And I never lost one minute of sleepin, worryin bout the way things might of been.
Big wheel keep on turnin, Proud Mary keep on burnin, rollin, rollin, rollin on the river.
'Proud Mary' - Creedence Clearwater Revival
Three and a half months since I've last written. I've started to on occasion but haven't really known where to start. I'm not going to spend this time talking about the struggle, except to say that I find that time alone in the car seems to be the truly unpleasant time. Interesting that it has manifested this way, probably because driving was what I was doing when it all started. Anyway that's all I'm gonna say on that right now because there will be much more to write after her birthday weekend later this month. Time to try and catch up on what's been going on. Enjoy the bullet points.
St. Patrick's Day, Parts 1 & 2 - Jeeves' house for game night. One of the most hilarious nights ever, covered with a fine layer of alcohol-soaked awkwardness (none of my own thankfully). I did however purposely throw myself down a flight of stairs. And seriously, the game 'Apples to Apples' should be played by everyone. Part 2 was barhopping through the U-District, which is always a good idea.
Leota's Birthday - Can't believe its already been a year. Nice little gathering at Matt and Emily's, beautiful video made by Steve to commemmorate it.
Work - Every so often it is decided that things need to be shaken up. This was one of those times. A restructuring of how stores are operated. Short version, many of my friends took severance over demotion. As a side-effect, the promotion I was so confident of went away. At this point its just a push in the right direction, which is anywhere else.
The Going Away Party - The massive sendoff for Andrew as he headed to Atlanta. I inadvertantly got smashed, as evidence later by the fact that I completely forgot about quite a few events. I know that somebody sang 'Ice Ice Baby' with me but I don't know who. And I know Jonas rode me like a pony while Ross sang the song of the same name. And finally, I know I ended up in the middle of the Fremont Cut on a swimming adventure. It was an interesting evening indeed.
Mother's Day Weekend - Not surprisingly, I did not expect this to be an easy weekend. Saturday was Gayle's birthday so we had a family dinner at Grandma Cathy and Grandpa Win's. Spent most of the day playing with the kids in the front yard, basically just beating each other up. Sunday was a barbecue at Aunt Karen's that was also fantastic, if not emotional by the time it was over.
The Explosion - Most saw this in my status or heard about it the next couple days. I sat at my computer and suddenly it turned off. I looked at it, saw sparks flying and smoke coming out the top. I'm still attempting to repair the damage as I sit on this laptop that is nearly dead itself. Sad day.
Moon Temple - The great farewell to all those lost in the OpModel change at work. This night was destined to end in absolute fucking hilarity. It has proven to me that I mould be erasedust redouble my efforts to post the library of pictures and videos online. The night was also the precursor to a very unexpected change to the status quo. More on that later, but I expect to soon be writing about a ten-day adventure that is long overdue. Oh, and almost forgot, ended up swimming in Fremont again. Damn that water is cold, and the swim back and forth is tiring.
The Birthday Party - Not two hours after the previous was finished, I was headed to the airport, on my way to Sacramento, CA. My Aunt Jean turned 60 and Grandpa and I went down to be part of her surprise party. A nice relaxing day with family was just what the doctor ordered, even if it meant turning around 24 hours later and coming back to Seattle.
So those are the big things that have passed, perhaps skipping over some stuff like the work stuff that is driving me nuts. Now to focus on what's ahead. Things seem similar to how they were just over a year ago. Possibly moving, looking for a new job, and, well the rest will be explained in time. But beside that I've been searching, though for what I'm not entirely sure. Some things have been gnawing at me lately. I don't quite have words for it yet, maybe I need to take a break and figure out what I want to write. When one takes on the topic of good versus evil, they must choose their words carefully.
But I want this to end on a positive note so I preview upcoming adventures with this. Last night was an unexpected first step. On the one hand I wish I could have hung out with everyone there rather than splitting off, but on the much bigger hand, it was worth it. Finally watched Labyrinth, what a bizarre movie. How we finished it without falling asleep is a mystery to me.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Even If Your Hands Are Shakin' and Your Faith is Broken
Even as the eyes are closin, do it with a heart wide open.
A wide heart.
Say what you need to say, say what you need to say.....
