The wife has a group of close girlfriends since she was in grammar school. Just as I have several friends from grammar school. Nobody can call you on your shit like people who know you from when you were eating paste in kindergarten. These girls get together a couple of times a year to stay in touch and talk about what is going on in their lives. They all went to Catholic school together but what is even more interesting is that their mothers went to grammar school together too! That was what Brooklyn used to be like!
There are two sets of sisters. On set moved to Jersey and the other set moved out on the Island. Now one of the girls husbands has been sick. He was getting chemo but he seemed to be recovering. So we were really shocked two weeks ago to get a call that one of the other girls husbands had died. We all went out to Jersey for the wake and the funeral and it was pretty tough. This was out of the blue. It was very sad as the guy was only 57.
Well Monday we got a call. The other guy was dying and only had hours to live. He passed on Tuesday. We jumped in the car and went out there to be with the family. I got a bunch of cold cuts and bread and pastries from all the good stores in Brooklyn for them because so many people were coming to pay their respects at the house. We were there all day and have been going back for the wake. They are burying him on Saturday morning.
It is really really tough as they have young kids and they were a very close couple. They did everything together. It will be very tough for the wife to go on alone. So they really need their friends at a time like this. Lisa is a very maternal figure to them as she envelopes them in a hug and just listens. I help with the food and the financial questions. We need to be there for them.
The most fucked up thing is that these two girls and Lisa are very close. And about five or six douche bags have come up to me and said "Be careful Jim these things happen in threes." Can you punch somebody in the face at a wake?
I guess at an Irish wake but these guys are guineas. So once again I have to swallow it and not do what I want to do. Some people just don't know what to do. You can't teach them. You just have to ignore them.
Anyway I am not ignoring youse guys. Just busy. So carry on. Play nice.
45 comments:
I would quote the great American philosopher, and Y*nkee, Yogi Berra, but seriously, I am sorry for your loss.
Some were concerned that you had fallen off your perch, but it is good to know you are still kickin'. Or punchin', whatever.
Is it okay to bring possum to your wake?
Another loss so soon after the last one, sorry to hear this. Strange we were just discussing again a couple days ago how tomorrow isn't promised to us and to enjoy every single day, especially as we get into those older years, like us really old coots, Sixty, Allen, RogerJ, and unamed female commenters, including myself.
About those guys bringing up the rule of three? Maybe they were just trying to lighten the wake with a joke. The wrong joke to the wrong person at the wrong time...but they meant well. And I mean that. Impossible to be among people for any length of time and someone doesn't say the wrong thing. It's the way we are.
In other great news Alex Rodriquez is promising to really bring it this year...aha ha ha ha ha.
Does A-Rod turn 57 this year?
He's 37 going on 38 and has, what, six years left on his contract? What was that "genius" Yankee management thinking?
I hear that. He's been around so long I just naturally assumed he was in his mid to late 50s. But if he says he's going to bring it this year then look out!
Cancer sucks.
You and Lisa are very, very good people to be as compassionate with your friends as you are.
The "punch you in the face" protocol is this:
Face punching shall not be allowed within the buildings where the wake, funeral and church services are held. Face punching is allowed in private settings outside of those buildings, provided that no women or children are witnesses to the event.
Further, it is permissible to draw the punchee out of the building with such statements as "Hey Ernie, I think the left front tire on your car is going flat. C'mon, I'll show ya".
You could have fulfilled his prophecy by making him the third. Just sayin'.
Death is ) to birth's (. In between is the life we know.
LifeKlammer, the Germans might say. Make noise while alive; let us know you're special--because you are.
unamed female commenters, including myself.
Directionless?
She was speakin' Bensonhurst - whatsa uname?
Sorry for the losses Trooper and Lisa. As I age it has become apparent that our culture has more of a problem w/ death than maybe any other. And, all the baggage our American culture carries vis a' vis death causes people to say really stupid things and w/ incredibly thoughtless acts.
Bruce,
e. e. cummings would disagree.
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
He's lucky you gave up rage recently.
There's something uniquely boneheaded about "tossing the bouquet" at a funeral, as it were.
I've never been good about condolences, getting or receiving. It hasn't gotten easier with more practice, tragically. But my heart goes out to you guys.
CUMMINGS WAS A JERK!
cummings was a jerk.
FIFY
Tough week, Trooper. Just concern yourself with being Lisa's rock and fuhgeddaboudat shithead.
Sorry for your loss Troop.
Love ya.
tits.
Allie, it can really be any day for anyone=age sometimes doesn't matter
us really old coots, Sixty, Allen, RogerJ, and unamed female commenters, including myself
S'ok Allie. You can name us. I'm old. I accept it :-)
Sorry for your and your friends losses and troubles.
