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