'Say' - John Mayer
It's been over a month since the nightmare worsened, and two months since the beginning, and only now have I decided to post more thoughts. There have been many good times in the interim, ones that I'll likely write about later, but it was getting over this roadblock that kept me silent. I've had this file open on my computer for weeks, but just couldn't figure out how to finish it. Finally I just said to hell with it and put up what I had...
So here is part two.
On the evening of Christmas, as I spent the last half of the holiday with Grandma Cathy and Grandpa Win, and that side of the family, a question was posed to me. What are you going to do when Grandma [Marilyn] finally goes? I said that I would probably curl up into a ball and just cry. I then said I was changing the topic as that was not something I wished to discuss at that moment. Not long after that I had a talk with Mom about the inevitable conversation we would have with her. There have been two occasions where in bouts of depression, I would step in and talk to Grandma, which always changed her attitude for the better. However I knew that eventually the conversation would turn from 'It's not your time' to 'Do what you need to do.' We never finished that conversation, but I suppose it wasn't necessary in the end.
I had gone down to Longview to strong-arm the hospital into giving me medical records and billing information in a timely fashion, rather than the seven to ten business days they claimed necessary. I didn't tell anyone I was coming down that day, figured everyone would be around and I'd just get over there when I was done. As it would turn out that evening, everyone else was at the hospital too, finding out that Grandma had been diagnosed with cancer. When Grandpa told me that night I simply broke down yet again in his arms, and then headed to the hospital. She was asleep then, so I headed back to Seattle, prepared to see her on Saturday. This went exactly as planned, and I spent a fantastic Saturday back down there. Grandma was in surprisingly good spirits and had a good amount of energy. I didn't know what the coming weeks would bring as we prepared to find out the extent of the disease, but I knew that one way or another, we could try and make it a happy time for her. Twenty-four hours later I would realize that we didn't have nearly that much time.
On Sunday night, right after being out to dinner with Hetty, Randy, Zach, Nick, and Carly, I received the phone call that would bring me right back to Longview. Things were accelerating quickly, and now Grandma was in the ICU. Only slightly more than two hours later I was standing in her room beginning the conversation that not nearly enough people get to have with their loved ones before losing them. At this point, while it was still possible that her current condition may go on for a while, I knew down to my core that this was goodbye. We said repeatedly that we loved each other. I said how there was a part of me that was afraid that I may be leaving something unsaid, but that as I thought more about it I knew that, like with Mom, we both had always laid everything out there. No regrets. She told me that I was her precious, which she has called me as long as I can remember, and I told her she was my precious too.
Later that day she was moved to the Community Hospice center, where they did what was necessary to make her comfortable. After staying there for a few hours, I had a conversation with the head nurse to ask what we might expect the next bit of time to be like. I was told that the first step was to get the medication out of her system so she could be as close to normal as one can be. From there it would be a waiting game. Since we didn't expect the medicine to wear off for a while, I intended to return to Seattle briefly to get some things and pick up Jessica. I stopped by the house to say bye to Grandpa and Uncle Jerry, and planned to leave then. After grabbing a couple things and sharing a drink and some stories, I got another phone call. It was T.T., telling me to get back there immediately. I got everyone into the car and we headed back. As it turned out, she waited for us. It meant that I got to have another moment, that like our talk, will stick with me forever. As her breathing continued slowing, I grabbed her hand and held it. At that moment, it seemed that it was only right that the person that was right there to greet me when I came into the world should have me holding her hand as she left it.
Many of us stayed in the room for a while, absorbing the loss and comforting each other. As we all slowly left, I got ready to return to Seattle as originally planned. However one matter remained. I had a hunch the conversation would come, but didn't know when. As I took Grandpa home, he asked me if I would again stand in front of everyone and deliver a eulogy. I'd already started those thoughts in my head because I knew I'd need to ever since the phone call. After that I returned to Seattle, picked up Jessica, gathered my things, and fell quickly to sleep, my original plan of returning that night thrown out the window due to sheer exhaustion. We got back the next morning to begin the process all over again. However by the time I returned, the funeral was planned, the obituary delivered, and all that was left was the grieving. Over the next few days as family came and went, I kept trying to write. I was surprised to find how different it was this time. One has a much different perspective when they have only been part a person's life for a relatively small percentage of it. Trying to distill the 75 years and many lives she led into something fitting posed a considerable challenge. I can only hope that my words helped, even if only in a small way.
