Trips With Mom And Dad

This is a long post.  I won't be offended if you don't read all of it.

I had intended to write a post on September 10th, the one year anniversary of Mom's passing, but I just never found the time.  It's hard to believe it's been over a year now.  I'm doing much better since Mom gave me a kick in the butt (referred to in this post).  I still think about her every day, but I'm not so sad anymore.  Time is healing my heart (that, and the fact that I realize Mom is with me still).

I took two significant trips recently, one back home to Utah and another to San Francisco, where Mom lived from her childhood until she married my dad (and it's also where she met my dad).

In Utah I visited my family and felt Mom and Dad's presence a lot.  I was able to visit with my niece and nephew-in-law, who (you may remember) helped take care of Mom before she went into assisted living.  I had not been to their house before.  They bought it while still living in Mom's house, and it was a fixer-upper which they've done a great job with. 

As they excitedly showed me each room, I was touched by how much of Mom’s stuff they had hung onto.  As my niece said, every room reminds them still of "Grandma," and it was nice to feel Mom’s presence in the house.  They have the two lamp tables that sat in our living room for as long as I can remember, the vacuum she bought from Kirby, my dad's dad's old desk that sat in my old bedroom for years, the shelves in the basement that held knick knacks, Mom and Dad’s rollaway desk, the desk that held Mom’s TV and all our games, much of Mom’s kitchenware, and there was also one of our neighbor's (and Mom's best friend's) old chairs, which seemed oddly appropriate, given the long enduring friendship of my parents with our neighbors.  But what floored me the most was that my niece and nephew had saved Mom and Dad’s old couch, which is the same couch that had been in my parents’ front room for almost the entire time they lived in that house.  Frankly, the couch is outdated, faded, worn out, and saggy.  

 Mom and my sister on the couch (one of the lamp tables I referred to is at right)

 I would not have been surprised if my niece and nephew had given the couch to charity or even taken it to the dump.  But there it was in their rec room, and it brought tears to my eyes that they had saved it.  I felt Mom so much in their home.

We had a good talk about what a tough time it had been the year they stayed in Mom's house to help care for her, but my niece said that in spite of the challenges and difficulties, it was worth it and they don’t regret it at all.  My niece and nephew also acknowledged that they would not have this house if it hadn’t been for their time with Mom.  It was nice to hear that.  I really felt a strong impression from Mom that any residual resentment or anger I held toward my niece and nephew must be let go, and so that’s what I’ve done.  As for me, I am thankful for all that my niece and nephew did for Mom and all she did for them.  I’m letting bygones be bygones.  It was just so wonderful to feel pieces of Mom in that house, and I’m grateful that my niece and nephew are reminded of her every day.

The next day I visited with Mom and Dad's longtime neighbors who had been friends with Mom for over fifty years and who factored very heavily in my life growing up.  As I talked with them in their living room, I looked across the street at the house I grew up in, now no longer mine.

The people who live there now replaced the old "211" that had been on the house since Mom and Dad bought it with a newer, bigger “211.”  

 The old "211" that was on the front of our house all my life

It kind of made me sad to see the old one gone, but, obviously, I don’t blame the new owners for wanting to improve and update their house.

My sister-in-law had mentioned (and my old neighbor confirmed) that the owners of Mom and Dad's house were actually wanting to sell the it.  Evidently, it’s more than they can financially handle, and so I guess they are interested in selling.  That made me a little sad, too.  I don’t know the owners at all, but was hoping their family might have many happy, lasting memories in the house like my family did.  If I had the money, I would buy the house myself.  I’d love to have it back in the family again.  But it would be impractical and, alas, I don’t have the financial resources to make such a purchase.

My old neighbor talked about how sometimes she still expects Mom to come out of the house, and of course Mom doesn’t.  But again, just as I felt looking at Mom and Dad’s old furniture at my niece's and nephew's house, I looked across the street and saw the house my parents bought and built together and felt their presence and legacy.  They’re ever present through what they left behind, both materialistically and in how they raised and brought up their family.

 My neighbor said she was downsizing and has gotten rid of some of her nativity sets, which she collects.  She gave the one Mom gave her to my other nephew and his new wife.  It’s a nice thought that something Mom left my neighbor is now left to Mom’s grandson and his new wife.

After visiting with my former neighbors, I drove to my older sister's house and visited with her.  I liked it being just one on one without any distractions.  She asked if I was hungry, and I was, so she got me some potato salad.  It was in one of my favorite bowls of Mom’s that I had used often to eat things like cereal and ice cream.  As had been the case with this trip thus far, it was nice to be reminded of good memories and that Mom was still alive and well in the lives of her children.  When I used the bathroom, there was Mom’s old green hamper, and it was a nice sight to see.

