Thanks, Nameless Security Guard

Actually he does have a name.  He must.  I just don't know what it is.

Every day I work to work I park in the employee parking lot.  There is always a security guard there to check your ID.  They rotate between 3 or 4 of them, so there is usually a different guard there every day.  My favorite is this guy, and I'll tell you why; the other three guards often seem bored and uninterested.  I don't blame them; it's not the most fascinating job in the world sitting in a parking attendant booth and waving people in.

But this guy is different.  Every time I show my badge, he says "Thank you."  Every time.  But it's not just what he says, it's how he says it.  I can tell he's sincere; that he genuinely means it.  It's an example to me of a guy taking what is probably a mundane job and making the most of it.

And he brightens my day.  And probably doesn't even know it.  It just proves to me that doing your job and doing it well and with a good attitude can really make a positive difference.

Don't Pull Me Down, Bro!

I like my job.  I do.  But it's not without it's challenges.  One is that our manager is not very strong.  This creates an environment where many workers just kind of do their own thing.  While theoretically there is a uniform way of doing things, in practice, many employees just do things their own way.  There's no sense of discipline.

Some workers work really hard and do their jobs very well.  Others slack off and put forth as little effort as possible.  There seem to be no consequences for doing so.

The other day I was talking to one of the "slackers" and another worker who is a good worker.  I mentioned to the good worker that I liked the job and was talking about some of the positive aspects of it.  The slacker said, "Let's see if you feel that way in a year."

I refuse.  I refuse to let the cynics and pessimists pull me down.  I will continue to do the best job I am capable of doing and have the best attitude I can.  If I can, I want to raise people up rather than let others drag me down.  If others want to slack off and complain, that's their prerogative; but that doesn't mean I have to be that way.

Attitude is everything.  It is sometimes frustrating to work with others who don't pull their weight or who hate their job, but that doesn't mean I have to be like them.  I just refuse to do so.

There, I've said it!

It's like Jonah often says, "You can either choose to wallow in the mud or you can get up, grab some water, and wash yourself off."

Of Dreams And Dementia

I had an odd dream yesterday morning.  I was outside my childhood home, the one we just sold a few months ago.  The lawn was not well kept and the garbage cans were out for collection, but not in the place where my family normally put them.

Taped to one of the garbage cans was a note from our nosy neighbors telling the people that now lived in Mom's old house that they needed to do a better job maintaining their yard.  I tore the note off the can because I was angry because this is the sort of thing my neighbor might have done when we lived there, and I always found his obtrusiveness annoying.

Just as I tore the note off the can, the current owner of the house came out.  I've never met him in a real life, so I don't know what he really looks like, but in my dream he was kind of stocky.  Not wanting him to think I had taken something from his property, I handed him the note and told him I had found it nearby and it must be his.  I also extended my hand and told him who I was and that I used to live there.  He shook my hand reluctantly, as if he thought I was some kind of stalker.  Not wanting to bother him further, I said goodbye and headed next door to our former neighbors house.

I knocked on their door and could hear my sister-in-law laughing inside, but no one answered.  At this moment a phone call from my brother woke me up from my dream.

It was about 6:00 a.m. so I knew it must be an emergency of some sort.  My brother rarely calls me and he doesn't call me that early.  I knew it was probably about Mom.

Sure enough, Mom had been taken to the hospital after one of the caregivers at the assisted living facility found her on the floor on her knees in a crouched position resting on her elbows.  She was sweating profusely, was very disoriented, and had wet herself.  Mom had last been checked at 4:00 am and was fine.  They check the residents every two hours.  Some time between 4 and 6 a.m. Mom had fallen, probably on her way to the bathroom.

Her blood sugar was through the roof.  At the hospital it was determined that she had a skin infection, which may explain the rise in blood sugar and was also diagnosed with rhabdomyolysis, a breakdown of muscle tissue that can get in the blood stream and cause kidney damage.  Mom complained of knee soreness (presumably from her fall).

Anyway, she's still in the hospital, but her prognosis is good and she is expected to be released to the assisted living facility in a couple of days.

I must confess that my first thought (before I knew how serious or not serious her condition was) was "If it's her time to go, I hope she goes and goes quickly."  I had thought it strange that I was just dreaming about her house when I got the call and wondered if it was a sign of some sort.

The truth is that Mom's condition will only continue to deteriorate while she's living, and I am not exactly thrilled to watch that happen.  I am not eager to see the day when she forgets who I am or can no longer control her bowels or feed herself or communicate.  I'd rather remember my mom as happy, functioning, and independent, which she still is, than see her become even more of a shell of her former self.

Whenever it is Mom's time, I feel ready.  I can honestly say that I have no regrets when it comes to Mom.  I have cared for her the best way I know how and I know she knows how much I love her, and I feel the same from her.  I do not feel I could have done any more regarding Mom's care than I have done.  Our last conversation before I received the phone call from my brother was a good one.  She was happy.

I have since talked to her.  She seems a bit out of it, but still seems fairly coherent.  She is eager to go back to her home at the assisted living facility.  It evidently isn't her time right now, and as I have long suspected, she will likely live a while.

I have spoken to Mom every day but three since she went into the assisted living facility in January.  I have watched her go from hating the place she lives to really enjoying it and making friends.

The dream about Mom's house made me remember again how unfair it sometimes seems that Mom's destined path is one of a loss of independence and mental faculties.  I wish she could have lived in her own home on her own terms for the rest of her life.  Obviously that wasn't meant to be, and both she and her children are better off now that she is in the assisted living facility.  We are less stressed and worried, and she is far healthier and seems happier in many ways.  But it is not what I would have wished for her nor is it what she would have wished for herself.  But what is, is, and we have all come to terms with that.  I only know that when it is Mom's time to go, whether it be tomorrow or 15 years from now, I am ready to let her go.  I am ready for her to be free of the shackles that mortality can bring and for her to be reunited with loved ones who have already passed, including my dad.