I think for now I'm just going to leave it at that. Like I said, I had this sitting on my computer for weeks, not sure how to finish. Perhaps that's because none of this can be finished. One simply goes on, some good days, some bad. You know that there are times where out of nowhere, you will start crying uncontrollably. Other times you will just laugh and smile. Here and there one can even be angry. In my mind though, as long as those smiles and laughs make up the majority, then the rest is easy.
A wide heart.
Say what you need to say, say what you need to say.....
'Say' - John Mayer
It's been over a month since the nightmare worsened, and two months since the beginning, and only now have I decided to post more thoughts. There have been many good times in the interim, ones that I'll likely write about later, but it was getting over this roadblock that kept me silent. I've had this file open on my computer for weeks, but just couldn't figure out how to finish it. Finally I just said to hell with it and put up what I had...
So here is part two.
On the evening of Christmas, as I spent the last half of the holiday with Grandma Cathy and Grandpa Win, and that side of the family, a question was posed to me. What are you going to do when Grandma [Marilyn] finally goes? I said that I would probably curl up into a ball and just cry. I then said I was changing the topic as that was not something I wished to discuss at that moment. Not long after that I had a talk with Mom about the inevitable conversation we would have with her. There have been two occasions where in bouts of depression, I would step in and talk to Grandma, which always changed her attitude for the better. However I knew that eventually the conversation would turn from 'It's not your time' to 'Do what you need to do.' We never finished that conversation, but I suppose it wasn't necessary in the end.
I had gone down to Longview to strong-arm the hospital into giving me medical records and billing information in a timely fashion, rather than the seven to ten business days they claimed necessary. I didn't tell anyone I was coming down that day, figured everyone would be around and I'd just get over there when I was done. As it would turn out that evening, everyone else was at the hospital too, finding out that Grandma had been diagnosed with cancer. When Grandpa told me that night I simply broke down yet again in his arms, and then headed to the hospital. She was asleep then, so I headed back to Seattle, prepared to see her on Saturday. This went exactly as planned, and I spent a fantastic Saturday back down there. Grandma was in surprisingly good spirits and had a good amount of energy. I didn't know what the coming weeks would bring as we prepared to find out the extent of the disease, but I knew that one way or another, we could try and make it a happy time for her. Twenty-four hours later I would realize that we didn't have nearly that much time.
On Sunday night, right after being out to dinner with Hetty, Randy, Zach, Nick, and Carly, I received the phone call that would bring me right back to Longview. Things were accelerating quickly, and now Grandma was in the ICU. Only slightly more than two hours later I was standing in her room beginning the conversation that not nearly enough people get to have with their loved ones before losing them. At this point, while it was still possible that her current condition may go on for a while, I knew down to my core that this was goodbye. We said repeatedly that we loved each other. I said how there was a part of me that was afraid that I may be leaving something unsaid, but that as I thought more about it I knew that, like with Mom, we both had always laid everything out there. No regrets. She told me that I was her precious, which she has called me as long as I can remember, and I told her she was my precious too.
Later that day she was moved to the Community Hospice center, where they did what was necessary to make her comfortable. After staying there for a few hours, I had a conversation with the head nurse to ask what we might expect the next bit of time to be like. I was told that the first step was to get the medication out of her system so she could be as close to normal as one can be. From there it would be a waiting game. Since we didn't expect the medicine to wear off for a while, I intended to return to Seattle briefly to get some things and pick up Jessica. I stopped by the house to say bye to Grandpa and Uncle Jerry, and planned to leave then. After grabbing a couple things and sharing a drink and some stories, I got another phone call. It was T.T., telling me to get back there immediately. I got everyone into the car and we headed back. As it turned out, she waited for us. It meant that I got to have another moment, that like our talk, will stick with me forever. As her breathing continued slowing, I grabbed her hand and held it. At that moment, it seemed that it was only right that the person that was right there to greet me when I came into the world should have me holding her hand as she left it.