I just really enjoyed reconnecting with my sister.  It’s clear she misses me and I miss her.  We didn’t want to say goodbye, but we had to, knowing it would be a while before we see one another again. 

I then drove to my younger sister's house.  As I visited with her I had these same feelings of Mom and Dad’s legacy as I looked at Mom’s old hutch and her and Dad’s old easy chair and as I held Mom’s namesake, Jerry (my sister's newest child) in my arms while my Dad’s namesake, Gary (her middle child) was playing nearby.  It was a nice feeling and I felt my parents in the room.

I then went to an eatery Mom and I had gone to often.  I ordered my usual, a turkey and artichoke sandwich on foccacia with avocado as well as a chai frappe (which was excellent) and a chocolate chip cookie.  It was a really good meal and the place was not very busy, so I quite enjoyed myself.

Then I went to a theater where I had worked while living in Utah. When I bought my ticket, the girl looked for my name in their computer system, but it wasn’t there, but Mom’s was.  I told them they could delete Mom as she had passed away. 

I was so pleased to be put at a table by myself (it's a dinner theater).  There were three empty chairs next to me, and I imagined Mom and Dad sitting in two of them.  Since Mom died, I have been to several theatrical productions and have had two empty seats next to me.  I always like to imagine that Mom and Dad are next to me.  Here I was again with two empty seats, and I know how much Mom enjoyed this theater when she was alive, so I was again imagining that she and Dad were next to me watching the show.  

The next day I went to the cemetery to visit Mom and Dad's headstone.  I then went to the nearby headstones of Dad's parents and sister.  Then I decided it might be fun to look for the gravestones of my Dad’s grandparents, which were in the same cemetery.  I went to the cemetery office and they gave me the information, and I was surprised to find a whole bunch of ancestors.  In all the years I’ve been to Mom and Dad's cemetery, I’ve never visited that part of the cemetery (unless I did so as a child).  There was something really neat about standing where my ancestors had once stood and where many of them were buried.  In addition to the strong presence I felt of Mom and Dad during this trip, I also felt my ancestors, whom I didn’t even know in life, around me.  It was a neat feeling.

After I left the cemetery I dropped in on my great uncle (Dad's dad's brother).  The man is 97 years old and still very sharp.  His hearing and sight have diminished a great deal, but his mind and memory are still quite sharp and he is very healthy and active for 97.  We really had a nice visit and a really nice lunch.  I realize, statistically, my uncle's days are numbered, although I wouldn’t be the least surprised if he lived well into his hundreds.  I try to visit him and his sister (who's 94) more often.  I’d call them more, but they don’t hear very well, so it’s sometimes hard to have a conversation by telephone.  

I saw another show at a different theater where I had worked often.  Once again, I had two empty seats next to me.  I was right on the aisle of the fifth or sixth row with the two seats on my left.  I once again imagined Mom and Dad were with me (or maybe it wasn’t my imagination at all).

This particular show involved audience participation, and I ended up being on the stage with the other actors (three of whom were friends I had worked with previously in other productions).  It was a lot of fun but it was surreal watching the first act from on stage.  What was even weirder was being on a stage I had worked on professionally for several years surrounded by people I had acted with professionally, but this time only being a guest.  What it made me feel was “I need to be on stage again.  I belong here.  I should be in shows just like this one.”  I hope it happens sooner than later.  I'm ready to be on stage again. 

It was fun being back home in Utah.  I've missed my former home and my friends and family a lot.

The day after I got back home to Jonah, we took our trip to California.  We went to San Jose and Petaluma, but what was really memorable for me was visiting San Francisco.  I've only been to San Francisco twice (to the best of my knowledge) - once when I was very young and once on a theatre trip when I was in high school in 1986.

I have just snatches of memories from my first trip.  I remember crossing a bridge (the Golden Gate or Oakland, I can't remember (though I know I crossed the Oakland Bridge on my 1986 trip)); I remember being in a park (probably Golden Gate Park) by a merry-go-round with my mom's brothers' kids; I remember watching The Lone Ranger on my grandma's TV in her apartment and wanting to take her TV home to Utah because we didn't get that show in Utah; I remember my siblings teasing me because I had a crush on one of my cousins - I think I played in the backyard of my Uncle John's house in Martinez.  That's all I really remember from that trip.

The 1986 trip I remember better because I was older.  I remember riding the cable car with two of my actor friends; I remember going to Alcatraz and Fisherman's Wharf; Grandma came out in a taxi to visit me while I was there; I remember how expensive everything seemed; and I remember spending a lot of time on the campus of Berkley for the theatre competition we were there for.

To the best of my knowledge, I never visited any of Mom's old stomping grounds.  I decided to do that on this trip with Jonah.  We did cross the Golden Gate Bridge on our way to Petaluma, and that was pretty neat.

