The Most Important Lessons

No matter how hard a parent tries to teach their children Life's important lessons, the core values that you hope will stick, and carry them through, it seems like the mundane, repetitive stuff won't even get in there.  "Look both ways!"..."Wash your hands!"... "If it's not a toothbrush or food, DON'T PUT IT IN YOUR MOUTH!"..."Don't yell."... "What do you say? Excuse me. Thank you."

Then, sometimes, without any sort of prompting, they just blow you away with what they know.

My daughter and I went out to do some Back To School shopping. She's going into third grade.  Long ago I learned to just buy the PTA packet, rather than spend many stressful hours running all over town to get the best deals, or find that elusive drawing paper the art teacher wants. Plus our school always pools supplies, so it's just heart breaking for them to pick out special stuff they like, only to have it confiscated and put in the supply closet.  But we always go find a brand new backpack, and lunch box to start the new year. Any special supplies get kept on her homework desk at home.

Well, she picks out a backpack.  Yay! Her favorite was only $10. Matching lunchbox. Check. Cute pencils. Check. Then we spot some pretty pink calculators, and some erasers. Check. Check. We load all this up into the backpack, because we forgot to get a basket.  We go check out. I pay. The cashier puts everything in a sack and hands her the backpack.

She stops me and says, "Mom, this is still in here." The pink calculator. We turn back and I get out some cash to pay for the dollar item.  As we are walking away, she says, "I know that it would have cost us less money not to say anything, but it's worth it, because I want to feel that feeling in my heart, being close to God."

Uh, yeah. What she said. I don't know when or where she learned that, because I don't recall giving her a specific lesson about it, but I know plenty of grownups who don't get that.

I'm also going to sleep a little more soundly, knowing that my girl is going to be okay in her life. She's got "that feeling in her heart", and that can teach her better than I can, any day!

Dad's Home

We took Dad's ashes to New Mexico, to be interred at the Santa Fe National Cemetery. It was a clear day, blue sky, puffy white clouds, and just enough breeze to keep us from noticing the unusually high temperature. In attendance: His wife, two of my Dad's sisters, myself, my husband and two kids. The Honor Guard stood on either side of him and after we had spoken some words, they opened the flag and then folded it again, in a triangle and presented it to his wife. She then gave it to me. I put a photograph of my Dad, in his military uniform, into the box that held his ashes.

We went to lunch to wait for them to finish the burial and then visited the site. My daughter gathered some wildflowers to place on the grave. He would have liked that so much more than a florist arrangement.

Dad wanted to be buried in Santa Fe, because he lived there a long time, and from the moment he arrived there, he'd felt it was the home of his heart. He traveled extensively throughout the world, and lived in many places, but no place did he feel more "at home" than New Mexico.  I love New Mexico too, and will probably visit this gravesite many times, when we travel there. I know he's with God, but am comforted to know that his remains are exactly where he asked for them to be, now.

Hello...elllo.....ello....ello. Is there anybody out there?

I have been blogging now for a little more than a year.  I didn't embark with a need to connect with anyone, or bare my soul. Frankly, I just wanted to get extra entries in various online contests. But that got my feet wet, and the lure of the deep, finally drew me in.

I started writing poetry at age 10, and was keeping diaries by age 12. Most people give that up by the time they are out of high school, but I kept it up, creating volumes of paper books and journals well into middle age. Poetry flowed forth rather freely, as I rarely showed them to anyone. So, no fear.

Eventually, I ended up dating a guy who invited me to go to a poetry reading.  The jerk stood me up. But, it opened my ears to the spoken poem, and I was hooked. I went to more readings. The "jerk" turned out to be having a case of debilitating shyness, which he eventually overcame, and as "friends" we went to poetry readings together.

 Within months we were married. We have two children and have been married now for 20 years. I overcame my shyness too, and managed to get up on stage and read some poems, with shaky voice, at first. But, soon the trueness of my words quieted my fear, and I was able to be at peace when speaking my truth to strangers.

So, fast forward though the years, journaling, writing poems, some songs, painting a bit, and then I had children. No one can ever prepare anyone for how all consuming it is, to give your everything, to another human being, who absolutely has no choice, but to need you completely, 24 hours a day.

The writing stopped. I did manage to grab a pen, now and then, to scribble something cute my baby said, knowing full well, my leaky memory wouldn't hold such detail for long. I treasure those quotes, like nothing that ever came from my own mind. They are the address, where that moment resides in my heart, the key that opens the door, to the image of my little, soft-skinned baby, so full of wonder at life.