Many of us stayed in the room for a while, absorbing the loss and comforting each other. As we all slowly left, I got ready to return to Seattle as originally planned. However one matter remained. I had a hunch the conversation would come, but didn't know when. As I took Grandpa home, he asked me if I would again stand in front of everyone and deliver a eulogy. I'd already started those thoughts in my head because I knew I'd need to ever since the phone call. After that I returned to Seattle, picked up Jessica, gathered my things, and fell quickly to sleep, my original plan of returning that night thrown out the window due to sheer exhaustion. We got back the next morning to begin the process all over again. However by the time I returned, the funeral was planned, the obituary delivered, and all that was left was the grieving. Over the next few days as family came and went, I kept trying to write. I was surprised to find how different it was this time. One has a much different perspective when they have only been part a person's life for a relatively small percentage of it. Trying to distill the 75 years and many lives she led into something fitting posed a considerable challenge. I can only hope that my words helped, even if only in a small way.
I think for now I'm just going to leave it at that. Like I said, I had this sitting on my computer for weeks, not sure how to finish. Perhaps that's because none of this can be finished. One simply goes on, some good days, some bad. You know that there are times where out of nowhere, you will start crying uncontrollably. Other times you will just laugh and smile. Here and there one can even be angry. In my mind though, as long as those smiles and laughs make up the majority, then the rest is easy.
Marilyn Rae Davis
July 25, 1933 - February 23, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
When The Night Has Been Too Lonely
And the road has been too long
and you think that love is only, for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose.
'The Rose' - Bette Midler
This entry is meant to be a bit of record, both for myself and perhaps for those that may experience something similar, god forbid. It is long, maybe longer than anything I've written here, but if this doesn't warrant a lack of brevity, than nothing does. Those who were already aware probably knew this was coming, especially as there is no greater time that I have needed to air out my thoughts than now. The first couple paragraphs will be known to many, feel free to skip them. To those to whom this will be news, I apologize that it is first seen here. Obviously keeping up with everyone under the circumstances has been impossible.
Perhaps it is the cruelest form of irony that on Monday, January 26th, I was watching the movie 'Seven Pounds' starring Will Smith. Among other topics, the theme of organ donation was very prevalent. To have known then what I do now...well it would have changed absolutely nothing. But it struck me as a strange coincidence only 24 hours later.
I hadn't been back home to Longview since Christmas, and due to my split days off, I didn't make it back as often as I might like. In light of that, I decided to spend my day off down there, because even one day would be a good thing. After work, I called to let Mom know that I was going to be on the road in a few minutes, so she'd have an idea when to expect me. Instead, one of my, well I don't know how she's related, but someone other than Mom answered the phone. She told me that not more than ten minutes ago, Mom had been put on an ambulance, after having experienced uncontrollable coughing and vomiting. I obviously sped up the pace a bit and told them I'd be in Longview in a couple hours. As I passed Olympia I became concerned that I hadn't heard from anyone. I called a few people, got no answer, and finally just called the hospital. Even they had no answers for me initially, which struck me as unusual. They told me they'd call me back shortly. At this point my mind was racing in many directions, most of which I didn't like. Just outside Centralia I recieved the phone call that would irrevocably change my life. As it turns out, the hospital had the information I needed, just not the person to deliever it. The time spent between calls was used to find the Chaplain, who was calling to tell me that my mother had died.
Besides trying to hold myself together while driving 75 miles/hr on a cold, rainy night, I had to make phone calls. The first to Grandma Cathy and Grandpa Win. I had to tell them that their oldest daughter (and one they had only known for 15 years due to adoption) was gone. Then I started calling my friends, because the only thing that was keeping me going was blocking out everything. By having a series of brief conversations where I kept saying the basic facts, I could avoid actually thinking about the ramifications, the emotions, or my violently shaking right arm. The next hour was a stretch, but after a stop at the hospital, I managed to get to Grandma and Grandpa's. It was there that I could finally breakdown, finally grasp the notion that my world had just been completely shattered. The rest of the night brought on the revolving door that became their house. Grandpa Win, Grandma Cathy, Shell and the kids all arrived a few hours later. Then I broke down again. In between these I'm in contact with Community Tissue Services, giving authorization for Mom to pass on gifts that may save the lives of countless others. During this was when I realzied the enormity of the task ahead, but I also realized that if anything, I was up to it.
