Happy Father’s Day

The boys below, took off on their first annual Father’s Day golf outing this morning.  Three generations, enjoying the sun and each other.

Not sure you could ask for anything more.

Happy Father’s Day!

While they were away, KP, PJ, my mom and I had breakfast and took off to the cemetery.  Since we haven’t gotten a headstone yet, we decided to grab some rocks and some paint and do a little art therapy for the living.

Then we started walking around the cemetery and back behind the shed, were the caretakers keep stuff and throw other stuff away.

My mom found live plants in a pile of disregarded dead ones (Anne Marie, there were a few plant stands there too).  KP found an old rusted out dragon fly and PJ put together bouquets of weed-flowers.

When we put it all together my mom said, “Your dad would have loved doing this.”  I said, “Well, he wouldn’t have loved doing the art, he would have loved the fact that we were steeling this stuff from the back of the shed.”

I really miss you dad.

Death is nothing at all, I have only slipped away into the next room, I am I and you are you.

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still, call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way you always used.

Put no difference into your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow, laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we always enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me, let my name be ever the household word that it always was, let it be spoken without effort, without the ghost of a shadow in it.

Life means all that it ever meant, it is the same as it ever was, there is absolute unbroken continuity.

What is death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind, because I am out of sight?

I am waiting for you for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner, all is well.

Nothing is past; nothing is lost, one brief moment and all will be as it was before.

How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

Canon of St. Paul’s Cathedral

First times

For my mom, this year has had its bumps, but she is moving through it the best way she can.  And I must say, she is doing a great job.  Changing what you have known for 40 some years is hard, even for the best change agent in the world.

If you have been around me at all in the past months, you have heard me utter, “2010 is STILL going to be a good year”.  And I do honestly believe that.

I said this exact thing to my mom last night, while we sat in the ER waiting for the second of two CT scans to be done and her lip to be stitched up.  When I said it, she gave a a very grim…”When?”

She fell while on a walk, during a stunning spring day, with her friend.  Simply caught her toe on some winter-heaved-pavement and down she went, on her face.  Lots of stitches, lots of swelling, lots of bruising.  She said I could post the photo, but…I’m restraining myself.  She thinks it looks worse than it feels.  Yup, it’s hard to look at.

This year has a lot of firsts for her.  Her first time to the ER.  Her first stitches.  Her first decisions by herself without a partner in crime.

She is finding her way.  She is amazing.

How lucky I am to be the one to hold her hand as she got her first set of stitches.

Down to one

At one point in time, our family had seven animals living in the house.  As of yesterday, we are down to one.

Whiskey “bit it”.  It was sad but no tears were shed.  My kids are getting the hang of the circle of life.

KP’s night time prayer went like this, “And I pray that Grandpa and Whiskey can now be together in heaven.”

I’m not sure Whiskey is going to feel the same way after last Easter.

How adults say goodbye is different

My friend Ellen was wielding the camera during my dad’s funeral and burial.  She caught this shot, which I just love.  Here it is…the last touch the kids will ever get of their grandpa.

However, the story doesn’t end there.

Before the casket even got out of the hearse, KP was standing at the edge of the very large grave, peering over the edge to see indeed how big that hole was and wondering what was going to happen next.  Like maybe he might even fall in.

After the burial service, as people were dispersing, the kids asked how the casket got into the ground.  Which quickly turned into, ARE WE GOING TO SEE GRANDPA GO INTO THE GROUND????

I quickly shot a look to my mother that said, you ok with this?  And with her nod of approval, the funeral director got the tooth missing, butt crack showing grave digger to come out early and lower my dad into the ground.

As they were watching in amazement, as the box went deeper and deeper, they each grabbed a flower from the arrangement on the casket.  And once the casket was in, they asked if they could throw in their flowers.

And with great gusto, as only little kids can get away with, they started throwing flowers into the hole and onto of the casket and belly laughing as they did it.

My mothers parting words were, “Your dad would have loved that.  The kids circled around him and the final thing he would hear, their laughter.”

And with great gusto…

My sister-in-law Shannon found out last week that she has breast cancer.

She is amazing with her quiet resolve and fortitude to persevere.

In light of everything that is going on, she and my brother are facing this hurdle with great grace and style.

Here was the email I received today:

Hello Everyone,
As some of you know, Shannon is going in for Breast Cancer surgery on Friday.
So to kick things off right, let’s get together at the Leaning Tower of Pizza in Uptown on Thursday night.
Happy Hour kicks off at 4 until 6pm.
We will be having fun and merriment.
Some of the things that could happen are…
*Guess Shannon’s new cup size!
*Pin the new nipple on Shannon!
*See if Shannon will show us her soon to be eliminate left lady!
*And many other fun and exciting things to be figured out on the fly!
We would love to see each and everyone of you.
If I missed anyone, please forward this msg.
Thank you for your thoughts in advance.
Tom

p.s. if I freaked anyone out with the levity of the email, Get over it.  :-}

If you can make it out on Thursday night, do.

Come and raise a toast to Shannon!

Spinning plates

I like to think of myself as the master plate spinner, keeping them all going in a whirl over my head.  A delicate dance that not many can do well.

And last night, when KP walked into the kitchen and BARFED all over the kitchen floor, they all came crashing down.