The other interesting thing about my dream was that I found out that the neighbor next door to Mom, who didn't answer his door in the dream and who also suffered from dementia in real life, had passed away on Friday (but I did not find this out until after I had had the dream).  I am sad for his widow, but I also know his deterioration has been hard on her.  Both of them have lived next to my mom (and dad) as long as my parents lived in that house.  While I don't necessarily feel we had a lot in common with them or their family, they were valued friends and neighbors whom I have know my entire life.  I left a phone message with the wife expressing my condolences.

I thought it interesting that the Lord would take one person suffering from this disease and leave another to continue experiencing it.  Such is the way of life, I suppose.

Anyway, this entry seems a bit rambling to me.  I'm not even sure what my point has been.  Hopefully you who read it will get something out of it.

The Sad Tale Of Stripey

So Jonah's mother had this cat named Stripey.  Unlike Jonah and I, who consider our cats like children, to her Stripey was just a cat.

We found out a few days ago that she took Stripey to the shelter.

It made me so sad.  If we didn't already have three cats to care for and if we didn't think Stripey wouldn't have adapted well to her new living environment with us, we would have gone there and adopted her. 

I really liked that cat.  And I understand that with Jonah's dad having passed away, perhaps it's harder for Jonah's mom to care for Stripey in addition to the two dogs she already has (which were Jonah's dad's), but it was the matter-of-factness with which she was given away that upset me.  There was no remorse or sorrow.  She was just an animal.  But to me, who gets very attached to animals, it was like she had just given away her daughter.  Anyway, the whole thing was upsetting to me.  I wish we could take her on ourselves, but she's a wild cat, and ours are more domesticated.  Besides, three cats is already a lot.  Anyway, I'm just sad about it.

Not Stripey

Happy Unbearable Birthday!

So I have this coworker I car pool with.  Aside from the fact that we both live about a block away from each other, work at the same place, are gay, and have done theatre, we really don't have much in common.  I'm glad we can both save on gas, and he's not a bad guy; we just don't really gel, in my opinion. 

If you think all gay people are alike, think again.  This guy is a raging conservative, so far to the right I can hardly comprehend it.  The likes of Sean Hannity, Glenn Beck, Sarah Palin, and Rush Limbaugh seem to be his gods; he abhors big government; and he can't stand Barack Obama (and regularly posts about it on Facebook).

He talks a mile a minute, never allowing anyone to get a word in edgewise, and he's a bit of a blowhard and a know-it-all.  He also seems to be a control freak.  I actually find our car rides exhausting and am thankful they only last twenty-five minutes or so.

While he would never view himself as such, I find him to be a bit self-centered.  Truthfully, he's not an unlikeable person; our personalities just don't mesh very well.

Anyway, his partner (who I had never met until yesterday) invited me to what was supposed to be a surprise birthday party, but of course, my coworker, as he is wont to do, knew all about it by the time the party was held.

When I was asked to attend, I really didn't want to go.  As I've said numerous times in my blog, I am not very social, and my coworker's energy by himself is already too much for me, so the thought of adding that to a bunch of other people's energies did not thrill me.

However, I did want to me the partner and I also felt I ought to be supportive of my coworker on his birthday.

Soon after I was invited, my coworker (let's call him Chuck) and I were driving to work one day, and Chuck began spouting off about how he knew his partner was planning something and that he hated surprises and being the center of attention (ha!) and how his partner always made a fuss on his birthday and that he wasn't looking forward to it, etc., etc.  It kind of made him sound a bit ungrateful for all the planning his partner was doing, if you ask me.

Boy, that really made me want to come...NOT!

Anyway, yesterday was the party.  It was held at a local Chinese place.  Instead of lounging on my couch watching the mid-season premiere of "Breaking Bad," which is what I would have rather been doing, I got dressed up and drove into town for the party.  On the way I picked up a card that said, "You can never have enough attention on your birthday" and wrote a little note.

I was glad I left early because traffic was terrible.  The people in this city drive like imbeciles.  I barely made it just in time, but I was already not in the best mood.

Chuck's partner, Hank, was very personable, but also very excited and high-strung.  He was almost like a giddy little kid who wanted everything to go perfectly, but by his very energy practically ensured it wouldn't.  He was very eager to please, and I kind of understood maybe why Chuck didn't like him to plan these things.

Hank was expecting 20, but only 12 ended up being there, not one of whom I seemed to have much in common with.  Two of my other coworkers were there - a guy who I think is kind of abrasive and a bit of a jerk and a woman who is nice enough, but with whom I don't have much in common.  I think everybody at the table except for Chuck's dad and me were very loud and energetic.  It was just a bit too much for this introvert.

When Hank asked if Chuck was surprised, Chuck said, "No, I knew exactly what was happening," and Hank asked, "How did you know?"  Chuck said, "Well, it was obvious, and because Dad had to ask me for directions, I knew exactly where we were going."




Somehow I had the misfortune of being sat right across from Chuck's brother-in-law, who made Chuck look like a Liberal.  The two of us could not have been more opposite if we tried.  He was an Iraq veteran, a bit racist, gun-loving, red-necked, big, burly, and gruff.  His tee-shirt said, "Infidel and proud of it."  He was loud and obnoxious and seemed put out by the fact that we were having this party in a Chinese restaurant instead of some "meat-and-potatoes" diner or truck stop.  He picked the tofu out of the hot and sour soup, loudly complaining that it wasn't fit for human consumption and insinuating that it was sissy food.  Meanwhile, the dish I had just ordered was the Coconut Curry Vegetables with tofu.

When Hank complained that the soup was too spicy, Chuck's brother-in-law berated him, saying it wasn't spicy at all and then proceeded to tell me a story about how he and a friend had ordered hot wings at a cafe, and when the waiter brought them to him, he complained that they weren't spicy enough.  They brought him another batch, and he ridiculed them for their efforts.  The cook said he poured a whole bottle of Tabasco sauce on them, and Chuck's brother-in-law said Tabasco sauce wasn't hot.  In any case, the owner let him and his friend have the wings for free.  Chuck's brother-in-law seemed pretty proud of that.  Meanwhile, I'm the guy who if there's even a sniff of pepper in my food, it's too spicy.

