Still in Mourning?

The holiday season has never been a particularly good for me.

Don't get me wrong: I enjoy the holidays: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's. But, as my wife said once, I get a bit crazy around this season. And, this is the season when I'm most likely to come down with some bug.

A few years ago, I discovered what may be a large part of the explanation: my mother had the major stoke during the Christmas season, when I was in 7th grade. I don't remember the incident, at all, but the odds are that it affected me: and at some level I probably remember in general terms when it happened.

So, this year my wife and #3 daughter were involved in a head-on collision. They both survived, but my daughter's wrist is still healing - and I insist on being hopeful that she'll regain her skill on the guitar.

Then #2 daughter got married, and my father died. The last happened toward the end of September.

I've been dragging myself to the task of getting some must-do tasks done, but don't need to look at my records to know that I've been less productive than usual. And, I may be coming down with something. Again. Or, what I had a month ago is still with me.

And, this week, I realized that I'm probably still "in mourning" over the death of my father. As I've said before, he's a hard act to follow, and I miss him. A lot.

But, God willing, I've probably still got a few decades left.

And, apparently, I'm getting back to - normal?

As evidence, I submit that I am about 2.56 gigabytes of space on the C drive, having backed up a few photos. That may not seem like much, but it took an act of will for me to get going on that little project. And, resolve a technical issue I've had for a few months with one of the backup devices.

Being Home is Good

I'm back.

I buried the other half of my father and mother Friday, in the Hulse cemetery near Pecatonica, Illinois. And, had a brief but good get-together with family.

Saturday and Sunday, various portions of the family saw Chicago's Adler Planetarium, Field Museum and Shedd Aquarium. I was at the planetarium and aquarium - and hope to write something about them. Not tonight.

We flew back today, arriving only a few hours late. Airlines flying into Minneapolis International were delayed from snow in the morning, and were playing catch-up for the rest of the day.

But, journeys come to an end: and this one saw us back here in Sauk Centre, about twenty, twenty-five minutes ago.

#2 daughter & my new son-in-law decided to head on to their home in the Red River Valley of the North. He's got a video shoot to do, tomorrow afternoon, and I understand the reasons for their wanting to spend the night (what's left of it) in their own home.

I've gotten a webcam back online, and hope I can turn in soon.

Two Double Funerals: Efficient, Appropriate, and a Trifle Intense

In a few minutes, I hope to be talking to a couple of newspapers in northern Illinois, where my father's and mother's cremains ("cremated remains") will be interred - God willing - later this week.

For a number of good reasons, I've got the responsibility of deciding just what sort of obituary my parents will have. Happily, most of the work's already done. I've posted my father's obit. earlier, and decided to go with what appeared in a North Dakota paper, for my mother's. Here's hers:

Dorothy Gill

Dorothy passed away on Saturday, February 23, 2008 at the Hillsboro Medical Center Nursing Home at the age of 94.

Dorothy Marie Hovde was born on May 14, 1913, the daughter of Ole and Gunda (Olson) Hovde. She grew up on the family homestead just west of Hillsboro. She received her education from Hillsboro High School in 1930. She then furthered her education at the University of Minnesota where she majored in English and minored in Music. Dorothy also earned a graduate music degree from Northwestern University, Evanston, IL. In the 1930s and 1940s she taught piano and violin in the Grand Forks area as a member of the Northwest Music Academy. She then earned graduate library service degrees from the University of Illinois. She worked in the Coe College (Cedar Rapids, IA) library.

While at the University of Illinois she met her future husband, Bernard Gill. They were united in marriage in August of 1949 in Hillsboro, ND. They moved to Moorhead, Minnesota in 1950 where they lived until 1983. Dorothy was very active in her church where she taught Sunday school and was also active in the American Association of University Women. Upon Bernard's retirement, they moved to Dorothy's family farm west of Hillsboro, ND.

Dorothy, is survived by her husband, Bernard of Hillsboro; her son, Brian (Catherine) Gill of Sauk Centre, MN; and her grandchildren, Naomi, Sara, Deborah and Peter Gill.

Apart from the spelling of a name, and a bit of punctuation, that's from the Grand Forks Herald, Sunday, March 2, 2008. The rest of the obituary - a few lines - read: "A memorial service will be held at a later date" and that arrangements were done by the Wildeman Funeral Home in Hillsboro.