We happened to go to Petaluma on a Saturday and went to San Francisco on Sunday, so traffic wasn't too bad either day, although I felt like the drivers around me were driving much faster than was necessary.  It made me nervous. 

I had brought some old pictures of Mom in San Francisco (at her church, her childhood apartment, the apartment she lived in as a teenager, the park, etc.) and thought it might be fun to take some “then and now” photos. 

 

Our GPS pooped out on us during the drive so we took a wrong turn and ended up somewhere different than we had intended to go, but maybe it was meant to be that way.  We happened onto Mom’s childhood street, Broderick Street, and worked our way to her old apartment building.  San Francisco is not an easy city to park in, so Jonah ended up driving around while I would take pictures in various locales and then he would pick me up.  I was trying to be artsy and took pictures of Mom’s old photos in front of the locale where they had been taken originally.  I didn’t line the old photos up as accurately as I would have liked, but like I said, I was in a hurry.

Mom's childhood apartment

 There was something kind of magical about standing in spots my mother had once stood as a child (or where her parents had stood), and there was something cool about visiting these places I had never (to my knowledge) been before.  When I was taking photos of Mom’s old apartment building from her childhood, some lady was trying to get in (and someone eventually buzzed her in), and I thought how cool it would have been to actually go inside Mom’s old apartment (not that it would have meant much to me since I had never been there).  It was fun to take pictures in front of her old apartment and in front of the apartment of her friend, Mildred Palmer, who lived across the street when Mom was a girl.  As fun as the taking of the photos was, I think Jonah's driving around San Francisco was stressful.

 Note the lady trying to get into the apartment building

 Mom

 Mom

 Mom and her mom and siblings

 Mildred Palmer's old apartment.  Her dad was my grandparents' landlord.

 Mom and her dad and brothers

 Mom

 Mom and her mom

 Mom

 Mom

 Mom and her brothers

 Mom

 Mom and her brothers

                  We next went to Mom’s old high school, which is now the home of a community college, I believe.  We actually did find parking there.  

Then we drove to my grandpa and grandma's old apartment and I took some pictures there while Jonah drove around.   

 Where Mom lived as a teenager

 Mom's mom and stepfather

I stood on the same step Mom had once stood on as a young woman and doing so made me feel connected to her in a different way than I had experienced before.  I wish I would have had more time to take it in, but it was still nice.  

              

             I had wanted to get some photos in Panhandle Park (off of Golden Gate Park), but the park was very crowded that Sunday and traffic was heavy in the area, and there just wasn’t any place to park, so we decided to bag it.

    Our next stop was Mom’s old church, the Sunset Ward, and actually, Jonah was able to find a parking spot.  We almost didn’t want to give it up.  Because it was Sunday, church was in session, and as I approached the church building, some ward members and the missionaries came out.  

 Mom is front at the very right

I talked with them a bit and explained what I was doing and asked if they thought it would be okay if I went inside.  They said they thought that would be alright.  I went in and took a photo of the picture of Jesus that is shown in the picture my mom had of a conference taken in 1956. 

 This was a conference held in the Sunset Ward building in San Francisco in 1956 presided over by David O. McKay.  Note the picture of Jesus in the middle.

  Close-up.  David O. McKay and his wife are at the far right in the middle.  Mom is in the back left with the "x" over her head.

    I ran into a custodian who knew the building well, and he was very nice.  Sacrament Meeting was going on, so I couldn’t go in the chapel, but the custodian let me go into the cultural hall and take a photo.  

 Mom in the cultural hall.

He talked to me about the building and asked me about my parents when I explained why I was doing what I was doing.  I felt a little bad because he was under the impression that I was still a member of the church and he was trusting me because of that, but he was very kind and I appreciated his letting me have a closer look at the building.          

               Being in the same room that my parents once held their wedding reception in (at least I think it was) was touching and moving.  It almost brought me to tears.  It was so surreal being in the place where Mom and Dad were at the beginning of their marriage, especially since I had never been there before.  

 

 Dad and Mom at their reception

It was a nice connection.   

            

           Once I took my photos, Jonah and I both agreed that driving and parking in San Francisco was more stressful than we wanted to deal with, so we opted not to explore any more of San Francisco and drove back to Petaluma. 

  

                On our way back home we had decided to drive home via the Pacific Coast Highway even though it would add about 5 and half hours to our trip.  We just thought it would be a fun and scenic way to end our trip.  We got up early on Monday morning and had breakfast at the motel (and it was a pretty good spread).  We left about 7 or 7:15 am.  Because it was Monday, traffic from Petaluma to San Francisco was much worse than it had been on Saturday and Sunday.  It was also a little foggy. 