Then Chuck's brother-in-law and the guy from work I don't like started getting into global warming and what a "load of horseshit" it is, and I'm just biting my tongue.  Chuck's brother-in-law and my other coworker's husband then started talking about truck driving and how cops are of the devil, and I just thought, "I have absolutely no common ground with these people."

Meanwhile, Chuck is complaining about all the fuss surrounding his birthday and pleading with Hank not to go overboard because they can't afford it.  At the same time, Hank is all manic and excited about the festivities.  I think Chuck and Hank argued the whole time - sometimes good-naturedly, sometimes not. 

Everyone was so loud and boisterous, and I was just getting a headache.  And as a former waiter myself, I felt sorry for the staff because I thought we were an incredibly obnoxious and difficult group to deal with. 

The service was very slow.  I do not fault the staff for that.  They were incredibly busy and we were a somewhat large and disorganized group.  I thought the dinner would never end.

Then Hank says we'll wait a half hour to digest before bringing the cake out; Chuck is telling Hank we ought to wrap this up so the servers can take care of other guests; and I'm thinking, "Oh, please, let this end!"

Mercifully, we only waited about 10 minutes.

Then the cake comes out, and Hank's trying to figure out how to get it out of the box and Chuck is trying to help him, and they get into an argument about it.  Hank is taking pictures left and right, and it's clear Chuck doesn't want his picture taken.  Hank yells, "Open your cards!  Open your cards!"  Chuck starts to, and then Hank yells, "Read them out loud!  Read them out loud!"

"I'm not going to read them out loud, Hank!  I'll just pass them around."

"No, read them out loud!"

"No one will be able to hear me, Hank!  I'll just pass them around, and everyone can read them themselves."

Did I mention that the coworker I dislike bought two drinks for Hank, neither of which he seemed to like, but which he drank even though he doesn't drink?  Those seemed to make Hank even more manic and loud.

"Who's that from, Chuck?  Tell us who it's from!"

"It's from 'so-and-so,' Hank," grumbles Chuck, under his breath.

I notice that everyone has brought Chuck a gift.  Not just cards, but actual gifts.  I was told gifts were not expected, but now I feel a little small because everyone has brought a gift but me.

After Chuck says who each gift is from, Hank feel the need to slap that person on the back and yell, "Good job!  Good job!"

"Who's that from, Chuck?!" yells Hank.

"It's from my dad."


"Are you sure?"

"It says, 'Love, Dad,'" says Chuck, blankly.  "I can't imagine who else it would be from."

"Good job, Dad," cries Hank, slapping Chuck's dad on the shoulder.







After opening his gifts, there are two large bags and two large boxes left.

"Who are those from, Chuck?"

"You, Hank," says Chuck dryly.  "They're all from you."  You can see Chuck is displeased that Hank spent so much on him.

Chuck opens each present, Hank takes a picture of him with each one and yells out the name of each gift.  "Oh, look, shorts!"  "Oh, look, a shirt!"  "Oh, look, running shoes!"  "Oh, look, boots!"

The saving grace in all this is that we are able to split our bills individually so there's none of that haggling over who owes what and does anybody have any change.  But getting our bills and paying them takes another 10 minutes, and what was supposed to be a two-hour party has now stretched out to nearly three.

Finally, I'm able to leave.  I admit I probably went in with a bad attitude to begin with, but it was un unbearable party.  It just wasn't my cup of tea.  Jonah laughed as I told him how un-fun it had been. 

Chuck and Hank would like to have us over some time.  I'm hoping it doesn't happen.  They're nice enough people, but they're both a little much for me.  I'm glad that we have three cats because both Hank and Chuck are allergic.  Jonah jokingly said we should both wear cat fur coats if we're ever invited.

Please don't think I am saying that Chuck and Hank aren't nice or interesting people; I just don't seem to have great chemistry with them, that's all.  I think it will have to be a while before I do something social with them.  Still, I would like Jonah to meet them just to get his take on them because, who knows, maybe I'm just overreacting?

In any case, never was I more happy to finally be at home watching "Breaking Bad."

 

27 Problems Only Introverts Will Understand

31 Unmistakeable Signs That You're An Introvert

How Many Chances?

I don't know if you've ever attended a parole hearing for a good friend.  I hadn't until last week.

It sucks.

I've talked about my friend many times in this blog.  He went to prison for killing a man while driving drunk.  He's been in prison for about four years now, I believe.

My friend's biggest enemy is his arrogance.  He's often lived his life blaming others for his own problems, failing to recognize his own faults and addictions.  He often has skirted the rules and coasted through life.  This DUI accident he had was a wake up call and, truth be told, prison has been very good for him.  It has changed him in positive ways.  He has become more responsible, more faithful, less selfish, and more accountable.

But he still has that streak of impatience and entitlement.

A few months ago he was put on a work release program where he still resided at the prison, but was allowed a regular job and interaction with the outside community.  It was a privilege he was granted because of good behavior and because he's always been a low risk offender.  And like so many times before, he squandered it.  He got too cocky and knowingly broke a rule; a minor one, but it was enough to have his work-release privileges revoked and he was sent back to a medium security facility.  The sad irony was that in just two days he was to be released to live with Jonah and I while on parole.

I've known this guy for nearly nine years.  He's a good person, but he gets in his own way so often because of his pride.  I've dealt with his screw ups for years now.  I'm forgiving, but I've also had enough.  If he is paroled (which wouldn't be until November), Jonah and I will take him in as was originally planned and we will hold him accountable if he messes up again.