That "later date" turned out to be a year later, which I think was appropriate, under the circumstances. Both my mother and father's bodies were cremated, their ashes (more like cinders, actually) commingled, and put in two urns.

Last week, we interred one urn in the soil of a cemetery near Hillsboro, North Dakota. This week, I'll be seeing to the interment of the other urn in northern Illinois.

Two double funerals about a week apart is a fairly intense experience, I've discovered. I teared up, getting these last few paragraphs written.

Hats off, by the way, to everyone I dealt with at the Wildeman Funeral Home, in Hillsboro: I deeply appreciate the way they handled this rather protracted set of procedures. And, to my father: for setting nearly all of this up with them.

Death, Love, Duty and Endurance

Good heavens: another day gone by. I think I've done everything I need to, getting ready for my father and mother's funeral service. It's been some time since she died, but I think my father wanted their services done together.

Whatever I've learned about the nuts and bolts of love, the bulk of it I learned from him. His love for my mother was intense and durable. Although there was, I'm sure, a great deal of emotion involved, it's what he did as the decades wore on that impressed me.

Over a quarter-century ago now, a young woman - her name was Eve - asked me how I would define love. I replied, describing the commitment, the will to endure, the sense of duty, the ongoing acts of service. When I wound down, she observed that what I said sounded "cold."

I see her point.

And, love that endures is, in a sense, cold; sometimes devoid of that rushing warmth that contemporary culture often calls "love" - regardless of the degree of connection or commitment involved.

By my definitions, love is cold and hard: cold and strong as steel, hard, enduring - and beautiful - as diamond.

Soo Bahk Do, My Daughter's Rabbit, and Funeral Arrangements

We went to Mass this morning, I grilled burgers for lunch - not incinerating them for the second time this weekend - and I enjoyed the company of #1 daughter and her rabbit Giol while grilling. The rain held off until after I was inside, for which I'm duly grateful.

My wife was surprised that I didn't ache after this afternoon's nap - I'd been sitting on the couch. When #1 daughter called her in - I'll get to 'why' shortly - I was still sitting, from the waist down. The upper part of me was lying down on the couch, at quite an angle.

I think my trick hips may have encouraged me to retain an unusual suppleness everywhere else. When I think about it, a guy in his upper fifties generally doesn't get away with stunts like that.

Anyway:

#1 daughter My Wife had called my wife #1 daughter in to report a bag-chewing in progress. Giol had found, and broken open, a bag of corn chips. He'd eaten at least one by the time the ladies stopped him. That's an enterprising rabbit. My wife says he's too cute to get mad at: I see her point.

The ladies and my son went to Soo Bahk Do class tonight. My wife helped one of the other students prepare for an upcoming test. The exercises include defenses against a (simulated) knife attack.

Since the attack is supposed to be a 'surprise,' my wife used several different techniques - at least one of which involved holding the (simulated) knife so that the blade would get in the way of conventional defenses. The student was, indeed, surprised, and thanked her - the fellows he usually practiced with weren't anywhere near as imaginative. Or is it innovative?

As I've said before about this family: It's a good thing we're honest.

Funeral arrangements for my father and mother are progressing about as smoothly as I could expect. I've been in touch with a relative down in the west-of-Chicago area, who's handling the bulk of arrangements there.

He told me a bit more about my father - I'll be trying to get all of the information organized.

My father is a very high act to follow - quite a man.

Requiescat In Pace, Bernard Ives Gill

One of my kinsmen wrote a sort of obituary notice for my father. Here's a revised version:

Bernard Ives Gill 16 May 1921 - 25 September 2009.

Bernard Ives Gill died peacefully in his sleep at about 1:40 Friday morning.

He was born at the family farm on Cunningham Road, rural Winnebago, Illinois. His siblings were born at the same location. The family moved to Rockford in 1929. He completed his high school education, being in the last class to graduate from Rockford 'Central' High. He went to University of Illinois, becoming an educator and specializing as a librarian. He served in the US Navy in WW II, serving on an LST in and around Europe, and later served in the south Pacific.

He continued his career in education, and served several years as head of the University library at University of Minnesota Moorhead, Minnesota. Upon retirement, he moved with his wife to Hillsboro, North Dakota, and settled on the Hovde ancestral farm.