That was my limit.  I instantaneously  felt the tidal wave crash over me, knowing my night would be a long one filled with back rubs, little sleep, vomit clean up and butt wiping.

Along with trying to keep my house healthy, are thoughts around my dad coming home from the hospital tomorrow.  My brother and I will be taking shifts sleeping over and visiting during the day while my mom will bare the brunt of the load.  Life will change for me, my kids, Adam.  Everything needs to shuffle, everyone needs to help.

As much as I want to spin this plate and make it look easy, it just isn’t.  This plate has a life of it’s own and I can’t keep it from falling, but I’m sure going to try to hold it up for just a touch longer.

And it’s free

I love this photo.

Looking at it, you really have no idea where it was taken.

What I see is my Dad, my son and my lovely brother.

This photo will always remind me of how this Christmas seemed just a little different than the rest.

What this photo doesn’t tell you, is that my brother just gave my dad the greatest gift in the world by going to Christmas Eve mass with him.  That gift elicited tears of joy from my father before, during and after church.

It cost nothing and he didn’t even burst into flame!  I did have my camera there just in case he would.  How cool would that be?

Adam and I gave CT a simple sweatshirt.  He didn’t ask for it.  It wasn’t anything particularly amazing but he loved it non the less.  As we sat at the table Christmas morning he thanked me for the sweatshirt, for about the fifth time.  He was truly grateful for this gift and wanted me to know how grateful he was.  At nine, we saw it.  He was honestly grateful.  Not just telling us thank you because he knows he has too.

Tears rolled down my cheeks at the table as we passed the rolls.  His gift to me…his honest gratitude.

And the last of the gifts that made a difference this year were the letters.  My dad hand wrote letters to everyone and so did Nana and Papa.

Nana and Papa wrote each person a Christmas note that reminded us of our own unique special gifts and just how much they appreciate them.

PJ’s read:  A purposeful disposition, physical strength, an organized mind, an enterprising spirit and the love of her family.

CT’s read:  A very warm heart, a sound body for sports, creativity in thought, inventiveness and the love of his family.

KP’s read:  Big eyes and a smiling face, fast afoot, powers of concentration, the will to help and the love of his family.

These are gifts that maybe only an adult can love, but as an adult I must say, the generousity of thought and love that went on this year was amazing.

In the spirit of the sweet baby Jesus

Yesterday the kids and I brought a tree to my parents house to decorate for them, for Christmas.  This turned out to be one of those labors of love that I would have rather stuck sharp rusty nails into my eyeballs than have to do again. I did not go as I had planned, any of it.

After 7 hours, 3 stores, a trip back to my house, lunch out, 2 snacks, 1 lost dog and three tree stands later, my mom and I stood by the decorated tree and laughed.  The stroke that I thought I was having around 3:00 subsided as the white wine washed away the throbbing temple pain at 7:00.

We continued to laugh as I explained that this was suppose to be no effort for them, just joy and ease.

We laughed even harder at the pot the Christmas tree ended up in, filled with sand and rock and the fact that the tree still DID NOT stand real straight.

We laughed harder still when I reenacted my bout of Coprolalia that occurred during this most lovely tree trimming event.

Then I almost spit out my wine when my oh so sweet mother said,

“Yeah, I found myself saying fuck the other day.  And then I said to myself, FUCK you better FUCKING stop saying the word FUCK!”

And I couldn’t stop laughing as I asked her if I could blog what she just said.

Have I told you recently…

how much I HATE cancer?

It’s insidious, crafty, cunning and sly.

It doesn’t care who you know, how much you are loved, how much money you make or don’t or what holiday is coming up next.

It has entered into our lives, taken hold and will not even for a moment relinquish control.

The game it plays is a funny one.

It takes it’s turn, maybe even two turns at a time (it doesn’t care much for the rules) and then we take our turn, almost always lagging behind but non-the-less trying to move ahead, catch-up to it and maybe even out smart it.

It’s a hard game to play.

And if you’re not the player, it is a hard game to watch unfold before your eyes.

My dad continues to play his version of the game.

His next move includes radiating two sections of his spine, starting next week and ending three days before Christmas.

Oh how I so desperately wish I could draw the card that allows him to pass GO, collect $200 and WIN.

Old Time Sunday Dinner

I’ve always loved the idea of sharing Sunday dinner with family.  The visual I get, is of this Grandmother figure with thick Polish sausage sized fingers, stirring her pot of homemade love and the rest of the family wrapped around the kitchen helping, talking and sharing what the past week held for them.

A couple of months or so ago, Adam and I talked about starting family dinners at our house.  With my dad’s ever present illness, it took us about two and a half seconds to come to the determination that Family Dinner was a fabulous idea.

So we have kicked this off with a few twists.  #1.  The meal must be simple (or reasonably simple-I have a tendency to make things much more complicated then they need to be). #2.  Come as you are (showered or not, sweats or slacks).  #3.  We have kept the numbers down for ease, so only Grandparents are invited (sorry siblings maybe you can make a guest appearance sometime).

These Sunday’s at 4:30 pm have come to be precious to me already.

Of course, it is all selfish and self-serving.  I want my kids to learn to sit at a nice table, enjoy good food and listen to stories their grandparents tell and spin tails of their own.  I want to plant the seed of family, caring, being there for each other and simply enjoying life together.

Here’s to hoping.