20 Years

Dad died 20 years ago today. For once, something really does seem like it happened that long ago. Twenty years sounds like a really long time, and it is. A generation. RIP, Dad.

The First Anniversary

Written Feb. 16:

Saturday, February 12, was the first anniversary of Mom's death. It seems impossible to believe that it has been a whole year already.

The last few weeks have been difficult for me. Knowing the anniversary was so near, my emotions--all of them--have been right at the surface. It's hard to maintain a steady course when the waves are so constantly roiling.

When Mom died, there was the relief that now she would be at peace, and she no longer had to suffer. There were all the details of the death to handle, from getting the death certificate signed, to notifying family and friends, planning the memorial service, settling the estate, and all the other countless little things that needed attending to. There was adapting to life without her, without having to care for her, to arrange to have someone at home with her at all times, to dealing with (often fighting with) the health professionals and caregivers, and trying to figure out what is best for someone who could no longer communicate. Missing her was not immediate.

But now I miss her. As I continue to recover/uncover all of her, and not just who she was for the last few years as the Alzheimer's slowly robbed her of more and more of her functionality and her self, I miss that whole self more and more.

March 6:

I never finished that post, and now, today it is the one-year anniversary of Mom's memorial service. (On a side note, it is also the one-year anniversary of my friend Shelly's 52nd and final birthday party, the one I couldn't attend because of the service. Shelly died of pancreatic cancer in June). I have read in a couple of different places that it is the leading up to the first anniversary that is more difficult than the anniversary itself. That has certainly been true in my case. It seems that roiling emotions just relaxed into calm waters on the actual day of the anniversary.

Jeanne and I (and Cleo, the wonder dog) drove to Green Bay that day. It was the Saturday after the Packers won Super Bowl XLV, so of course our first stop was at the Packers Pro Shop at Lambeau Field. Someone asked what that had to do with remembering Mom. She and Dad had season tickets to the Packers games for all the years they lived in Green Bay. Mom preferred watching on TV, so when my brothers got older, they often went with Dad instead. Now they have inherited the tickets. Mom would sometimes tell me how when they first moved to GB, the games were still being played at the Green Bay East High School field. All four of us kids graduated from East. Cheering for the Packers was something Mom could still do even after watching most other TV shows became meaningless for her. Our visit to the Pro Shop may have been motivated by self-interest, but it's not like there are no connections to the Packers in my memories of Mom.

After the Pro Shop, we drove to the cemetery. The flat headstones were all covered with snow, so we trudged around in the vicinity of the grave, but under the snow was a layer of ice, so we couldn't dig through to the headstone itself. That was no big surprise, and it was okay. I don't need to see the marker to know it's there.

Then we drove to the nearby McDonalds to use the restrooms, and saw Kaap's Fine Candies next door. I won't go into the long history of Kaap's in GB, but will say that it was an old German restaurant, with a bakery and candy shop. Everything they made was out of this world. Otto Kaap is long gone, as is the restaurant with its dark wood interior on Washington Street, but the candy shop survives on Webster Avenue. Jeanne and I had to stop, and we picked out a pound of the best dark chocolate candy I've had in a very long time. And I eat a lot of dark chocolate! Even though I'd never been in this store location before, just being in a store called Kaap's, with pictures of the old restaurant, and the familiar candy boxes, brought a lot of memories back.

Positive memories (except for the bedevilment of knowing I may never again have a cheesecake like Kaap's used to make; that recipe was not saved when the original restaurant closed, and I've never seen a cheesecake like that--tall and light--again. What a loss!).

By the time we left Kaap's, it was snowing and getting dark, so instead of dinner at Titletown Brewery (a restaurant Mom was pleased to introduce us to), we drove home. All day long, I felt so calm, even peaceful, as cliche as that sounds. It was nothing like the emotional weeks leading up to this first anniversary. Go figure. The "grief book" was right on target about this.

And yet, it took me three weeks to write this. Ah, I'm sure it's just because I've been busy.

Happy Birthday, Dad

He would have been 88 today. His mother lived to be 90; she was the only biological grandparent I knew. Dad's dad died young. I think my dad was 17 when his dad died. I'll have to look it up. Dad died a month short of his 69th birthday, 19 years ago. And Mom died 6 months ago yesterday.