As I sat at the parole hearing watching my friend explain why he should be paroled and taking full responsibility for the actions that brought him to this point, I wasn't feeling hopefulness that his parole would be granted nor was I feeling doubt that it would be granted.  I realized I just didn't seem to care, and I felt bad about that.  I've always tried to be supportive of my friend, but I'm just tired of the pain he has caused himself and others.  I look at what he's put his friends, family, and fiancee through, not to mention the family of the man whose life was taken due to my friend's selfishness.

I didn't know many details about the man who was killed until about a year ago.  He was an Iraq war veteran...who had only been home a day when friend killed him.

My friend always seemed to live for himself, for his pleasure, for his needs, never taking into account (or never caring) how his actions might affect others.

I do think my friend has changed a lot...and for the better since he was incarcerated.  He has been sober for 5 years now.  He is active in AA.  He has been a model prisoner for the most part.  He is more responsible and less selfish than he used to be.  And I know people make mistakes.

Yet there is a part of me that wonders if once he is free of prison if he will return to his old ways.  My friend has always had the best of intentions, but his follow-through is sometimes lacking.  I want to believe he will stay on track, but I've seen him go through so many second, third, fourth, and fifth chances that it's hard to have faith in him.  I just feel he constantly disappoints, and it is exhausting.

We'll see what happens, but as I sat at this parole hearing, I just felt sad for my friend's wasted life and chances.  I don't know that that's really true, though; yes, he wasted the life he could have had, but in actuality, I think prison has made him a better person, so that's not really a waste.  I just pray he can hold on to it.

Jealous...But Only Slightly

Mom is doing very well...considering.  She seems very happy in the place where she lives and has pretty much completely forgotten she ever had a home.  In fact, when she does refer to "home," it's her childhood home in San Francisco, not the house she lived in in Utah for 52 years.

I miss Mom, both physically and the lady she once was.  I miss the in-depth talks we once had.  I call her every day.  I've only missed one day since she moved into her assisted living facility in January.  Most days it's almost the exact same conversation.  I don't mind so much.  I want to stay connected to her, and I also recognize that one day she may forget me, so I want to hold on to her knowing who I am for as long as I can.  I also just want her to know that I care.  Her short term memory is so bad I'm sure she doesn't remember much of our conversations or even that I call after the fact, although she does recognize that I call her every day.

She's still at a stage where she can learn and retain new information.  For example, she remembers that Jonah's dad died or what my job is.  Statistically she probably has another year or two in this stage.  Eventually, however, she will not be able to retain new information and there will likely come a day when my phone calls will have less or no meaning to her at all and even a day where she will not be able to verbally communicate at all.  I do not look forward to that.

She enjoys my phone calls, and I enjoy talking to her.  Every once in a while she tells me something new, and often things she says makes me laugh.  Today she told me she didn't like a particular resident because she was "weird" and "was always butting into people's conversations."  She also told me she had been on a roller coaster recently.  She was so detailed about it, I almost believed her.  But I'm sure it didn't really happen.

I've mentioned that Mom has a male friend named Harold.  They hang out a lot.  I've talked about how Mom feels about him here.  I'm really glad she has a close friend that she likes and can do stuff with.  But I also admit to feeling jealous at times.  Sometimes I will call Mom and she will barely speak to me because she has to "get back to Harold."  I'm only mildly jealous.  Truthfully.  I guess it's like a parent might feel when his or her child gets married.  The child moves out of the house and starts a new phase of their life.  It doesn't mean he or she loves the parent any less, but their attention is focused elsewhere, and the parent needs to let them move on and progress.

I guess as someone who was Mom's primary caretaker for so long and who was considered the "Golden Child," it's just weird to her fixate on someone else.  But it's good.  It really is a good thing, and I'm glad she has found happiness and purpose in her relationship with Harold.  In spite of the stress and worry it often caused, I guess I just miss being a bigger part of Mom's life.  But that's the cycle of life we are in.  I'm just glad she is happy.  She really seems to be, and I am grateful for that.

The Crocheted Santa Claus

I was transcribing more of my mom's journals and I came across an entry from November 14, 1980 where she wrote about crocheting some Christmas ornaments.  She said, "I made, stocking, bell, candy cane, gingerbread man, snowman, wreath.  It was fun & some turned out pretty good."

I remember when Mom made these ornaments.  In my house, my family had a tradition of getting new ornaments for each of us every year, and we would decorate our tree with them.  So our decorated tree was always a Hodge-podge of different ornaments.  Jonah tends to do themed trees where all of the ornaments go along with a similar theme, and I know there are many households that do that.  But I am used to decorating a tree with a bunch of unrelated ornaments tied only by the fact that they belonged to us.

So 1980 was the year we got our crocheted ornaments handmade by Mom.  So I was surprised to see that my ornament was not listed.  This guy:

I've had this guy in the same box for years.  This box:

Apparently I was pretty possessive about my ornaments.  How's that for the Christmas spirit?

All the ornaments I've had from my very first one to the last one I obtained are in this box.  I think the earliest is a flat gold (or brass) one shaped liked Santa Claus in his sleigh that has my birth year on it (1971).  Another very early one is a Styrofoam snowman that has seen better days.  He's held together with toothpicks (which aren't doing a good job) and he hasn't been hung on a tree in years.  I probably should throw him away but I can't bring myself to.  He's been with me almost my whole life.  I also have two ornaments that were originally Mom and/or Dad's: a plastic snowman and a plastic Santa, both manufactured in the 50s, which look very similar to the ones pictured here:

I always liked them and Mom or Dad (or both) eventually just gave them to me.  My Santa is broken in the feet area, but I still hang him up.  And my snowman is actually this color:

Anyway, back to the crocheted Santa.  I read in Mom's next entry, November 15, 1980 that she "tried knitting a Santa ornament," and I actually got a little teary-eyed.  That's my ornament.

If I recall correctly, Mom let each of us choose which ornament we wanted, and I wanted the Santa so badly.  I was so happy to score it.  I don't even think Mom was particularly happy with how the Santa turned out compared with some of the others.  But I loved it.  Still do.