We actually spent the first hour of our trip in traffic from Petaluma to San Francisco.  Driving in San Francisco was even worse than it had been on Sunday, but we got through okay and then onto the freeway.  There sure were a lot of crazy drivers on the way, though.

                The Pacific Coast Highway was pretty awesome and very beautiful, but there were also times when it felt precarious and scary.  There were really beautiful trees, and it was fun to drive the coast and see the ocean.  Some drivers seemed so impatient (and one guy, in particular, who crossed the double lines seemed unnecessarily dangerous). 

                I felt Mom and Dad with us on the trip, and I was reminded of the poem I wrote about in this post:

"Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,

I am the softly falling snow.

I am the gentle showers of rain,

I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,

I am in the graceful rush

Of far-off birds in circling flight,

I am the starshine of the night.

Lacrymosa, dies illa (That sorrowful day)

I am in ev’ry flower that blooms,

I am in still and empty rooms.

I am the child that yearns to sing:

I am in each lovely thing

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there. I did not die."

                All the beautiful sights we saw on our Pacific Coast Highway drive reminded me that Mom and Dad are very much with me.  I wondered if Dad had driven this route when he visited Mom from Long Beach or on his way back to his ship when he was in the Navy.  It seems logical that he might have taken that route.

                At the beginning of our drive, Jonah got a message from the woman in Utah to whom he had given the Jack O’ Lantern he originally made for Mom, but which we took after Mom moved out of her house.  She wrote:

                “Hey [Jonah],

A couple of years ago, you surprised me with a gift of this pumpkin where I keep your card and think of you every fall when I put my decorations out.  Love it still and wanted to let you know...Jane.
Sandy Antique Mall,  Ut”

Jonah responded:

“Hi Jane

“It was so great to get this email from you ,,, I knew you were the right person to take care of this special pumpkin that my mother in-law loved so much before she was moved into assisted living. In September of 2013 she passed away and our trips to Utah are not as frequent as they were before but it's great to know that this piece of folk art that I made has a great caretaker like you ..... So thank you for being a great caretaker and sending me this email when I needed it. It means a lot to me that you love it ,,,

“Take care Jane and thank you for the blessing of your email ,,,

“Sincerely

“[Jonah]”

We thought that was maybe Mom’s way of letting us know she was with us.

Both of the trips I took were very enjoyable, and I'm really glad Mom and Dad tagged along.  They are always welcome.

               

You Know What I Miss?

I had a charmed childhood and family life.  I didn't always know or appreciate it at the time, but I did. As I read through Mom's journals I am reminded of that fact.

I don't ever remember my parents having a fight;  an occasional disagreement perhaps, but I never heard them raise their voices to one another in the 21 years I was with them before Dad passed away.  That's pretty amazing to me.

We went on a vacation every year that I remember - the Grand Canyon, San Francisco, Yellowstone National Park, Disneyland, Universal Studios, Lava Hot Springs, Craters of the Moon, Bryce Canyon, Ricks College, and one whirlwind journey to Seattle, Vancouver, and other parts of Canada were among some of the places we saw together.  Mom, Dad, and I also went to New York together, and after Dad's death Mom and I toured Belgium, France, England, Austria, Switzerland, and the Netherlands together.

We also did a lot of family outings when I was growing up - Lagoon Amusement Park, the Heber Creeper, the Alpine Slide in Park City, Hogle Zoo, Temple Square, Hansen Planetarium, the Museum of Natural History, various parks and monuments spread throughout the Salt Lake Valley, drives and picnics in the canyons that surround the valley, going out to eat or out for dessert at McDonald's, Su Casa, Baskin-Robbins, the Cultured Cow, Chuck-a-Rama, Arctic Circle, Sunday outings to my grandma's house, Christmas Eves at my great aunt's house, Thanksgivings with friends and neighbors, movies and plays galore.  I have such fond memories of those times.

Rarely would a trip happen where we didn't have car trouble.  I'm sure it frustrated the hell out my dad, but it just seemed like a trip wasn't a trip without pulling over for some car issue.

We were (and still are) a game-playing family.  Dad, Mom, and my two older siblings would play a card game called 500; Mom and my older brother played cribbage a lot; we played Trivial Pursuit, the Ungame, Pictionary, Scattergories, Taboo, Skip-bo, Uno, Apples to Apples, Monopoly, Life, Sorry, the Mad Magazine game, Hearts, Catchphrase, and so many others.

We had truly magical Christmases, even in leaner times.  I sometimes don't know how Mom and Dad afforded to give us so many great gifts or take us on these incredible trips and outings.

Dad would come home from the store with a candy bar for each of us kids as a special surprise.  Mom might bring us some candy from the ice cream store she worked for at the time, Snelgrove's.