Predeceased by his parents; Richard Hackett Gill and Floss Campbell (Gill), and his siblings; Barbara Adeline (Burns), Helen Margaret (Campbell)(Conley), Mary Alice (Healy), and Richard H Gill Jr.

He is also predeceased by his wife, Dorothy Marie Hovde.

Survived by his son, Brian and four grandchildren. Brian and his wife Catherine have four children: Naomi Marie, Deborah Marie, Sara Marie, and Peter Michael.

Eternal rest grant to him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him.
- - -
Related post:

• "Two Double Funerals: Efficient, Appropriate, and a Trifle Intense"
  (October 5, 2009)

Upcoming Funeral, Grilling Burgers, and a Really Long Nap

We've set the date of my father's funeral: next Tuesday, the 29th. My wife has been doing the bulk of scheduling, but I've pitched in by fielding a phone call or two.

My father's death still doesn't, sometimes, seem real. On the other hand, those flashes of memory are still popping up: a song he sang; the habit he had of having Boots, the cat, wave 'goodnight' to me - a gentle bit of puppetry, that; sharpening a hatchet on a spinning stone in the garage. Good memories.

'Don't be sad because something's over: be happy because it happened' is a rough paraphrase of something he told his grandchildren when visits were over. I'm hoping one of them remembers the words better than I do.

Today hasn't been all remembrance and mourning. #1 daughter's here, I grilled lunch - and didn't incinerate the burgers - and more must have happened.

What started out as a short nap ended by my sleeping right up to supper time, so I'm a bit hazy on what all went on today. It'll take doing to tame my sleeping schedule.

Funeral, Fax, and my Father's Voice

I'm just about caught up with today's usual tasks. Well, I'm not that far behind, anyway. I've still got several posts to write: and not all that much of today left to write them in. Even with as much taken care of ahead of time as there was, and a seasoned funeral home taking care of details, there's a surprising number of decisions to make.

My father's death this morning made it a distinctly non-typical Friday. I've talked to several people connected with the funeral home in the town where he spent his last days, been to a local bank to pick up form, sign it, and get it faxed back, and been peripherally involved with getting in touch with family, to relay the news.

That form was three pages, plus cover memo, requiring several of my initials and a signature - detailing how my father's cremation would be handled. It was pretty straightforward, compared to some of what I've had to deal with over the years: but it still required a phone call to clarify one point: about what happened to his glasses and other 'attached' stuff.

Not the cheeriest thing to contemplate, but necessary. And, I'm the person who's in the position to sign off on the document.

One of the bright spots today, for me, was a moment in one of the conversations with someone up in the Red River Valley of the North. I'd been talking over disposition of the body with one of the (directors, I think) at the funeral home. He was telling me what needed to be done, including this form. I could tell by his tone, as he told me that the form he would fax to me was three pages long, that he reasonably thought this might seem daunting.

Being what and who I am, I assured him: "I love to read!" He told me I sounded very much like my father right after that.

I believe it. There was a time, when I was in my teens, that he'd left a tape recorder on while we talked. Listening to the tape later, the only way we could tell who was saying what was by our memory of the conversation. I suppose our voices drifted a bit since then, but not - it seems - all that much.

I like that.

My Father's Death, Funeral Arrangements, the Furnace and a Headlight

We're making arrangements for my father's funeral - he died at about 1:40 this morning. I've signed documents authorizing his cremation, read the will, and talked with my children and wife about this transition.

I've also noticed that the family van's right headlight is burned out; researched and wrote a post for another blog; checked the calendar to see when I need to get the next Knights of Columbus council bulletin out; and realized that I didn't mention the furnace technician who came yesterday morning.

Yes, my father's death this morning is a pretty big deal: and I've teared up a few times since hearing about it. But everything else keeps happening, too.

As if to match my mood, the sky's been cloudy and it's been raining most of the day.

About the furnace: That was a routine, annual, once-over to make sure that it was in good working order for the heating season. And we're good to go for winter. So far.

Without trying to, I've had memories of my father popping up as I work: 'pictures' of our playing Frisbee; times in my childhood when we'd spend a quiet time together - I'd be reading in an old overstuffed chair while he was at his desk in the basement, generally reading something too; talking with him.