  I guess what got me emotional was that Mom was quite a crocheter and knitter in her day.  She was always making afghans.  One time she asked me what kind of afghan I would like her to make for me.  I wanted every color in it, and if I remember correctly, we went to the fabric and yarn store, and I picked out the colors I wanted.  I think Mom felt it would look ugly, but I was insistent.  After she finished it, I think she still felt it was kind of ugly (not up to her afghan standards at least), but I loved with it and slept with it for much of my childhood.  I still have it, although I haven't used it in years.  I mainly keep it around for sentimental value:

 

Some years later, Mom made me another afghan.  I also requested another multicolored one, but this one was more in line with her style and standards:

I still use this when it gets cold.  It is both beautiful and very warm, and I love it.

After I met Jonah, Mom wanted to make an afghan for him.  She asked me what his favorite color was.  I told her it was purple (same as me), and she made this one for him (for Christmas, I think): 

The cats actually seem to have commandeered the afghan from Jonah.  They use it more than he does.  But I was always so touched that Mom made it for Jonah.

It's hard to believe that was only about six or seven years ago; I'm not even sure Mom would remember how to crochet or knit today.  I was in a play in 2009 where I played a character that needed to knit on stage, and Mom was able to teach me then how to do it then, but I'm not sure if she would still remember now.  Maybe if we brought her some yarn and needles, she might pick it up again.  Who knows?

I guess that's why I got emotional.  Most days I'm at peace with who my mom currently is, but once in a while there are reminders of who she was and what she used to be able to do, and I miss it.  But like Jonah reminds me, Mom seems very happy right now.  She's always very animated and upbeat when I talk to her; she has friends at the assisted living place (including one male friend who is definitely not her boyfriend (although I notice she makes more time for him than for me lately); and she is definitely doing better now that she's there.  Yes, her memory and mental condition continue to get worse, but she is physically healthier and we no longer worry about her endangering herself.  She's actually become so used to where she lives that she rarely even wants to leave (compare that with that terrible first month when she begged to go home every day and was sooo unhappy).

I'm glad she is well.  I miss her a lot.  I wish I could see her more often.  I do talk to her every single day, sometimes just for a few short minutes, sometimes for a half hour; and I've only missed one day since she moved in there in January.  I used to wonder if I was calling too much, if the staff was annoyed by my daily calls, but I learned that they love it.  They say Mom loves getting my calls (which Mom tells me, too), and they said it's really great that I do it when so many other residents' families seem to completely forget about them.  I think that's sad.  After all, she's still my mom, and I love her.  Why would I want to abandon her?

Anyway, it was nice to be reminded of the crocheted Santa Claus from yesteryear. 

The Gift Of Cat Urine

I've mentioned before that Jonah and I own three cats.  I love them all, but the oldest, Trooper, seems to have a special affection for me.  She adores me, and I really love her a lot, too.  She generally sleeps right next to me at night, and she's always wanting to cuddle and for me to rub her tummy.

There is a rather disgusting, chewed up, slobbered-over toy that the cats love.  We call it the "Purple Baby."  I often find the "Purple Baby" on my side of the bed.  I know the cats put it there to express their love, and even though it's kind of gross-looking now, I genuinely am touched when I find it.  It is definitely the most well-traveled toy in the house.

Trooper has been especially affectionate lately.  Yesterday when I was petting her, she wasn't just being her regular purring self: she would playfully "attack" my hand with her head and lick it (Trooper isn't typically a licker, so when she does it, I know she is expressing love and gratitude).  I swear when I looked in her eyes I could feel some sort of telepathic bond where I really felt she was saying, "I love you.  I really love you."  Maybe that sounds weird, but I really felt it.

This morning I was half awake and felt Trooper grooming me.  She was licking and cleaning my hair.  She does this every once in a while, and even though it's the same tongue she uses to drink out of the toilet bowl and lick her butt, I am strangely flattered.

Shortly after this, I heard her scratching in a place that wasn't a litter box.  This is never a good sign.  It means she is either about to pee or that she already has.  The place she happened to be scratching around was on the floor where I put my jeans and shoes.  It's where I always put them and she has never peed on them.  Jonah's clothes, yes.  Mine, never.

Until today.

My jeans were wet and there was a puddle of urine in my shoe.  The same shoe where I put my watch and wedding ring.

Grrr!

I was upset.  There is a perfectly good litter box less than 15 feet away.  Why did she have to pee in my shoe?

The more I thought about it, the less upset I became.  Cats often pee to mark their territory, to claim ownership, and I actually believe that in her own way, Trooper was telling me that I belong to her, that I am hers, and the pee was simply her way of making sure I knew that.  I do not feel it was malicious, and even think she felt bad that I didn't immediately understand her intentions.

Of course this didn't change the fact that there was still cat pee in my shoe and on my jeans.  The good thing was that it was fresh, and we were able to wash them before the urine soaked in.  But this also means I can't put my shoes and jeans on the floor anymore.  Once a cat marks its territory, it thinks it's okay to keep peeing there, and that is not acceptable.

Hopefully we have got the smell out.  The shoes are fairly new, so I'm not too excited about having to possibly get rid of them.

I'm glad my cat loves me; I just wish she would other ways of showing it.

 

Four Funerals

In the last month and a half I have been to four funerals.  Two were for people I knew well and two were for people I didn't know at all.

The first funeral was for a man who died at 60 of HIV-related causes.  His funeral was kind of light affair, non-denominational.  People told funny stories about him.  There was no body present.  I don't even know whether he was buried or cremated (although I would guess the latter).  He was ready to die and I think he found much peace in the end that perhaps he didn't experience much of in life.

The second funeral was for my father-in-law.  He was about to turn 76.  I don't know if he was ready to go.  He had many health problems, but his death was sudden and unexpected.  Whether or not he was ready to go, we believe it was his time to go and we trust that he is in a better place.