I remember dyeing eggs and having Sunday morning egg hunts at Easter and the candy baskets that would be prepared for us.

Birthdays were almost always great affairs.  Treasure hunts, videos of Disney movies, lots of friends, and Mom would often make a special cake for us.  I remember getting one shaped like a train and another like a castle.  Or we'd go to Farrel's for ice cream.

We had a huge backyard where we played croquet, tried to plant a garden, jumped on the trampoline, swung on swings, and did yard work together.

Mom and Dad would film us with the Super 8 camera they had or take pictures of us, and I have now inherited a plethora of family memories captured on film

We were a church-going family.  All of my parents' children served missions and served in many callings.  We held Family Home Evening on Monday nights when I was growing up filled with lessons and family discussions and activities.  I remember fondly one where we made chocolate chip cookies together.

We had meals together growing up.  Mom wasn't a great cook, but she made us meals with a lot of love and we ate together and discussed the goings on in our lives. 

We prayed together, and Dad would give everyone in the family a blessing every year before we started school.  Mom served as a Primary teacher and Relief Society teacher among many others and Dad was the ward clerk for what seemed like forever.

My siblings and I got along.  Sure, there were times when we got on each other's nerves, but overall we were a very happy family growing up.  It wasn't until I met friends whose family lives were less than ideal that I realized not every family was like mine.

Home was a place I really enjoyed, especially since I was bullied a lot in school.  Home was a place of refuge, love, safety, and comfort.  I remember coming home from school and having great discussions with Mom and later when we worked together we'd have really great after-work discussions.

Of course, eventually everyone got married or went to school or moved or went on missions or (in Dad and Mom's cases) died, and so that affected the family togetherness I remember so fondly as a child.  I miss that closeness and constant camaraderie.  Sure, we still get together and do stuff, but it's not the same.  I don't suppose it ever will be.  But I loved it when it was ours and I miss it a lot.

It wasn't perfect, but it was great.

A Parting Gift From Mom (And Dad)

Sometimes when I'm watching a game show I feel that if I won some money, even a small amount, it would change my life.  I'm one of those people who would go on "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" and be happy just walking away with $16,000 or $32,000 rather than attempting to go for the whole million.

I am right.  Money can change one's life (or at least make certain things easier).  In no way am I saying you'll be happier with more money.  I don't believe for a second that money can buy happiness.  However, it can make things less stressful if you're smart about it.

My dad and mom made some good investments during their lifetimes.  This turned out to be quite a blessing when Mom had to move to assisted living.  With all of Mom and Dad's investments, including the sale of their house, we probably had enough to take care of Mom for 6 or 7 years, so that was a comfort.

Mom would have hated to know that the money she and Dad had saved would be paying for her to stay in a place she initially hated.  We were glad we had that money, though.

Obviously Mom's death made the use of that money null and void as far as her care was concerned (although we used a portion of it for her funeral and burial, any unpaid medical costs, and her remaining taxes, none of which was nearly as much as I would have anticipated).  We have been actually been quite blessed by what remained to be split among her four children.  All told, each of us has ended up with about $86,000.  And that is life-changing money.

Mom (and Dad) would be delighted to know that the money they intended to pass on to us would be used for the betterment of our lives.  And it will be, I hope.

I, for one, have been able to pay off my student loan (which I've been paying for the last seven years) and put a down payment on a brand new car (I've never had a brand new car until now).  Jonah and I hope to take a trip somewhere and maybe make some improvements to our home, things we've dreamed of doing but never had enough money to really do.  Instead of feeling like I'm living paycheck to paycheck, I finally feel like I can save some money away for our future.

My sister, who has been drowning in debt since she got married, may finally have a chance to get on top of things if she and my brother-in-law are smart about it.  And maybe she, too, can take a vacation, which she's not really had a chance to do too often.

My brother and his his wife can help pay for their son's wedding and their other son's mission and maybe make some good investments.

My other sister and brother-in-law, who have been through bankruptcy themselves (mostly due to my brother-in-law's first wife's medical bills) now have enough to make home improvements and support their family.

It truly is a blessing, and Mom and Dad would be so happy.  My parents were two of the most generous people I've known.  They would be overjoyed that all they worked for is helping their kids and grandkids.  And it's a gift that will keep giving (for a while at least).  Mom and Dad have oil and gas rights inherited from my grandfather and grandmother (who smartly invested as well), and we'll hopefully get about $2000.00 a year each from that as well until the wells eventually run dry.

I miss Mom and Dad every day, but they left us a great legacy of good values and a nice financial one to boot.  It is such a blessing for this struggling artist.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.

Thinking About Dad

As I have been transcribing Mom's journals, it's been fun and, sometimes, enlightening to read of her life and experiences.  Mom and I were very close so there haven't been a lot of surprises or shocks.  If anything, she only reinforces things I already knew about her.

