in East Moline was Hillcrest School. Moving was both exciting and scary. I had enjoyed my school time at Jefferson School in Davenport, but now I was going to be going to a new school where I was an unknown, where the social groups were already set. I think I took that move harder than I admitted to myself at the time.

The first person I encountered at my new school was the secretary. Time has cost me the memory of her name - was it Shirley? -  and that saddens me greatly. She offered a warm welcome and the boost that I needed to start finding some excitement again.

Within a year she was dead.

I remember the visitation that children in our school went to, at a church in downtown Rock Island. I remember the day as being ,cloudy,  threatening. Maybe that was just my mood. One of the brighter lights to that point in my life was gone.

Some years later I lost an aunt to heart disease. She was too young.

When I was 31 we lost our dad. He had two heart attacks within a month. When I am asked by a doctor if there's a history of heart disease in my family I answer, "Do you have a while?" When I was 43 we lost our mom. When Cindy was almost 31 she lost her dad. Just within the last couple of years Cindy's mom passed away.

We have lost more than one nephew under horrible circumstances.

Every one of these people were Mom - Dad - Grandma - Grandpa - Aunt - Son - Brother - Cousin - family - loved. The loss of every one of them caused unspeakable pain, a pain that seems like it will go on forever. Some time ago, a dear friend from work and I found ourselves experiencing family losses. The timing was eerie. I would lose someone, then within a month or so she would lose someone. Then she would lose someone else and, within a month, I'd lose someone else. It wasn't just the timing that was weird. It was that the relatives we lost were the same relatives: she lost a nephew, then I lost a nephew. She lost a mother-in-law, then I lost a mother-in-law. . .We went through about three exchanges like that. She and I agreed that we were funeralled out. No more! We promised each other!

It didn't work. My thinking about the subject of loss was triggered by the death of a sister-in-law, my wife's second-oldest sister, early Tuesday morning. She was only 62. It was sudden and unexpected, a complete shock. I can't say I knew her well. By the time Cindy and I married she was already married and had been living in Washington state for some years, but Cindy and the younger sisters looked up to her. In a family of 13 kids, she was the (rare!) quiet one, but she had her way of making her presence known. She was a mom to ten, one of whom has passed away. The other nine are all solid, responsible citizens. This loss hurts my wife far more than it hurts me. But it does hurt as the loss of any good person should hurt. Great wife to Bob, great mom to all her kids, great human being, a person who lived by her faith and found meaning in it. You can't ask more than that.

So, again, we experience the pain of loss. I've been through this enough times to know how this works. At first, the numbness, the shock. Then, the pain that becomes nearly unbearable, and seems endless. Someone, trying to be helpful, will say, "I know how you feel." No, no you don't. "God must have wanted another angel, so God took. . ." What kind of God do you believe in? I want no part of such a God! But then there's the true friend, the one that knows that what's really needed is for them to be there. Not to say anything - just be there. The touch of that hand means more than volumes of words.

Over time the pain does ease, and eventually you stop thinking about this person constantly. But, the agony never completely goes away. Some occasion will come up - a holiday will trigger a memory, a birthday will remind you, an anniversary brings back THAT day - and the pain is as bad as ever. It's hard to know this when you're in the middle of it, but over time the recurrences of the pain will become less frequent, the incidents will be milder. You may find your faith and your belief in the next life is renewed and more real than ever before. And, you can get to the point that, while there is pain, you can celebrate this person. The joy of having had the privilege of knowing them overrides the pain of losing them. And, hope refreshes. But, you never, ever forget, and that's good. We're human. We have memory.

As always, I'd love your thoughts. Thanks for hanging out for a few.

They don't call me Eddie Crocker. . .

 Something's burning.

Something's burning.

Something's burning,

And I think it's. . .

The pork chops.

This evening I was asked to help cook something. Horrors.

My history with pots, pans, stoves, ovens has not been a great one. Odd, because when I was a kid I took some interest in baking. (Yeah, I had my quirks.) I didn't do all that badly. I don't remember anybody running for the bathroom doubled over. I had no idea how much help my mother was in these endeavors. I was able to make my offerings with pride.

from some Hardee's commercials: "Without us, some guys would starve."