But that's all she wrote. For years. No more me having a relationship with myself, no more time to hear my own thoughts. The belly button I gazed upon was my child's, and then the next child's. So, when I "accidentally" ended up starting a blog, I quite naturally was drawn to stay up late, after the kids were off to bed, and the writing poured out of me.

It was no coincidence that I would soon be faced with the most difficult experience of my life. I do believe in God, and that there is a Plan for each of us, that we can use our free will to either participate or reject at any given time.  I needed to write through the illness and eventual death of my father. There was no one, but the Self that I had set aside so many years ago, that could possibly understand what I was going through. This blog helped me so much.

 My Dad had always been so healthy it was ridiculous. The man ate a vegetarian macrobiotic diet for 30 years, and exercised every day. At every check up, the doctors would tell him, " Just keep doing what you're doing".  So, his diagnosis, of an aggressive brain tumor, and his subsequent frailty, was a complete shock to everyone.

They originally predicted he would last 3 months. We got 7 months. Time we all needed to go though the process of hope, and then letting go of hope. Time to adjust and say our goodbyes.  I am so grateful, for my Mom and step mother, my aunts and my uncle for caring for my Dad in his last days. I would never have been able to do that without her. She was amazing.

So, though all this, I wrote, and pondered, and healed. Then the other day, it was pointed out to me that only a handful of people ever saw my blog, and why didn't I try and share it with others who might relate to what I'd been though. Hmmm, novel concept. See, to a diary keeper, an online blog seemed rather public, but then again, who'd ever even find it? In the internet realm, it's like I'd kept it tucked under my mattress all this time.

 But, I had to admit, that there wasn't anything about what I've experience that needs to be hidden. In fact, I could see how the things I went through could be of help to someone else.

I am also going to commit to digging out some old poetry or writing some new poems, since it's kind of my thing.......More to be revealed.

Life Goes On...

It's been a few months since Dad's passing,
but it's still hard to go over to his house. My
Step Mom and I were avoiding each other.

It's such a double edged sword. We both loved
my Dad so much, that seeing each other brings
it all back up. But it's comforting too, knowing
that someone in the world knows your pain
so intimately.

We talked about it. I'm grateful she's such
an honest person. I like keeping it real.

I want to be there, to be in the place he called
home.  I want to nurture this relationship, to
the woman he loved, and who made him as
happy as I have ever known him to be.

We still have stuff to handle. Someone
hacked his email account and started sending
trojans to his contacts. That stirred up pain
and anger. We had to deal with closing those
accounts.

I went over there this weekend, and brought
the kids, to make a pie with her,
and she took out a box full of my Dad's
diaries, photos, and treasures.

He traveled all over the world, so he kept
his possessions to a minimum. Anything
he kept, you knew it meant a lot to him.

We found a father's day card I had sent to
him back in 1998, two years before my son
was born. He's twelve now, so 14 years ago.

I read it and cried. We had time to say things
that were meaningful to each other, before he
passed, but finding that card, meant a lot,
because it showed me that I really had
expressed my love to him, and that he
treasured it.

Here's what I had written on the card:


Dad, 


From you I Learned
Honor and Integrity,
Patience and Kindness,
Love of Art, Song, and Stories,
Travel and Adventure,
 Family and Friendship,
 and the joy of routine.
To be Open-Minded,
and slow to judge others harshly, 
To look for the good in people,
To look for God, 
and to find Peace,
To enjoy serving my fellow man,
To be perceptive of my impact on people,
the ability to connect with all kinds
of different people and places,
To stand bravely for what I believe,
To respect other's opinions,
even when they differ from my own,
To become a person I respect, 
that both out us can be proud of.
I am so very grateful,
 that of all the men on earth, 
that you were my father. 
I've never wished for another.


Love always and forever, Jeanne

Ashes to Ashes

The research hospital called to say that they were done
 with my father's body, and his ashes were ready
for us to pick up. I was surprised it was so quick,
 (only 2 months), because they had said it could be
 up to 18 months. My step Mom picked them up
 and I got them from her yesterday.

She said the lady there told her that my Dad's body
 was used in research, not an actual transplant,
but study about face transplantation.

I recalled in the news recently, there had been a story
about a man who had been electrocuted and had lost
his face to burns. He had a face transplant, (one of the
first successful ones), and was then able to feel his
daughter kiss him on the cheek.