I have been moderately surprised when she has talked of jealousy she had over how my grandmother favored her daughter (my aunt) over her other children or dissatisfaction with her service in the church, but I wasn't too surprised by things like that.

What did take me aback, which I never knew until just this week, was that there was a period in 1988 when Dad was on antidepressants and seeing a psychologist.  I never knew that at all.  I talked to my sister, who is older than me, and she knew nothing about it, either.

Here's what I did know:

1. In March of 1984, Dad had a small stroke.  Between then and about January of 1988 he had at least one more and possibly a third, undiagnosed one.

2. In early 1988 Dad's boss was concerned with his performance and ordered him to be medically examined on the company's dime.  Dad at this time had slowed down and his memory and ability to learn new concepts was impaired.

3. Dad disliked his job and found it very stressful.  While I didn't know all the details, I know Dad had difficulty with his boss and work environment and was not happy in his job for many years.

4. Dad eventually was given a medical disability and retired in April 1988.  He was happier as a result but continued to have serious strokes and health issues until his death in October of 1992

Apparently, as a condition of his company-ordered medical examination he saw a psychologist.  Mom indicates that Dad was very depressed during the time we was still employed and seeing this psychologist.  Apparently she prescribed him some antidepressants, which he took for a short time before he retired.  I never knew any of that.

Dad was a quiet guy who never talked much or complained.  He was a good man who worked hard to provide for his family.  I loved him very much, but I do wish he had communicated more.  According to her journals, so did Mom.

I sometimes feel bad because for years Dad was stuck in a job he didn't seem to like very much.  Even in the early eighties, Mom indicates that Dad has desires to quit and yet he worked there for 28 years, and on some level, I've always thought his job was partially responsible for his health problems and his early death.

Mom told me once that Dad would have liked to open a record shop.  Dad loved music and that was one thing he talked about doing early in his relationship with Mom.  Instead he went into computer programming and worked for a life insurance company.  I often feel that Dad did so out of a duty to support and provide for his family.  While I admire him for being a good provider (and he did a good job at it), I also feel his job interfered with his personal health, satisfaction, and happiness, and watching his experience is one of the reason I've always tried to do the kind of work that brings me fulfillment and happiness even if it's not always as financially lucrative.  I think that philosophy has served me well even if it hasn't always served my pocketbook as admirably.

I miss Dad.  He was a good man.  I always think of Dad as "behind-the-scenes" rather than "on stage."  Without him, the success of the "production" that is our family would not have been what it was at all.  But he was very unassuming and quiet about how he did things.  He quietly paid bills, planned vacation itineraries, and worked hard to earn the money needed to provide for us and give us a little extra so we could take those vacations, which are some of my most cherished memories.

He would stop at the store on the way home from work and buy each of us kids a candy bar.  He would drive me to school on his way to work.  He would sit quietly in the living room and listen to music or watch a game on TV to relax.

Dad and I didn't have a ton in common.  He was big football fan, loved to fish, and enjoyed country music, none of which I cared for.  He wasn't a big talker, whereas I loved to talk.  I just naturally gravitated to Mom, who loved old movies and theatre and who loved to talk about anything and everything.  I adored my dad; he was hard-working, loving, thoughtful, even-tempered and was a terrific example of quiet endurance.  But I didn't know my dad very well.  I didn't always know what he was thinking and he never shared much about his life.  And he died relatively young when I was only 21.

I have great memories of him, though, and I wish he would have been more personally fulfilled.  He made the choices he made and they greatly benefited our family.  Like my mom, he lived for his family.  I just sometimes he could have found a better balance with living for himself.

The Rock In My Pocket

The last time Jonah and I visited my great aunt together we had her and my great uncle record some of their thoughts about their family.  We did it as a way to preserve some of our genealogy because once my great uncle and aunt are gone, the memories they still have about my ancestors will be gone, too.

As my aunt was talking about her mom (my great-great grandmother), she got wistful about her, and my uncle got teary-eyed as he talked about my his brother (my dad's father).

As I have been dealing with my own grief regarding Mom, I've realized something: this grief is never going to go away.  Not entirely, at least.

There has literally not been a single day since Mom died that I haven't thought about her.  Everything reminds me of her.  And I miss her terribly.

A friend wrote on Facebook: "...putting these things into words is an essential part of the healing process. David Lindsay Abaire says it well in 'Rabbit Hole,' when a parent grieving the loss of her son asks her mother if the feeling of loss - of grief - ever goes away, and the mother replies (I paraphrase) - no, not really . . . It gets better, even diminishes, but it's like a rock you carry in your pocket, and some times you stick your hand in your pocket and your pocket and you're suddenly reminded, 'oh, hello. . . you're still there.' It takes time - a lot of time - but time, though it does not heal everything, does help."