Soldiers who gathered  in England in preparation for the D-Day invasion recalled their diet: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, seven days a week, three meals a day. Many of these soldiers, for the rest of their lives, could not stand the sight of peanut butter.

I might have met that fate myself, and not because of any pending invasion, had I not met and married someone who could cook. We had four daughters, and they, for the most part, learned the fine art from their mom. Thank goodness!

On one occasion, when my wife was away due to her father's illness, I tried to cook some pork chops on the grill for our kids. I knew that I was supposed to put some foil on the grill. I didn't know that it mattered whether the shiny side was up or down. I managed to turn a bunch or perfectly good pork chops into hockey pucks. Our son threw one on the floor. It broke - the pork chop, I mean. Not the floor, although the outcome of the floor vs. chop conflict was in doubt.

I've turned chicken noodle soup into something - fried.

I've tried to boil water. Burned it.

So, imagine my terror when my wife called to me tonight. She was making something for our family reunion tomorrow. "Dear?" I walk fearfully toward the kitchen. "Yes?"

"I need you to stir these noodles until they come back to a boil." Then a pause. "Can you DO that??"

OH NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Well, I did, and no disaster has occurred yet. What - you mean you can overcook those? Oh - BRB.

I'll be at the Iowa State Fair, working our pavilion from 4-8 PM on August 19, and from 8 AM-12 noon on August 20. So, which Applebee's? Yeah, it's the Embassy Suites I'll be staying at. No, I'm not going to try it myself. I'm into creating ashes, not eating them.

The Fourth of July

It's July 3, as I write. I can hear on the nearby streets the explosions of various devices. I'm not out there because after lo, these many years, I have concluded that my fingers are my friends and I'd like to keep them attached.

A little farther away, on the Mississippi River, the officially sanctioned fireworks display is being held. The fireworks are launched from barges on the Mississippi, and I hear that the Quad City Symphony was playing. I wasn't there, either. The older I get the more I hate crowds unless it's Wrigley Field and someone else is driving. And parking.

It's July 3. One day before the date we celebrate the beginning of our independence and two days prior to the celebration of a truly blessed event - my birthday. What!? - you mean all those fireworks and all that celebration isn't about ME!!??

Gee, all of that to get to the topic of the music. I would not be surprised if the Symphony played Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture tonight. Thanks to the Boston Pops, that piece is standard fare for this celebration. Am I the only one that finds it odd that we use music by a Russian composer, written in celebration of the Russian army's defeat of the French army to observe the independence of the United States? By most accounts Tchaikovsky didn't even like that piece of music very much.

The closing hymn for the 5:00 Mass at St. Mary's tonight was America, the Beautiful. The lyrics were written by Katharine Lee Bates. Ms. Bates was an English professor at Wellesley who in the summer of 1893 journeyed across the country. She went to Colorado Springs to teach a summer session. She was moved by the Columbian Exposition in Chicago, the "White City" ("thine alabaster cities gleam") and by the seemingly endless wheat fields of Kansas. The lyrics began to come together for her when she saw the view from the summit of Pike's Peak.

It has been suggested that America, the Beautiful should be our national anthem. I'd be all for that. As I write this I have, on my speakers, a rendition by the United States Navy Band and Sea Chanters. I've listened to versions by Lee Ann Rimes, by Willie Nelson and a number of friends, by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. My absolute favorite version remains the one by Ray Charles.

I can't help but notice that for every one of these artists this song becomes their own song.

And I can't help but notice that, for every one of us, America becomes our own country. And isn't that the beauty of it? We may not agree on everything. We may tire of the divisions while overlooking the freedom we have to have those divisions. It's messy, true - but I feel incredibly blessed to have been born in such a place. Thank you, God!

O beautiful for heroes proved

In liberating strife

Who more than self their country loved

And mercy more than life.

America! America!

May God thy gold refine

Till all success be nobleness

And every gain divine!

Thanks for hanging out for a few. Have a blessed Fourth!