Like we say: 'Eternal rest grant unto him O Lord, and let perpetual help shine upon him.'

Noted: The Death of My Father

My father died at about 1:40 this morning. Peacefully, I'm told.

He's a good man: and a very hard act to follow.

Next step for me is to see that family at this end is alerted.

Soo Bahk Do, Another Day With My Family: And My Father's Dying

Another day's just about over. My wife, #3 daughter, and son went to Soo Bahk Do class this evening and returned in good spirits.

On a less chipper note, we learned this morning that my father is unresponsive: he doesn't respond to touch, and appears to be unconscious. Also, circulation in the outer parts of his arms and legs appears to be much less than before.

Odds are that he'll die in a matter of hours or days. Weeks? Probably not.

Happily, #2 daughter and my son-in-law are just a few miles away from him, up in the Red River Valley of the North. That's a comfort.

I would like to be up there, but there are logistic considerations - and family here to consider, too.

I understand and accept that death is the only way we can reasonably expect our lives to end: but that doesn't mean that I feel good about it.

I ran across a couple of prayers in "The Catholic prayerbook: from Downside Abbey," David Foster, T&T Clark Ltd (1999):

"O Lord, you have made us very small, and we bring our years to an end like a tale that is told; help us to remember that beyond our brief day is the eternity of your love.
"Reinhold Niebuhr"

"Grant, Lord, that we may not set our mind on earthly things but love the things of heaven; and that even now, while we are placed among things that are passing away, we may cleave to the things that shall abide; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
"Leonine Sarcramentary"

Background:

• "Signs and Symptoms of Approaching Death"
  Hospice Patients Alliance

Tears, Balloons, and Unexpected Outcomes

I spent the weekend up in the Red River Valley of the North, spending time with #2 daughter, getting some family business taken care of, and visiting my dad. Also, this afternoon, attending a sort of memorial ceremony at the nursing. It was a remembrance of the people - some two dozen - who had been residents there, and had died since last year at this time.

I was there, because my mother died there February 23 of this year. I'll be feeling that for a long time.

Today's ceremony involved a white balloon for each of the deceased people. The idea was that, after a little music and talk inside, one would take a balloon representing the deceased loved one, we'd all walk outside, listen to a touching poem, and release the balloon.

The process went rather well. There wasn't much of a drizzle outside, and the wind wasn't what it had been earlier.

In fact, to my surprise, the balloons all cleared the metal trim at the top of the building.

Then, they encountered the trees, a little farther downwind.

With sounds reminiscent of a warming tray of popcorn, the balloons started popping.

I think one or two made it through the arboreal mine field.

My guess is that this isn't quite what the event organizers had in mind.

Still: it was a touching and well-intentioned ceremony.

The music, which included "In the Garden," was a treat. That one song, "In the Garden," was particularly important, since it's associated with my grandmother - and mother. That's the old song that starts:
"I come to the garden alone,
While the dew is still on the roses;
And the voice I hear, falling on my ear,
The Son of God discloses...."

That brought a few tears to my eyes.

Stiff Upper Lip? Imperturbable? Ha!

I got my eight hours sleep last night, but night before last I may have gotten in an hour: around midnight. Other than that, insomnia city.

Looking at my task checkoff list, I see that I've got a lot of catching up to do for the first part of this week. And, more to the point, I haven't updated this blog.

There's a reasonable explanation, I think. Over the weekend, I went up to the Red River Valley of the North, to see my father, and get some family work done. It was also a 'birthday' trip for our son: delayed. This was the first time that schedules and bugs made room.

#2 daughter joined us in Moorhead, and went up to the farm in her car.

It was a good trip.

Our son and I had a great time, talking all the way up to the farm, and most of the way back. We had a good time with #2 daughter, too, although the talking with her happened at the farm.

While there, we talked with my dad a couple times. I'm glad we did. His lungs are failing, and each time we go I think that this may be the last chance I'll have to talk with him face-to-face.

He's doing okay, all things considered. His arms are thinner than I've ever seen, and a conversation with him has to end in less than half an hour: Interstitial lung disease is stiffening the parts of his lungs that exchange carbon dioxide and oxygen.

As he (inaccurately) said during our first talk this weekend, "there's not much left of me." Not true: he's still there, all of him. What's changed is that he now is having severe problems with part of his body.