So many dates and anniversaries, I begin to wonder if there are too many to really mean anything, other than I get lots of memory prompts in the summer. They each mean a little less the farther I move away from them. I used to go to the shore of Lake Michigan and send Dad a Happy Birthday balloon every year on this date. After 3 or 4 years I stopped. I no longer felt that need.

Yet I also notice that I do not forget these dates. I make a point not to forget all these dates. They must mean something; in fact, I feel as though their meaning is probably fairly obvious. Maybe it's too close, staring me in the face, as they say, so that I cannot make out the relevance of remembering these milestones. Or maybe that's the point, remembering. Those casually tossed off "memory prompts" are the meaning. Wisdom has it that one mustn't live in the past. Ignoring the past is, on the other hand, ignoring what made us what we are in the present.

Whatever the meaning, the memories are here, as is the love (and the fights and the laughs and the dysfunction). Another milestone, more memories, another summer day.

Another milestone

When last I wrote, I mentioned that my dad's birthday is this week--tomorrow, actually. What I didn't even realize was that today, August 12, is the 6-month anniversary of Mom's death.

I had lunch with a friend/colleague today, a mutual friend of my colleague who died two months ago tomorrow. We talked a lot about death, and her aging parents (her mom has Alzheimer's). I would not say it was a morbid conversation, however, or even a depressing one. It was a necessary one, perhaps. What I have found, especially in these past 6 months, is that there are a fair number of people out there who will do anything to avoid talking about, and thus thinking about, death. Quite frankly, that doesn't work for me. Death is a natural consequence of life. To try to ignore it makes absolutely no sense to me. Acknowledging it, accepting it, even expecting it seems not only rational, but helpful. Being at my mom's side when she died was an incredibly grace-filled moment. I felt that she honored me by allowing me to witness that transition.

So a lunch conversation about death does not strike me as odd or morbid, but in many ways as helpful. Death happens.

And Mom, wherever you are now, it cannot be as bad as the hell of Alzheimer's, so I don't wish you back, but I do miss you. I hope that whatever place you are in, in whatever form you are in, it's giving you peace.

Pilgrimage

Monday, July 26, would have been Mom's 88th birthday. To mark the occasion, Jeanne and I drove up to Green Bay (with our dog Cleo). We hadn't been to the cemetery since Mom's burial and the engraving being finished. So I bought a plant, which is surely dead by now unless "neighbors" are watering it, and placed it on the grave. Here is a partially shaded photo:

We didn't stay long at the cemetery; there's not much to do there. So we cruised past Mom & Dad's old condo. We also found my childhood home, which got moved when the YWCA bought the lot for parking. I knew what street they moved it to, but not which block. So we drove up the street until I recognized it; it's a big house, and had a few identifying features that made me confident that I'd correctly identified it. That was enjoyable; I loved that house. We also drove past my old high school, to make sure the headless children still had their heads reattached (long story, but one that always brings a smile. I may have to tell it some day, as Mom has a significant role in it).

Then we picked up some lunch, and had a little picnic at a park by the river. It felt surprisingly freeing to be in my home town with no agenda, no one to have to see, nowhere to have to be.

And then we drove home. I did not feel overtly emotional that day, but I could feel the next day that things were not their placid normal selves. Not much more to report than that. Getting ready for Dad's birthday next week. As I mentioned in my previous post, this is the season of remembering for me.

Anniversaries

Today is the 19th anniversary of my dad's death. Monday is the 88th anniversary of my mom's birth. Mom was never crazy about her birthday, and once Dad died, 3 days before her birthday, she liked them even less. Even as Alzheimer's took her mind, some part of her seemed to remember these dates. Ever since she came to live with us, and possibly before, this time of the year was difficult for her. Her moods and demeanor would be a little darker and agitated in mid-to-late summer. She was unhappier. And it definitely was not because of the weather. Wisconsin summers are too short, and she disliked the winters too much for us to think it was a "seasonal" effect. We're sure it was an anniversary effect, though perhaps never conscious.


For me, this is also a time to remember these anniversaries. I try to stay focused on the happy memories.