And so the next morning I set about figuring out what was next. A whirlwind of activity started that is still somewhat surreal. I spent time down at the coroner's office, as I had to pick up her belongings and find out what had happened. I should have known that nothing was going to be as expected. I walked into the office, and the coroner immediately knew who I was. On top of that, he was getting teary-eyed as we introduced ourselves. He quickly explained that he hadn't gone through but a couple pieces of her belongings, but what he had gone through were her pictures, which were mostly of me. To have someone who's job is to deal with death react like that was quite something. Fortunately though he followed it up by observing that she had the most organized purse he had ever seen, which is saying something because he sees quite a lot of them. It was nice to be able to laugh at that point, cause god knows I needed. The rest of the conversation was around the how, and the answer to that was a heart attack. This of course happened in June of 2005 as well, as they always say that if you have one, the odds of another skyrocket. As it turned out, only twenty minutes after I initially called her, attempts at resuscitation had stopped and she was pronounced dead. The timing of that struck me as yet another bit of cruel irony. But not much time to think of that, because that afternoon Grandpa Win and I headed to the funeral home to plan the funeral. It was surprising how relatively easy this portion was, but I figure that is because I was very determined that this be something truly fitting for her. Besides the funeral, we had to set up a second part, which turned out to be far more difficult when the day arrived, but I'll get to that later.
Thursday was a much easier day. Most of the family had left to briefly resume their normal lives until Friday or Saturday. This meant that most of my time was spent just at the house, reflecting. The only three things I did were meeting with the minister that would be presiding over the funeral, dropping off the obituary at the local newspaper and go down to the Port of Longview and talk with a couple of her friends/coworkers to make sure everyone knew what was going on. As it turned out, not only did they know, but they had flyers posted around the facility to make sure every person knew. I should have realized then the sheer scale of what was ahead. On a lighter note, I also purchased a new suit as I not surprisingly didn't have that sort of attire with me. In the process of taking off the tags from the jacket, I nearly cut off the side of my right index finger. I haven't seen that much blood from a simple flesh wound since the infamous 'Steve versus the Metal Shavings.'
Friday may have brought on one of the most difficult parts of the process. It was decided that for some in the family, it would be comforting, necessary, or perhaps just bring a sense of closure to see her before the cremation. For the first fifteen or twenty minutes I basically just comforted the people that were there for it but didn't react much myself. I saved that for when everyone went back into the waiting area to sit with each other. At that point I shut the doors and went back in alone. I had told everyone prior to going there that I didn't know why, but that for me, it was necessary to do this, to be with her one last time. And so I went, knelt beside her with a hand on her shoulder. I talked to her about many things, I thought about even more, and I cried. After a few minutes alone, a few family members filtered in to provide comfort. While appreciated, I found it interesting how they all kept telling me to remember her how she was, not how she appeared there. As I've thought more about everything, I think that therein lies one of the reasons I'm handling this as well as I am. Remember 'the good times' or 'the way things were' or however you want to phrase what people do is one thing. I however get to do one better. I get to remember everything. For me thinking about all our time together in these 25 years is as vivid in my mind as the events going on around me in the present. And so it is that many nights I lay awake for who knows how long just thinking of different things, sometimes with a smile, sometimes with a tear, but always happy.
And that brings us to Saturday. The morning started with me going into seclusion in the office, because there was writing to be done. I began with some inspiration that had struck me Wednesday morning as I lay collapsed on the floor of the shower bawling uncontrollably. From there I just had to come up with what in my mind was the single most important thing I have ever written. After a couple hours of this I emerged, content that what I had penned would serve me well in only a few short hours. Those few short hours are pretty much a blur at this point as my mind was racing. About an hour and a half before it started I left the house as I had to make a stop at the flower shop before getting there, and of course the organizer in me wanted to be there to make sure everyone got in okay, and whatever else needed to go on. It was nice to see Steve, Charlene, and Thomas there already. Out of all the people that I hadn't gotten to see yet since this all started, Steve was obviously the one who I was waiting for. So while talking with them I surveyed what was in front of me. I looked at the variety of flowers sent from places far and near. I looked at the guest book and the programs and discussed things with the funeral director and minister. And then with everything safely out of the way, people started filtering in. The normal hugs, hellos, and condolences were exchanged between everyone, and for the first half hour or so of this, everything seemed fairly normal.