I'm always going to have this rock in my pocket.  That's not a bad thing, but I think of my aunt and uncle weeping for people they lost years and years ago; I think of Dad's mom who lived in sorrow for years after her husband died, so much that she almost became debilitated by it; I think of a friend who will never be able to get over losing her child to an accident-related death.  And I realize I will never get over losing my dear mother.  And there's no reason I should.

I certainly have not allowed her death to cause me to stop living my life, and as I've stated before, I feel her presence with me often, which is nice.  But she is ever in my thoughts, and some days I feel such a longing to have her here with me.

I am glad we didn't have to watch her keep disappearing.  I'm glad she never forgot who I was.  I'm glad I didn't have to watch her physically waste away.  I'm glad I didn't have to watch her go confusedly go through dialysis with an amputated leg, which is what would have happened had we chosen to keep her alive.

One thing I am always struck by was when I came back home to Utah knowing Mom would be dead within a week or so.  She was so excited to see me and like a child, she had no idea she would be dead soon (frankly, I don't think she even understood why she was in the hospital at all).  I don't think it was until we transferred her back to her assisted living residence that she finally understood what was happening.  And I do think there was a point when Mom recognized that she was dying, and I believe those on the other side were helping her understand that.  But that initial meeting when I knew she was dying, but she didn't, has always remained in my mind.  She was just so happy to see me (and I her), but I knew we would be saying goodbye for a while in only a matter of days.

Sometimes I feel guilty that I didn't grieve so hard when my dad died as I have with my mom.  I loved him very much; he was a great father, and I do miss him.  But I have to admit that Mom's death has been harder on me than his was.  But then Mom and I always had more in common than Dad and I did.  Dad liked sports and fishing and country music and wasn't very talkative, none of which I related to.  Mom loved movies and theatre and we had great talks, not to mention 21 years more together to cultivate a relationship than Dad and I had.  I also was, as my family says, "the golden child" to Mom and was her primary caretaker for several of the last years of her life.  Even after her death, I have been knee-deep in her journals and photos and financial and legal affairs.  She is ever present.

Dad died while I was on my mission, and his death almost felt surreal.  I was nowhere near him when he died.  I didn't watch him die like I did with Mom.  I was on the other side of the earth and felt somewhat removed from his death.  In fact, coming home from my mission it almost felt like Dad hadn't existed at all.  When I left for my mission, he was still home.  When I came back he was gone.

I can't really explain it.  I miss hearing Mom's voice.  I miss holding her hand and hugging her and kissing her.  I miss her childlike dementia just as much as a miss the level-headed woman I grew up with.  I miss eating meals with her and going to the theatre with her.  I miss playing games with her and talking with her.

I know pain will lessen with time, but I also know I'll always have this rock in my pocket until Mom and I are reunited once again.  And maybe Mom will again repeat the second to the last thing I ever heard her say: "I knew you did it right." 

Little Signs And The Story Of My Life

I wrote the following on my Facebook page a few weeks ago:

"I'm sure there are those who get tired of these posts (to which I say, 'Don't read them.'), but for me, they help me through my grieving process.

"I am and always have been a mama's boy. My mom was one of my very best friends. Even though her early passing saved herself and her family from a lot of suffering, there are days when I still can't believe she's gone.

"Many days I'm fine, but there are days like today when I miss her terribly and long for her immediate presence.

"Since her passing nearly five months ago, she has let me know many times that she is still around and very much a part of my life. That is comforting, but it's not the same.

"I just miss her. I hope it gets easier. I guess it's a testament to our deep love that the deep pain of her passing still remains.

"-sigh-"

I discover that I miss Mom terribly.  While the rational part of me knows that things worked out for the best, the emotional part of me just wishes she were here.

Yet she has shown me many times that she is very much around.

They're just little things, and others might chalk them up to coincidence, but I believe Mom is letting me know she is still very much a part of my life.

I've already talked about the Josh Groban concert.  The song "Smile" has become a way for Mom to let me know she's around.  Recently my brother and sister-in-law and their kids through town and we agreed to meet at a local IHOP.  I started my car to meet them, and a version of "Smile" by Barbra Streisand began to play.  I felt maybe it was Mom's way of letting me know she'd be attending breakfast with us (and sure enough there were two empty seats at our table, so maybe Dad was with us as well).

That's actually happened a lot (the two empty seats).  I attended a fairly full house of the show Rock of Ages, and there were two seats next to me (although I'm not sure either Mom or Dad liked the show), and at a Kristen Chenoweth concert the same thing happened.