As our son said, 'I like talking with grandpa: he has a library of knowledge in his head.' True enough. I got what I call my sticky mind from him: facts go in, and stick to the walls. And, while he was at the library reference desk, he'd be reading something from the shelves between questions. And he spent quite a few of his evenings reading from his own shelves.

Quite a guy.

And, now he's rather close to the end of his life.

I'll be back, maybe later today, or tomorrow, or whenever.

Friday: All in All, a Good Day

My wife and #3 daughter set off to visit #2 daughter and the Red River Valley grandpa, my father. They've arrived safely in Moorhead, where #2 daughter lives.

That leaves me and our son here, on our own. My wife left detailed instructions for how to make French fries. That was for me. She also left a set of instructions for our son, covering the care and feeding of dad.

I have to hand it to my wife: She's showing great courage, leaving us two guys in charge of the house. So far, almost 12 hours after the ladies left, the entire house and its contents are intact. The only gaffe was a relatively minor one. It was forty minutes after the usual meal time, when I realized that there was a reason for my feeling so hungry.

Happily, the meal was a microwave-and-eat matter, involving food stored by my wife before she left.

My wife's anniversary present came, dropped off this afternoon by someone in town. Thankfully, I'll be able to surprise her on her return: probably Sunday.

Our son and I read Garfield, of course, at the usual time.

He asked me to leave him a note, telling him when to wake me up.

On a more serious note, my father's status is worrying me.

It's silly, of course: He's in his mid-eighties, and some early lung diseases, plus about a decade of smoking, caught up with him; and now his lungs are failing. We all die, sooner or later, and he appears to be going through that process.

I said "worry," not "concern." There's a difference. "Concern" is having rational misgivings, or realizing that something needs to be done. "Worry" is the emotional uneasiness that can come, even when there is nothing to be concerned about.

Being Catholic, and having been Christian for as long as I can remember, I have a fairly clear idea of what death involves, why it is inevitable, and how to view it. My father was born in a nominally Catholic family, 'wasn't anything in particular,' as he put it, when he married my mother: and had been active in the Methodist church after that. I know his beliefs, and how he lives them. I have little concern about his relationship with God.

Still, it's a worry. All my life, I've been able to kick problems upstairs to Dad. Even when I didn't talk to him about something, knowing that he's around helped.

I suspect that, sooner than I like, I'll have insights into how my wife felt, when her mother died.

There. That's enough brooding for now.

Goodnight.

Saturday Morning: Bad News from Pelican Rapids

Pelican Rapids has a place in my heart, from experiences in my boyhood and youth. I remember a park and a dam, with an enormous statue of a pelican. Later, in the sixties, a speech contest brought me to the Pelican Rapids high school: a small labyrinth of hallways and an inexplicably-placed stairway or two.

I know: trivial. But that's what got stamped in my memory.

So, news that someone was killed, and dozens injured, when a bus carrying Pelican Rapids high schoolers back from a Chicago band trip tipped over, was a little more personal than it might have been.

Pelican Rapids PSD 548 seems to be doing a good job, handling things. I noticed right off, that they were mercifully reserving one room for the parents and surviving students, and another for all the people who would be coming.

All that condolencing can be tiring.

The accident has hit the regional news:
"One dead, others injured after Pelican Rapids bus tips on interstate"
In-Forum News (April 5, 2008)
"One dead, at least 40 people hospitalized in rollover bus accident"
KARE11.com (April 5, 2008)

The Minnesota State Patrol website puts this accident in perspective. (I clicked the "Media" button in the lower left corner of the screen, and followed links to get this information.)

The high school tragedy near milepost 202 on westbound I-94 wasn't the only traffic fatality that the State Patrol has dealt with lately.

4/5/2008 5:48 am:
The Pelican Rapids high schooler accident - one dead
4/2/2008 5:12 pm:
Two dead in a collision on Highway 14, near milepost 160
4/1/2008 5:55 am:
Two dead in a rollover on U.S. Highway 52, near milepost 70

Tuesday: Transitions, Sleep, and Sense

I got to sleep about 3:00 this morning. Not the smartest thing I've ever done.

It wasn't my idea, entirely: Around 2:00 a.m., I caught on to what one of those parts of my mind that operate in the background was up to.