His funeral was a very large affair with many, many friends and family members in attendance.  It was a Pentecostal service.  There was lots of noise and gospel music and including the viewing, funeral, and reception, it was a two day affair with much family togetherness many days after.  Of course, this was probably the most stressful of the funerals for me.

The third funeral was a woman I did not know at all.  She was only 30 and left two young children behind.  Her death was sudden and unexpected, an accident, a tragedy.  She worked at the same place I work at, but we were not acquainted.  I do not even know if our paths ever crossed.  Yet her death has affected many of the people I work with and I felt compelled to go.

Her funeral was a very solemn, quiet affair with many of her friends, family, and co-workers still deep in shock and unbelief over what happened.  I got the impression she was probably Catholic.  As I looked at her body, I was struck by how young she was.  Perhaps the most touching and sorrowful moment was when her two children placed roses in her casket.

Another coworker of mine was there and has had a very hard time dealing with it.  I think I ended up being at this woman's funeral more for him than for me.

The fourth funeral, which was today, was for the mother of one of Jonah's friends.  She was 80 and knew she was going to die.  She had prepared well for it.  Her service was very sparsely attended.  There were maybe 15 people total.  This is because most of her friends are deceased and because she had only lived in our city for two years, and most of her living friends are in Connecticut, where she was originally from.

Aside from Jonah, I knew no one at the funeral.  Like the first funeral and unlike the second two, there was no body.  Her only living son had already had her cremated.  The only speakers were a female Episcopalian pastor and Jonah, who also sang perhaps one of the most tender-hearted and beautiful renditions of "Ave Maria" I have ever heard.  The pastor did give family and friends the opportunity to share memories or thoughts, but no one did.  There was a small reception afterwards.

I shed no tears at the first funeral.  I cried at the other three.  My tears at the second and third funeral were mostly out of sadness for those left behind, not so much for me (although I, of course, did cry because I was missing my father-in-law).  Strangely, the fourth funeral was the one where I probably cried the most.

Looking at the memory DVD the funeral home created, I could not help but think that I will one day face burying my own mother, and that will be hard for many reasons.  Part of me will be glad she is released from the challenges that have come with age, but I will miss my mom, and lately she has been so talkative and happy that it almost seems like old times even if her memories are scrambled and short-term. 

I was struck, too, by not wanting to deal with the stress that Jonah has experienced burying his own father.  I also mourned for Jonah and his mom and family and for the loss that has occurred because of the void left by his dad's passing.  And I miss Jonah's dad.  When I see the empty chair on the front porch or see his poor dogs who don't know where their master has gone to or when I look at his beautiful garden, empty without him, or when I look at Jonah's mom, I miss my father-in-law.

And then I was crying because I realize that one day, who knows when, one of us, Jonah or I, will have to face burying the other one, and that is a sad thought.  I've always thought I would go first, but in this life nothing is certain.  The fact is, whoever goes first, it will be a hard, sad road for the other.

Jonah's singing today was so lovely; I was bawling.  I'm glad he didn't notice.  He's so good at keeping it together, although he admitted he almost lost it himself.  I couldn't tell.

In any case, I'm a little "deathed out."  Here's hoping I won't have to attend another funeral for a bit.

Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? Maybe Me

I recently wrote about my audition for "Wheel of Fortune."  Well, it just so happens I had a chance to audition for "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" this week as well. 

They had three sessions, two for general trivia and one for Movie Week, which focused just on movie trivia.  Had I known I could do both the general trivia and the Movie Week sessions, I would have because it could have increased my chances, although I'm not sure I would have done as well on the general trivia test.  I'm pretty smart, but the last time I tried out for "Millionaire," I did not pass the test.

It's funny, I have a friend who's been trying to get on "Millionaire" for some time now.  He finally made it into the pool of possible contestants, who are eligible to be picked for two seasons of the show.  He still hasn't been picked, and only has one more season to go.  He's kind of fanatical about it, and I think it's amusing.

I tried out for Movie Week on a whim.  I'm really good at movie trivia, I like games, and if by chance I made it on to the show, I could certainly use any money I might win.  I've got student loans to finish paying off; I could use another car; and Jonah's mom could use some financial help right now.  My own mom could, too, but since we sold the house, that doesn't seem as pressing anymore.

The original "Millionaire" notice told people to come to one of the general trivia sessions and that those who passed the test would be allowed to take the Movie Week test.  But when I got there, they let anyone interested in taking the movie trivia test line up for that session.  They told us we could take the general trivia test as well, but that if we did, we would lose our place in line for the movie trivia test, and that they were only seeing a certain number of people for that test.

I decided to stay in the movie trivia line because I felt I would do better on the test.  As it turns out, there were not as many people as one might have thought, so I could have taken both.  Oh, well.

I was actually really amazed at the sorts of people who attended this audition.  Whereas "Wheel of Fortune" seemed like a lighter, happier crowd, I was shocked at the air of desperation emanating from many in the "Millionaire" crowd.  I met a number of people who weren't there to have fun; they just wanted that money.  Producers can smell that, I think, so I don't think that attitude is doing anybody any favors.

I met one lady who was super defensive and kind of grumpy, and I thought to myself, "Even if she passes the test, that isn't the kind of energy I would imagine producers are looking for."  Another lady came late, missing the general trivia session, and there was only movie trivia left.  I don't think I saw her smile once.  Why bother coming?  Another man was really rude.  When the facilitator of the audition asked if people had any questions, he brusquely snarled, "Yeah, can we get started?!"  "You're not making a good first impression, sir," I thought to myself.

I was also amazed at the lack of preparation of many of the people who attended.  Lots of latecomers who missed the audition altogether.  One man lamented, "Are you doing this tomorrow?" 

No sir, they're not.