It IS strange in that we have been discussing this and my last few posts on my blog are all about being grateful for each day as precious gift.
It is a snow day here. I made cookies and my husband and I are lazing in the living room reading books, while the cat is keeping my lap warm. Peaceful, calm and cozy
This song came on and I thought of Trooper and it seemed appropriate so I wanted to share.
Enjoy
Aww. I'm sorry, Trooper. Glad to have you back, though.
Nobody pull a Bissage on us here, okay? Please?
And Allie, me too. Old. :)
Loved that song, DBQ.
Nice song and all that, but not exactly something to cheer up Trooper.
Here's one that should do the trick.
Auch in Deutsch.
Ah Darcy , you're still a spring chicken, well maybe a summer chicken, I'm in the autumn of my life, makes it really clear that the clock is ticking down and there's no time to waste.
I don't know about any of you, but it's strange, since I retired, I thought I'd be bored, it's just the opposite, the days fly by, they just aren't long enough anymore.
@Allie--I think that our perception of the passage of time obeys something in psychology called Fechner's Law, which is basically that we perceive things in terms of percentages.
So as we get older, a year represents a smaller fraction of our total lives, so that each successive year seems shorter.
I agree with Allie. The days and weeks just fly by since retirement.
Part of the effect may be that I am no longer tied to a clock. I rise when I feel like it without any alarm clock. Go to bed when I want. No worries if I'm up in the middle of the night because have no deadlines to meet the next day. No expectations. It is easy to get lost in activities that I enjoy.
With just a few exceptions, my day is not structured around what time it is.
But. Even so. At my age, I'm also aware that time can be precious and that the sand in the hourglass is limited and that the larger percentage is now in the bottom of the glass. Fechner's Law, I suppose.
@Chip: From the video: "Amuse yer dick?"
What kind of advice is that?
I spent part of the day with the old man. He has cancer now, abdominal mesothelioma. Not curable and the treatments available are mostly as bad as the disease. He's chosen to skip the treatments and let the cancer run its course.
He's lost 15 pounds in the last month. He was strong and muscular six months ago; the muscles seem to be melting off of him now.
We've had the long talks about his will and plans for funeral and burial. He's filled out the DNR form with his MD and hospital, gave me a copy, and posted one on his refrigerator door. Next week we'll sign him up for one of those emergency call button services, and he wants to pick out a walker because he's a bit unsteady on his feet now.
He hasn't uttered one word of complaint. Hell, he spent two damn years on Guadalcanal and never complained about that or anything else in his life. All he said about being in the South Pacific was that he learned to like papaya and guava and still likes to eat them.
When we discussed whether or not he'd have treatment he said that he believes the when we are born each one of us is given a number of days to live. Some are given more days, some fewer, but our days our numbered and his time is up. He'd rather live out the few days he has left in the way he chooses, not what some well-meaning physicians might suggest.
We've invited him to move in with us. Maybe he will, maybe not. it's his choice. I do know this: I won't outsource his care to strangers during the last months of his life.
I'm a fatalist by nature. Maybe that's because I'm RC to the bone. Maybe because that's how I was raised or maybe because I'm a realist.
When you scrape away all the other stuff we fret over, the only purpose of this life is to get to the next life, and to do some good stuff along the way while we're on earth.
What kind of cars we drive, how many "followers" we have, which social circles we are admitted into are all meaningless in the end. What matters is leaving our loved ones with good memories of us, for as long they are alive.
"Why should I have a big funeral?" he asked me. "All my friends are already dead. I want a small service, then take everyone out for lunch. All I am is what you remember. I'll be gone, and I'll see you on the other side."
Here's hoping we'll all see each other on the other side someday.
Amen, Michael.
Tears here for you and your dad. But knowing and loving tears. Not altogether sad ones.
Sorry to hear about the bad news. Been down that road.
Well written, M. Haz. There is a toughness to that generation that, mostly, is gone now.
It is good that there are still some of them around for us to learn from, to be reminded about what really matters in life.
All my best to you and your father, tell him there are people out here who appreciate what he did and how he served this country.
I'm very sorry to hear the losses and trials that are being shared here today, triggering so many memories and thoughts. Death is never far away, is it? One of my workers lost her grandmother yesterday morning. My wife's aunt chose to forgo medical treatment and wasted away with breast cancer. It's hard to watch someone suffer like that, yet it's inspiring to see how much grit someone you've loved and respected for years has.
Little Piper is slipping away from us. She's on life support and has steadily declined in the last week. Two years old. She was born slipping away.
I guess we all are.
I'm so sorry, windbag.
Windbag - I am so very sorry for what you must be going through with Piper. How horrible! You and Piper are added to my prayers.
And thank all of you for your kind words.