Then after one set of greetings, everything changed. I looked up to find a line of people out the door and around the corner. By the time this surge of people ended, we were minutes from the start of the ceremony and the chapel was filled beyond capacity. Perhaps it was fitting that two of the lines in the opening paragraph of the eulogy were 'I believe no one can ever know the impact a person has had on the world until the've talked to the people they held dear,' and 'I look out right now at everyone here...' One can believe they understand how many people a person has touched, but until you see a chapel at standing room only, at a point where a fire marshall could have theoretically shut down everything, and still see people coming in and out while speaking, does it all start to become so clear. At that point I realized that we had easily cleared 200 people and I was just in awe. I spent the next few minutes delivering what I said before was perhaps the most important piece of writing I've ever made. Another bit of solace comes to me knowing that what I wrote was, I believe, what every single person in that room needed to hear. While it is obviously something I hate having to have had done, I still am able to take great pride knowing that what I said and wrote could in some way honor her memory. I never expected that of all the things I may write in my life, this would be the one that I have been asked to reprint and make available for distribution to those who could not attend, or in quite a few cases as record for those who were there and were moved by it. But back to the important stuff. The ceremony continued both with words from the minister and from a variety of those who loved her. In what are obviously difficult circumstances, six people were able to stand up and speak about what she meant to them. I was amazingly proud of my oldest cousin (daughter :D) Jessica as that is a hell of a thing to do at what is still the young age of 18. Grandpa Win, Aunt Alice, Aunt Shirley (written by her but read by Aunt Steffanie), cousin Mark, and a longshoreman who I've yet to identify. It was a beautiful thing to have these people share a story, a thought, or whatever they may have in an effort to help everyone know everything that my Mom was about. Now perhaps it was because I knew all the stories that five of them told that I reacted with only happiness. It was the longshoreman that provided me a sense of awe, as someone who none of us knew stood up and talked about how courageous she was, as evidenced by the work she was doing to unionize the security guard staff she was a part of. To hear talk like that can't help but make someone exceedingly proud. After the minister finished delivering his message, we ended with a pair of songs, one of which can be see in the title here. It was at this point that I knelt down in front of all the grandparents, comforting and being comforted with all of them.
Another thing that helped me through all of this was my emergence as the rock of the family. Most who know me have through thought or deed come to learn that I try and do what I can to be there for the ones I care about. So while I certainly had my times where being held was what I needed, it was being the one holding others, letting them cry on my shoulder, that helped me cope. To help people move in some way from sadness and mourning to a sense of peace and happy rememberance. And happy rememberance was what the second half of Saturday night was all about. A party at the Rainier Eagles where everyone could sit around, eat a good dinner, and share memories together. A bit of karaoke, a bit of drinking, and a whole lot of good times. It was a fitting way to remember someone that gave us all so much love and happiness.
I could probably keep writing indefinitely about all of this, but I feel like I've said what I need to for this venue. So for now I will just keep remembering the good things, and spending time with my friends and family. For her I can do nothing less.
and you think that love is only, for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose.
'The Rose' - Bette Midler
This entry is meant to be a bit of record, both for myself and perhaps for those that may experience something similar, god forbid. It is long, maybe longer than anything I've written here, but if this doesn't warrant a lack of brevity, than nothing does. Those who were already aware probably knew this was coming, especially as there is no greater time that I have needed to air out my thoughts than now. The first couple paragraphs will be known to many, feel free to skip them. To those to whom this will be news, I apologize that it is first seen here. Obviously keeping up with everyone under the circumstances has been impossible.
Perhaps it is the cruelest form of irony that on Monday, January 26th, I was watching the movie 'Seven Pounds' starring Will Smith. Among other topics, the theme of organ donation was very prevalent. To have known then what I do now...well it would have changed absolutely nothing. But it struck me as a strange coincidence only 24 hours later.
I hadn't been back home to Longview since Christmas, and due to my split days off, I didn't make it back as often as I might like. In light of that, I decided to spend my day off down there, because even one day would be a good thing. After work, I called to let Mom know that I was going to be on the road in a few minutes, so she'd have an idea when to expect me. Instead, one of my, well I don't know how she's related, but someone other than Mom answered the phone. She told me that not more than ten minutes ago, Mom had been put on an ambulance, after having experienced uncontrollable coughing and vomiting. I obviously sped up the pace a bit and told them I'd be in Longview in a couple hours. As I passed Olympia I became concerned that I hadn't heard from anyone. I called a few people, got no answer, and finally just called the hospital. Even they had no answers for me initially, which struck me as unusual. They told me they'd call me back shortly. At this point my mind was racing in many directions, most of which I didn't like. Just outside Centralia I recieved the phone call that would irrevocably change my life. As it turns out, the hospital had the information I needed, just not the person to deliever it. The time spent between calls was used to find the Chaplain, who was calling to tell me that my mother had died.