When I first heard about it on the news, I had thought
the idea "creepy", but when I heard the part about the
kiss, my heart melted. Then it sounded more like a "miracle."

 I remember so clearly how it felt to kiss my Dad's cheek...

Tears still come so easily....

He was in the VA Hospice. We kept him home as long as
possible, but finally he needed round the clock nursing.

We had been making sure someone from our family was
with him round the clock, except in the deep night. His
bed was on an alarm, so a nurse would come to his side if
needed it.

Even my Mom, (his ex-wife) was part of the team,
because they had always remained friends, even after they
divorced, when I was 10 years old.

They met teaching Bible school, their mutual
love of God, and me (their only daughter), and their
deep respect for each other, kept them from ever becoming
petty, or hateful toward each other.

This last day, I had been supposed to stay home, because his
two sisters were in town, giving us a break. But that day, I
couldn't stay away. I felt a really strong pull to be at his side,
so I grabbed some food to eat on the road, and went to him.

Since I told them I was coming, his sisters and my step-mom,
decided to go out to lunch together. So, when I arrived, we
were alone,  just the two of us, next to his sunny window.

He was already non-communicative, but the nurses told us
that he may still be able to understand us. So, we kept talking
to him. His eyes shut, the only sound he made was raspy,
heavy breathing.

I told him what was going on with the kids, and then
for some reason, (probably because we were alone),
I sang out loud, the song that popped into my head.

"You take the high road,
and I'll take the low road,
and I'll be in Scotland before you.
For I and my true love
will never meet again,
on the bonnie, bonnie banks
of Loch Lomond."

(Later, that song would prove prophetic, since I did not
ever see him again.)

I noticed that shiny grey stubble had grown out on his chin,
so I got out the razor and cream, and shaved him, telling
him I was making his face smooth for when his wife
would be back soon to give him a kiss.
When I was done, I kissed him, and pronounced it smooth.

Later, when they were back, I kissed him again.
My last kiss, my last contact, that I will never forget.

When I learned about the research they did, I thought of
that kiss, and how I made his cheeks smooth, and of the
other kiss, that the other father was now able to feel. It all
feels so meant-to-be.

 It's, just another wonderful way
that he was heroic, and a blessing to his fellow man,
even after his death, but in such a personal way, that
really has meaning for me.

I will keep his ashes until we can go to the Veteran's Memorial
for internment. He was a hero, not just to me, but during the
Vietnam war. I have his silver star and purple heart, and the
flag they gave my Step Mom at the hospital after they took
his body away.

Those things will have sentimental value, but it's the kiss
that lives in my heart, that really means the most.

Willed Body Donation

Sent to UT Southwestern Medical Center
Willed Body Donation Dept.
For my Dad

THE GIFT

Handle With Care!

This is the body 

that shielded

wounded soldiers

under fire.

These are the arms

that carried them 

through the jungle,

to safety.

These very arms 

held me warmly,

when I cried,

and worked to provide

food and shelter.

These are  hands 

that carved sculptures,
 painted

beautiful landscapes

and portraits.

These are the feet

I stood upon,

that taught me

how to dance.

This is the back 

I slept against,

in safety

from the storms.

These are the lips

that kissed my cheek,

sang songs,

and told  stories.

This is the heart

that beat for us,

with steady,

unwavering love.

These are the eyes

that saw the world

as it really was,

but reflected back

what it could be.

These are the eyes

that saw injustice,

and the mouth 

that spoke out

against it.

This is the head

that thought things through,

and guided so many

with wisdom.

This is the cancer

that took him from us.

Hate it

as we do,

and let that passion

fuel your work. 

Here is the body

he decided to donate

some thirty years ago,

and now we also

let go.

Draw knowledge from it.

Teach with it,

Gain skill from it.

But above all,

Respect it.

Make this gift

worth all that we still suffer

from the loss

of his warmth

in this world.

Peace for Everyone

It's a day past Memorial Day, but I just read something that has a lot of meaning for me, regarding war, and veterans.

My father was a veteran of Korea and Vietnam. He was awarded a silver star and a purple heart, and medical disability retirement after being wounded in Vietnam in 1965.

I'll tell more about that later, in another post, but for now, I will just say, that he worked for Peace for the entire rest of his life.

Robert Perry became one of his close friends, and it is his blog that I now refer you to. I think the idea expressed there, is one my father would like to have shared.

A Future Without War

http://www.semeionpress.com/signs/SignPosts/?p=683

Also want to add this wonderful TED talk:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04SEzifEsGg&feature=youtu.be