I recently visited my family in Utah and we had dinner at Su Casa, one of Mom and Dad's favorite places, and again, there were two empty chairs at a rather full table.  I also saw a rehearsal of one of Mom's favorite shows, A Few Good Men, and found myself beside two empty seats.  (I know Mom loved that one.)

I've also felt Mom communicate to me through music.  Not just "Smile," but other stuff as well - the Josh Groban and Kristen Chenoweth concerts; songs on the radio; etc.  I was playing a rendition of a song I like (which I imagine Mom would have liked) called "And I Love You So,"

and I got in my car to go to work, and the exact song started playing on the radio.

It just felt like too much to be just a coincidence.

One unexpected song has become a sign for me.  About a month or two ago I had seen "The Story of My Life" performed by One Direction.  I liked the song and wanted to watch the video, which I did and which left me a weeping mess.

I don't know if it's because I've been dealing with Mom's journals and photos, but the whole idea of the video (these frozen memories in time; the moving on of time even after loved ones have left us) just really connected with me.

During my visit home when I was visiting Mom and Dad's grave at the cemetery for what turned out to be the last time it was warming up a little after a cold week and I could feel the sunshine on my body, and I closed my eyes and imagined Mom and Dad were beside me, much as I felt Dad beside me when I was on my mission shortly after he died.  I don't know if I've ever shared that story here, but the week he died, I was in church and bore my testimony and when I sat down I felt like Dad's hand was on my shoulder (and I believe it was).  Much in the same way, I felt like Mom and Dad were standing beside me in the cemetery, and I felt that same feeling in St. George recently when Jonah and I were married.  After I basked in that feeling, I got into the car and what should start playing but “The Story of My Life” by One Direction , and I started crying because I just felt sure it was Mom telling me she and Dad had been there. 

Other remarkable things that happened two other times I visited the cemetery.  The first time I visited it was a windless day a bit cold.  I'm not really a cemetery-going kind of guy, but the cemetery was only three blocks from where I was staying so I figured why not?  I was met at the grave site by several geese who were milling around, and it felt like kind of a sign to me.  I guess the life that was present felt like Mom reminding me that she's not really dead, just on another plane of existence. 

  
I hadn't been to Mom's grave since the week she was buried and I broke down.  I just miss her.  Sometimes I feel bad because I didn't behave the way I did with Dad's passing as I am with Mom's.  It's certainly not because I loved Dad any less.  I adored my father.  But Mom and I just had more in common (plus 21 more years together than Dad and I had).  Plus I was away when Dad died, so it didn't seem as present in my mind as Mom's death, when I was stroking her hair and looking at her face at the exact moment she passed.

There were two pinwheels on the graves of a nearby couple, and although I did not feel any wind, they both began to turn.  

 

I wondered if maybe Mom and Dad were making it happen.  It made me feel good to think they did.  I just let them know how much I missed them.

My other visit to the cemetery was at dusk so it was dark, but as I drove in I saw a herd of seven deer leaping and bounding about the cemetery.  While it is not uncommon to see deer in this part of Utah, the cemetery is in a fairly suburban area where deer don't frequent.  I was actually afraid to get out of the car until the deer departed, but they were a truly beautiful sight to see.  And then I saw a flock of the same geese I had seen previously honking and flying above me.  I took it as another sign of Mom's presence.  It was almost magical.


Recently, for their tenth anniversary, Facebook created commemorative movies based on each individual's photos and posts.  Somehow I felt mine was tailor-made to let me know Mom was around.  Yeah, I know it's based on algorithms and popular posts and photos, but it just felt like Mom had a hand in it.

The movie starts out with my profile photo of my headshot.  Then as it shows my first moments, we see the house Jonah and I bought together when it was just in its beginning stages.  Then there is a cast photo and a teaching job I had.  My most liked posts have to do with acting and my job and the day Mom died.  Then there's a shot of the sun breaking through the clouds the day after Mom died that was my sign from her that she was okay.  Then more shows, a trip to Disneyland I took with Jonah and a close friend, a favorite photo of my cat, the march I did with Mormons Building Bridges at the Gay Pride Parade in 2012, a picture my niece drew of Jonah and me, my current job, a silly photo of me, my family in the early 80s (complete with Dad, Mom, and my siblings), my recent trip to Disneyland with Jonah, and then as the movie ends with a compilation of several photos, there's Mom right in the middle smiling at me, and I think to myself, Facebook could have picked any photo.  I think the center one is based on a profile photo, but if it had chosen the most used or popular one, my headshot would have been at the center, but no, it's Mom. 

I just felt her love, and when I showed it to Jonah I just wept and wept in his arms because I felt so close to my dear, departed mother.

People can call these coincidences.  I don't believe they are.  Even if they were, they bring me great comfort, so I'm taking them as little signs.