Besides trying to hold myself together while driving 75 miles/hr on a cold, rainy night, I had to make phone calls. The first to Grandma Cathy and Grandpa Win. I had to tell them that their oldest daughter (and one they had only known for 15 years due to adoption) was gone. Then I started calling my friends, because the only thing that was keeping me going was blocking out everything. By having a series of brief conversations where I kept saying the basic facts, I could avoid actually thinking about the ramifications, the emotions, or my violently shaking right arm. The next hour was a stretch, but after a stop at the hospital, I managed to get to Grandma and Grandpa's. It was there that I could finally breakdown, finally grasp the notion that my world had just been completely shattered. The rest of the night brought on the revolving door that became their house. Grandpa Win, Grandma Cathy, Shell and the kids all arrived a few hours later. Then I broke down again. In between these I'm in contact with Community Tissue Services, giving authorization for Mom to pass on gifts that may save the lives of countless others. During this was when I realzied the enormity of the task ahead, but I also realized that if anything, I was up to it.
And so the next morning I set about figuring out what was next. A whirlwind of activity started that is still somewhat surreal. I spent time down at the coroner's office, as I had to pick up her belongings and find out what had happened. I should have known that nothing was going to be as expected. I walked into the office, and the coroner immediately knew who I was. On top of that, he was getting teary-eyed as we introduced ourselves. He quickly explained that he hadn't gone through but a couple pieces of her belongings, but what he had gone through were her pictures, which were mostly of me. To have someone who's job is to deal with death react like that was quite something. Fortunately though he followed it up by observing that she had the most organized purse he had ever seen, which is saying something because he sees quite a lot of them. It was nice to be able to laugh at that point, cause god knows I needed. The rest of the conversation was around the how, and the answer to that was a heart attack. This of course happened in June of 2005 as well, as they always say that if you have one, the odds of another skyrocket. As it turned out, only twenty minutes after I initially called her, attempts at resuscitation had stopped and she was pronounced dead. The timing of that struck me as yet another bit of cruel irony. But not much time to think of that, because that afternoon Grandpa Win and I headed to the funeral home to plan the funeral. It was surprising how relatively easy this portion was, but I figure that is because I was very determined that this be something truly fitting for her. Besides the funeral, we had to set up a second part, which turned out to be far more difficult when the day arrived, but I'll get to that later.
Thursday was a much easier day. Most of the family had left to briefly resume their normal lives until Friday or Saturday. This meant that most of my time was spent just at the house, reflecting. The only three things I did were meeting with the minister that would be presiding over the funeral, dropping off the obituary at the local newspaper and go down to the Port of Longview and talk with a couple of her friends/coworkers to make sure everyone knew what was going on. As it turned out, not only did they know, but they had flyers posted around the facility to make sure every person knew. I should have realized then the sheer scale of what was ahead. On a lighter note, I also purchased a new suit as I not surprisingly didn't have that sort of attire with me. In the process of taking off the tags from the jacket, I nearly cut off the side of my right index finger. I haven't seen that much blood from a simple flesh wound since the infamous 'Steve versus the Metal Shavings.'
Friday may have brought on one of the most difficult parts of the process. It was decided that for some in the family, it would be comforting, necessary, or perhaps just bring a sense of closure to see her before the cremation. For the first fifteen or twenty minutes I basically just comforted the people that were there for it but didn't react much myself. I saved that for when everyone went back into the waiting area to sit with each other. At that point I shut the doors and went back in alone. I had told everyone prior to going there that I didn't know why, but that for me, it was necessary to do this, to be with her one last time. And so I went, knelt beside her with a hand on her shoulder. I talked to her about many things, I thought about even more, and I cried. After a few minutes alone, a few family members filtered in to provide comfort. While appreciated, I found it interesting how they all kept telling me to remember her how she was, not how she appeared there. As I've thought more about everything, I think that therein lies one of the reasons I'm handling this as well as I am. Remember 'the good times' or 'the way things were' or however you want to phrase what people do is one thing. I however get to do one better. I get to remember everything. For me thinking about all our time together in these 25 years is as vivid in my mind as the events going on around me in the present. And so it is that many nights I lay awake for who knows how long just thinking of different things, sometimes with a smile, sometimes with a tear, but always happy.