The news of Michael's father is sad, but it is the story of a long life lived well, even nobly.
Piper's story is agonizing.
Michael, oh my gosh, so very sorry to hear about your dad's diagnosis. It sounds like your dad knows exactly how he wants to go about this and it wonderful you are being so supportive of his decision. I've seen family talk their loved one onto more aggressive treatment that simply prolonged the suffering.
The will to live is strong, but reality trumps in those who are grounded and strong and have lived a good long life. Your dad's experiences in Guadalcanal help make him who he is today.
When he moves in with you, DO NOT feel bad about getting help with his cares your home, you will need it.
You can make sure the nurse or caregiver is compatible with you and your dad and family. Hospice care will come into your home and believe me they know their stuff, they make make sure he is comfortable, breathing, pain, bathing, etc.
You're a good son your dad is as blessed to have you as you are to have him. I've done hospice nursing, if ever you feel the need to seek advice, I will be happy to share what I know with you and your dad.
My family member is still with me, but isn't doing well. We have some major decisions to make very soon. We have made our peace with each other and he has great nurses, round the clock. He has ALS another terrible diagnosis.
Thinking of you and your dad, remember if I can help, let me know.
Windbag, so sorry to hear little Piper isn't doing well. ALL is still taking those far too young. How tragic for her parents, losing a child to this disease, heartbreaking.
As you know I lost my husband to ALL, I so wish more progress could've been made, it has, yet not enough.
Allie - A heartfelt thank you!
Anytime Michael.
Michael, your dad is a hero. Something about WWII guys. Each theater had its own unique flavor of hell. A family friend survived the Bataan Death March. I don't know how much suffering a person can endure or witness without losing some measure of humanity, but guys like your dad put whiny, baby boomers like me to shame. It would be an honor to meet your dad.
I had an uncle that fought the Japanese from island to island for 4 years. Marine, tough as nails.
I worked for him for a summer on the Mississippi Delta. He damn sure didn't want to hear any complaints, so I sucked it up and worked in boxcars, hauling bags of cement 2 and 3 at a time, drinkin' Cocolas by the half dozen.
Tough times, but good ones, as well. He had a devilish sense of humor, usually involving firing his .38 in enclosed spaces - that'll wake you right up, I'm gonna tell you what.
Is it okay to bring possum to your wake?
If Sixty shows up, won't that be the same as bringing possum? Unless he's thinking about inviting a una-med date along for the ride.
The relief of finding the new post was accompanied by growing sympathy as I read of the loss and grief you and Lisa were entering into and experiencing.
To encounter death up close and personal in the life of another, and remain present, open and available to listen, stand beside, and serve, requires great courage and love.
Your words brought to mind this story by Rachel Naomi Remen MD, from My Grandfather's Blessings:
A Place of Refuge
Perhaps the most important thing we bring to another person is the silence in us. Not the sort of silence that is filled with unspoken criticism or hard withdrawal. The sort of silence that is a place of refuge, of rest, of acceptance of someone as they are. We are all hungry for this other silence. It is hard to find. In its presence we can remember something beyond the moment, a strength on which to build a life. Silence is a place of great power and healing. Silence is God's lap.
Many things grow the silence in us, among them simply growing older. We may then become more a refuge than a rescuer, a witness to the process of life and the wisdom of acceptance.
A highly skilled AIDS doctor once told me that she keeps a picture of her grandmother in her home and sits before it for a few minutes every morning before she leaves for work. Her grandmothers was an Italian born woman who held her family close. Her wisdom was of the earth. Once when Louisa was very small, her kitten was killed in an accident. It was her first experience with death and she had been devastated. Her parents had encouraged her not to be sad, telling her that the kitten was in heaven now with God. Despite these assurances, she had not been comforted. She had prayed to God, asking Him to give her kitten back. But God did not respond.
In anguish she had turned to her grandmother and asked, "Why?" Her grandmother had not told her that her kitten was in heaven as so many of the other adults had. Instead, she had simply held her and reminded her of the time when her grandfather had died. She, too, had prayed to God, but God had not brought Grandpa back. She did not know why. Louise had turned into the soft warmth of her grandmother's shoulder then and sobbed. When finally she was able to look up, she saw that her grandmother was crying as well.
Although her grandmother could not answer he question, a great loneliness had gone and she felt able to go on. All the assurances that Peaches was in heaven had not given her this strength or peace. "My grandmother was a lap, Rachel," she told me, "a place of refuge. I know a great deal about AIDS, but what I really want to be for my patients is a lap. A place from which they can face what they have to face and not be alone."
Taking refuge does not mean hiding from life. It means finding a place of strength, the capacity to live the life we've been given with greater courage and sometimes even with gratitude.
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