One guy came in right as we were about to start the test, and yelled across the room, "I'm here to win a million dollars!!  I just won $40.00, and now I just need $999,960."  He strolled across the room at a leisurely pace until the facilitator said, "Sir, we're waiting on you."

I had the pleasure of sitting next to a very nice lady.  This was her fifth time auditioning for "Millionaire."  (It was my third time.)  Both of us knew the ropes and came prepared.  We spent our two hours waiting getting to know each other (turns out she has a gay son), joking, commenting on our fellow auditioners, and making small talk.

What I realize about game show auditions is they really aren't all that different from theatre auditions.  You can't just be good at the game; you also have to project enthusiasm, energy, and a positive attitude without trying too hard or coming across as desperate.  And the fact is, if you aren't what the producers happen to be looking for, no matter how good you are at the game, you might not make the cut.

I don't think a lot of these people even realized they're being watched even before they take the test or meet with the producers.  And if you come in with a bad attitude, why bother coming?

I was just there to have fun.  Winning any amount of money would just be icing on the cake.  But the fact is, it's very competitive and it's hard to get on.  Why not just have a good time?

As for the test, I did really well.  There were 30 questions, and I was quite certain I got the right answer on at least 24 of them, and I felt like I made good educated guesses on the other six.  They're not allowed to tell us what the passing score is, but I was feeling confident that I would pass.  I also took my test number [27] as a good sign because that number has special significance for me.

There were probably 150 of us there.  About 20 of us passed the test.  I was one of them.

I had to fill out an application and I met with a producer in what almost felt like a job interview.  I felt I did well.  I thought I was funny, interesting, and engaging.  The producer said they would let me know in two weeks whether I've made the two season pool of possible contestants.  Who knows what will happen?  I know it's competitive.  They have many sessions in many cities, and Movie Week is just five episodes in one season.  It's a long shot, and I know that. 

The important thing is that I had fun.  Oh, and my friend who is the "Millionaire" fanatic.  He was at the same session and didn't pass the test.  He told me if I get on before he does, he will scream like a banshee.  I told him, "And I will laugh, laugh, laugh."  We carpool to work together, so his response was "and you will drive us every day in your brand new car."

Reflections Of Me In 1980

In October of 1980, Mom wrote about each of her children for a Family Home Evening project.  She recorded her reflections in her journal.  I was nine when she wrote the following, complete with her original grammar and spelling.  It's still amazingly accurate:

We waited, waited seven years for you to join our family chain and then when you decided to come you rushed in two months early on Sat March...1971 early and had health problems when you arrived with hylan membrane in which your lungs were not fully developed.  You survived those first few days but as I went in Sunday to see your small body concave in each time you took a breath of life my heart ached and I whispered "I’m your Mama.  Please live – Please be alright.”

You did live and you were a happy child.

You are an intense child.  You will sit and intently watch Sesame Street.  You loved to learn, to read, and you would pull out the “Let’s Travel books and look at the pictures for hours.  You loved to hear stories.  You learned fast.  You could read before you went to school.  As a toddler you read the high chair letters at Arctic Circle and people were amazed.

You also talked and soon got the handle of “motor mouth” as you questioned everyone about everything.

You are very spiritual and you know the power of prayer and get disgusted when I don’t use it immediately as you fall on your knees in the middle of Yellowstone to find part of our missing family or pray in the car that we will make it home and when things work out you say, “I told you we should do it.”  and you are a peacemaker, always sticking up for your siblings so they don’t get in trouble.  “[Kayla] didn’t mean to pee her pants”  [Patrick] drove the car but it was a long -------------------------------- time ago.

You don’t like fighting.

You are optimistic, always seeing the good side and whistling around the house.

And always asking questions say “I just wanted to wonder”

You to are a good example to your sister & friends.

You have musical talent, singing often for church and learning to play the piano and composing your own introductions but you don’t want to complete things & you try to get out of doing work.

You are lazy.

You love to help your mom make visual aids for primary.  You love to draw and would get a pen & paper with money you earned and go through it in one week and you go through stacks of computer paper drawing whatever you are intensely interested in, Bugs Bunny, Sesame Street, Star Wars ect making cartoons.

You also have a great love for old people, probably developed when we used to visit Grandma...at the rest home when everyone was your Grandma.  You have a real love for older people and really like to show affection.

You are also a con-artist and nag even once nagging [our bishop] out of a BoM.

You need to set goals and follow through and continue to be happy and pass your spirit to others.  You are an important link in our family chain."

Finding Out Things

It's funny the things you're not really aware of as a kid but which you learn about later on in life.

My Grandpa Ralph was the only grandpa I ever knew.  He was my mom's stepfather.  My dad's dad died four years before I was born, so I never met him at all (unless it was in heaven).  Mom's dad died the year after I was born, so even if I met him, I certainly don't remember him.  As far as I was concerned, Ralph was Grandpa.

Although Grandpa Ralph died when I was 6, I do have memories of him.  I remember loving him a lot - probably because he spoiled me rotten.  He and my Grandma lived in San Francisco, so I didn't see them too, too often, but they came and visited occasionally, and I remember once visiting them

Grandpa had nicknames for all of us.  Mine was "Tiger," and that's what he always called me.  I remember him giving me a stuffed tiger as a toy, and I had it for a few years.

Grandpa was very loving, affectionate, and kind.  He bought me toys (including a train set when I was a baby or toddler and which my mom thought was completely impractical.  I have several pictures of me with Grandpa Ralph.

I also remember being devastated when I learned he had died, which if I remember correctly, was a month or two after the fact, and I also remember being upset that no one had told me sooner (although I get the impression they did, but that I just didn't understand the magnitude of what it meant).

That's what I remember.  All memories I have of Grandpa Ralph are good ones.  I remember nothing bad about him.