And that brings us to Saturday. The morning started with me going into seclusion in the office, because there was writing to be done. I began with some inspiration that had struck me Wednesday morning as I lay collapsed on the floor of the shower bawling uncontrollably. From there I just had to come up with what in my mind was the single most important thing I have ever written. After a couple hours of this I emerged, content that what I had penned would serve me well in only a few short hours. Those few short hours are pretty much a blur at this point as my mind was racing. About an hour and a half before it started I left the house as I had to make a stop at the flower shop before getting there, and of course the organizer in me wanted to be there to make sure everyone got in okay, and whatever else needed to go on. It was nice to see Steve, Charlene, and Thomas there already. Out of all the people that I hadn't gotten to see yet since this all started, Steve was obviously the one who I was waiting for. So while talking with them I surveyed what was in front of me. I looked at the variety of flowers sent from places far and near. I looked at the guest book and the programs and discussed things with the funeral director and minister. And then with everything safely out of the way, people started filtering in. The normal hugs, hellos, and condolences were exchanged between everyone, and for the first half hour or so of this, everything seemed fairly normal.
Then after one set of greetings, everything changed. I looked up to find a line of people out the door and around the corner. By the time this surge of people ended, we were minutes from the start of the ceremony and the chapel was filled beyond capacity. Perhaps it was fitting that two of the lines in the opening paragraph of the eulogy were 'I believe no one can ever know the impact a person has had on the world until the've talked to the people they held dear,' and 'I look out right now at everyone here...' One can believe they understand how many people a person has touched, but until you see a chapel at standing room only, at a point where a fire marshall could have theoretically shut down everything, and still see people coming in and out while speaking, does it all start to become so clear. At that point I realized that we had easily cleared 200 people and I was just in awe. I spent the next few minutes delivering what I said before was perhaps the most important piece of writing I've ever made. Another bit of solace comes to me knowing that what I wrote was, I believe, what every single person in that room needed to hear. While it is obviously something I hate having to have had done, I still am able to take great pride knowing that what I said and wrote could in some way honor her memory. I never expected that of all the things I may write in my life, this would be the one that I have been asked to reprint and make available for distribution to those who could not attend, or in quite a few cases as record for those who were there and were moved by it. But back to the important stuff. The ceremony continued both with words from the minister and from a variety of those who loved her. In what are obviously difficult circumstances, six people were able to stand up and speak about what she meant to them. I was amazingly proud of my oldest cousin (daughter :D) Jessica as that is a hell of a thing to do at what is still the young age of 18. Grandpa Win, Aunt Alice, Aunt Shirley (written by her but read by Aunt Steffanie), cousin Mark, and a longshoreman who I've yet to identify. It was a beautiful thing to have these people share a story, a thought, or whatever they may have in an effort to help everyone know everything that my Mom was about. Now perhaps it was because I knew all the stories that five of them told that I reacted with only happiness. It was the longshoreman that provided me a sense of awe, as someone who none of us knew stood up and talked about how courageous she was, as evidenced by the work she was doing to unionize the security guard staff she was a part of. To hear talk like that can't help but make someone exceedingly proud. After the minister finished delivering his message, we ended with a pair of songs, one of which can be see in the title here. It was at this point that I knelt down in front of all the grandparents, comforting and being comforted with all of them.
Another thing that helped me through all of this was my emergence as the rock of the family. Most who know me have through thought or deed come to learn that I try and do what I can to be there for the ones I care about. So while I certainly had my times where being held was what I needed, it was being the one holding others, letting them cry on my shoulder, that helped me cope. To help people move in some way from sadness and mourning to a sense of peace and happy rememberance. And happy rememberance was what the second half of Saturday night was all about. A party at the Rainier Eagles where everyone could sit around, eat a good dinner, and share memories together. A bit of karaoke, a bit of drinking, and a whole lot of good times. It was a fitting way to remember someone that gave us all so much love and happiness.
I could probably keep writing indefinitely about all of this, but I feel like I've said what I need to for this venue. So for now I will just keep remembering the good things, and spending time with my friends and family. For her I can do nothing less.
Barbara Joann Stinger
June 25, 1963 - January 27, 2009
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