Dear Blog Reader
I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. I sit here thankful that I didn’t go all Bill Murray after the 2nd. It would have been an especially difficult day to finally get right because the lovely Miss Beverly was at a conference in Florida. It would have taken self-actualization galore to get missing Beverly to turn out okay.
Thinking about this blog has caused an old Fleetwood Mac song to run on a continuous loop inside my head. Two months is long enough. It is time to exorcise it from my noodle. It is a good song. I just knew that I should copy its title for this blog.
Nearly two months ago the lovely Miss Beverly received word that Bonnie, her mother, had suffered a severe stroke. Bonnie was 85 years old. Twenty years ago she had received 2 new hips. Well the warranty had expired and one hip had deteriorated and was causing Bonnie a great deal of pain. The doctors counseled that the surgery would be very risky. Bonnie decided that a chance of being pain free or even in less pain was better than the prospect of increased pain going forward.
The surgery went well but as they say there were complications. Repeated procedures left her weaker each time as her body had difficulties metabolizing the anesthesia. The stress on her body grew to the point that she suffered a stroke. She was mostly unresponsive at that point. Doctors were unable to do anymore for Bonnie so hospice was called. We used to call it the Grim Reaper. But apparently, he went corporate and needed a new image and so we call hospice now. Family and friends gathered and reminisced and said goodbye. A few days later she succumbed.
We try to capture our loved ones live and essences in a few paragraphs in the newspaper. But as Abraham Lincoln once said in the Gettysburg Address “We cannot consecrate . . .” However, the lovely Miss Beverly did a pretty good job catching the essence of her mom in this obituary.
“Bonnie will be remembered for her love for her husband and family, her prowess for making pie, and her skill at knitting. She drove her kids thousands of miles to basketball, cheer clinics and 4H meetings. Only her well-worn black cast iron skillet knows how many potatoes she fried. Millions of inches of yarn passed through her clever fingers, transformed into sweaters, afghans, mittens, and hats. So many hats for so many beloved heads.
Bonnie’s highest renown, though, will be for her kindness and generosity to all, as her family’s boundaries did not end with her 8 children. Neighbor kids hopped in the van for rides to town. Hired hands sat with us at our table. Nieces and nephews confided in her. Co-worker’s waited for their birthday pie from Bonnie. Her friends shared mischief, nights on the town, and all of the heart-crushing griefs life brings. Her listening ears and giving heart will be missed by all who loved her.”
Two months later the jobs that Bonnie tended to are being shifted. The mantles of responsibility, for finishing knitting projects, bearing witness to heart crushing griefs, and maintaining and initiating the grapevine needed to keep 8 children (brothers and sisters) 46 nieces and nephews, great grands, and in-laws connected when they are spread out across the country, are being picked up and carried on. Plus, there is always more birthday pie to be baked.
I think that I missed her most of all on January 28th when Purdue played IU. It must have been very difficult through the years for Bonnie. All of those children and only Bill going to IU. Not only that but all of those daughters going to Purdue and marrying somewhat rabid and obnoxious Purdue boys. That afternoon, I missed the one ring phone calls announcing a particularly good IU play; a late game surge, or hopeful anticipation.
One ring phone calls really were the prehistoric text messages. Back when there was such a thing as rotary dial phones, and long distance phone charges, our grand parents would let their brood know that they were thinking about them by dialing, letting the phone ring once and hanging up. No completed call, no long distance charges. I missed that on the 28th. However, as I said the mantle of responsibility has shifted because the lovely Miss Beverly’s phone blew up with text messages all afternoon.
The other mantle that has shifted or is shifting during the past two months, and has been a little difficult for me to put on, is that we are next. I didn’t realize how comforting it was to know that my great grandmother Keenan would pass before Grandma and Grandpa would pass. And she did. It was comforting believing that Grandmas and Grandpas would depart before moms and dads did. And they did. For the past 20 years, deep down in my lizard brain, I have believed that I wasn’t my time yet. Lloyd, Stell, Doyle and Bonnie were all much more mortal than I. It is no wonder that the grief is so much greater when the order isn’t followed. It is an unmentionable expectation. And the unmentionables are often the strongest.
No, when hospice comes calling, I can no longer stand there hands in pockets, eyes on the ground, shifting from foot to foot kinda nodding my head towards the generations before me. “Take them. They have lived their life.” If I were an Inuit, I would be the one getting on the ice flow when times got tough. No, he will be here for me. It has been a sobering realization, and yet another gift from this remarkable woman.
Bonnie went her own way. I’ll go mine.
Take care.
Roger
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