It was remembering that, after I got a call about a significant change in my mother's condition, I decided to postpone going up to see her. Just by a day so: I had a trip already planned within a few days. By the next morning, she was dead.

Now, it noted that I'd gotten a phone call about a significant change in my father's condition. It was keeping me up, waiting for that after-midnight telephone call from the medical center.

My wife assures me that I didn't foul up when my mother died: the decision was made logically, using information available. Just the same, I doubt that I'll ever shake the feeling that I should have handled that decision better.

A letter from my father arrived in the mail today. Time to see what's in it.

Transitions in life: Death of my Mother

My mother died about 12 hours ago. We got the call this morning, around sunrise.

I've talked briefly with my father, and #1 daughter, over the phone, and my wife and I have been alerting near relatives.

Actually, my wife has been doing most of the work: but I did send an email.

#1 daughter said that she was glad I called this time. She found out about her grandmother's change in condition by reading this blog.

(Stupid! I assumed - no, that implies some sort of thought - If I'd bothered to assume anything, I'd have assumed that I was at the end of the information chain, and that someone had already talked to #1 daughter.)

I've already experienced some illogical self-recrimination, about how I could have been up there yesterday: and will no doubt be back at it at some inconvenient time in the near future.

Meanwhile, my brain unhelpfully started reminding me of a barely-appropriate song from (I think) the sixties. I think I've got the tune and lyrics out of my head. For now, anyway.

This is going to be an interesting week.

Transitions in life: Another Call from Hospice

I got another call from one of the people at Hospice. My mother's condition has changed: now her arms are looser, and she doesn't 'jump' when she's touched. I like to think that she's more comfortable now.

My father's going through an emotional time right now. He spent some time with my mother today, recalling their life and, I'm told, saying his goodbys. As he went back to his room, he told her, "I'll meet you there, kid."

---

This is an opportunity to say thanks to the people with "Hospice of the Red River Valley," who are helping my family.

A concise look at Hospice of the Red River Valley:
"North Dakota Department of Human Services - provider information"

Wednesday: Finances, Transitions, and a Tear or Two

This household has some month left over at the end of our money. My wife tells me that we're okay, providing to unexpected expenses come up. Translation: Don't buy anything that isn't actually necessary. I'm grateful to be married to a woman who is such a good household manager.

I got a call from Hospice in the town where my parent live. This time, it wasn't a routine touching-base.

My mother's condition has changed. She's having difficulty breathing, she's eating poorly, and her color isn't as good as it was. The nursing home staff is continuing her pain medications, and giving her atropine drops to help with the breathing, but the amount of time she has to live is foe definitely finite now, than it has been for the last many years.

(I checked the use of atropine drops: besides being good for dilating the pupils, that nightshade derivative is used (carefully) as a sort of decongestant.)

This isn't the happiest news I've ever received, but it is hardly unexpected. Although my mother is a five-foot-nothing 'premie' who wasn't expected to live (except by some very determined nuns), she has a strong will and a body which, up until now, has worked fairly well.

After the call, I passed the news to my wife: as soon as I could, without our son and #3 daughter getting full details. That took us past the end of supper. A few minutes after telling my wife, we broke the news to the two at-home kids. #1 daughter will find out tomorrow, when she comes to to some more organizing here, and #2 daughter may already know: My wife called her this evening.

I was doing rather well with a still-upper-lip attitude, until my wife started talking with me about how, when I see my mother next, I should be sure to recall to her what she's done for me, and how I love her.

That did it.

There's a stoic Norseman inside me, but there's a sentimental Irishman, too. I started tearing up about the time my wife said that I should tell my mother I love her.

And, I'm doing the same now. This would be a good time to stop, for now.

Transitions in life

My father still has enough breath to keep a conversation going for about ten minutes, but he has to work for it.

He's checking into what sort of medical interventions are possible, but he's also taking care of some details about what will be done when his life wraps up.

This is hardly unexpected. He's almost exactly thirty years older than I am, which puts him in his mid-eighties.

Just the same, I'm anticipating a great sense of loss some time in the next few days or years. Up to this time, I've been able to talk with my father, share experiences, get direct access to the knowledge and wisdom he's collected.

I'm not particularly looking forward to being the eldest in my line of fathers and sons.