But as I've read Mom's journals and talked with family members and friends and read letters and as I think of things Mom has told me during my life, her experience was different as was that of her brothers.  Apparently Ralph was domineering and could be very childish if he didn't get his way.  He was overly sensitive.  He was a control freak, and although I don't think he would ever have hurt anybody purposefully, I understand he had a bit of a temper and could say hurtful things when under duress.  I get the feeling he was manipulative.  I think he thought he could buy people's love and trust with material things.  He had to have his fingers in everybody's business.

As Mom has told it, Ralph married her mother when Mom was 16, and that was tough.  Ralph insinuated himself into Mom's life, trying to replace her father (that's how she saw it), and Mom was of an age when she resented that.  She resented Ralph's intrusion into her personal life and trying to tell her what to do.  She resented his unsolicited advice and nagging.  Mom also thought he was a bit ethically-challenged (little acts of dishonesty that didn't seem a big deal to Ralph, but which upset her).  From all Mom has ever told me, it was a very difficult time.

When she was nineteen, Mom got so fed up and found the situation so unbearable that she moved out and into an apartment of her own.  I think this hurt both Grandma and Grandpa, but Mom couldn't take it.

I have been reading my Dad's love letters to Mom, written during this period.  I only have Dad's side, though (he, unfortunately, didn't keep Mom's letters to him), and it doesn't reveal much about the situation...yet (I'm still reading them), but I did find a letter to my mom from her grandfather saying some not so nice things about Ralph and pleading with Mom to stay with her mother even though things were rough.  Mom apparently ignored that advice.

I also learned that Ralph alienated the whole family for some time.  Both of Mom's brothers left home when they got older, and neither had anything to do with Ralph even up until he died.  Mom's younger brother didn't speak to either Ralph or his mom for three years, as I understand it.

While I knew life with Ralph was not happy for Mom or her brothers, I did not really understand the extent until I started reading journals and letters and listening to old tapes.  And the Grandpa Ralph I knew does not fit the image presented to me now.

I do get the impression that Ralph was a man with good intentions who did some good things, but who was also deeply flawed.

I have some old tapes of Grandpa talking.  He sounds so kindly and loving to me, just as I remember him.  The fact that I know more details about his life doesn't change that.  But it's true that the idyllic picture you have of someone as a kid can be altered drastically by a reality you never recognized.

I also have a tape of my Grandma a week after Ralph died.  One can tell there is still tension between her and her sons (by that time, Mom had basically reconciled her differences with him and had remained close), and she sounds so alone.  It makes me sad to hear her pain.

I also discovered that Ralph's wishes were to be cremated and that no one was to know about it until after the fact (another manipulation?), but that didn't end up happening.  Grandma called Mom the day after he died and told her, and Mom informed her older brother, who informed the younger one.  Much to Grandma's surprise, both boys showed up to the service, whatever it entailed.  Mom wanted to come, too, but Grandma told her "no."

Anyway, it's just weird to find out all sorts of things I never really knew.  It's kind of like when I found out Dad's mom was a bit of a racist.

Reading Dad's letters has also made me really how witty and romantic he was.  I can see why Mom fell in love with him.  But the young 22 year-old in the letters bears little resemblance to the man I knew as my father.  He probably expressed himself better through writing than speaking, which is ironic since we have so little of anything he may have written.  Dad was quiet, serious, and didn't express himself too much.  I kind of wonder what happened to the goofy, funny, smitten guy I see in these letters.

Anyway, it's been educational.

Dementia Epiphany

I was in the shower the other day and I had an epiphany about dementia.  I thought about it in a way I'd never considered.

We always think of dementia in terms of being a terrible disease that robs a person of their mind.  I look at someone like Mom and think because her memories are mixed up that there is something wrong with her.

But I have this theory that the eternal spirit sees things all at once.  Linear time is how things appear to us in mortality, but I believe God sees things all at once.  Past, present, and future are all one.  For example, when my dad wrote love letters to my mom in 1958, God knew I would read them in 2013 because time does not exist.  I don't know how to explain it, but I know when I had a very revelatory experience, that's what I sensed and felt.  I could see things all at once.  Time didn't exist.

And as I've thought about this, I think, "What if what appears to us as a scrambling of memories and experiences is simply the inability of a mortal body to see things as the eternal spirit naturally sees them?"  Maybe as a person ages and gets closer to the end of his or her mortal life, the spirit's natural way of seeing things becomes more pronounced, but the mortal body can't process it, and so to the outside observer, it appears that there is something wrong. 

But what if what we view as disease in mortality is actually how an enlightened mind thinks normally?  What if the weakness we deem in my mother is actually a strength?

I'm not sure if I'm explaining myself well, but it just gave me a different perspective on what we view as a disease.

Speaking of Mom, here's today's nugget:

I called Mom up, and I said, "How's it going?"

"I'm in a very bad mood," she grumbled.

"Uh-oh, what's wrong?" I asked.

"I'm sick of people butting into things that are none of their damn business," she responded.  [Mom is not a swearer, by the way.]

"Oh, what happened?"

"Well, I have this friend, and he's really old, and he's in my room, and we're just talking. I don't know what they think we're doing, but they want me to leave my door open, and I don't want to leave my door open. It's none of their damn business!

"I don't know if they think we're making out or what. We're just talking! I've kissed him before, but it's like he's my father. He's really old. We're just friends. And if the door is open, anybody can hear our conversation, and it's none of their damn business. I'm in a really bad mood...but I love you."

"Well, that's good."

"When I hang up with you, I'm going to close my door, and if they open it again, I'm just going to close it. It's my room, and it's none of their damn business what we're doing in there."

And yes, folks, she did say "none of their damn business" several times. I didn't try to fight it; I don't think it would have done any good.

WHEEL! OF! REDEMPTION!

If you read this post, you know that I did not do very well on my audition for "Wheel of Fortune."  Traffic Ham, anyone?

So you can imagine my surprise when I actually received a callback email to attend another audition to be on the show.

Jonah's dad on Friday the 21st and I had arranged to get work off for the audition on the 25th.  I thought about cancelling.  It didn't seem right to attend a "Wheel of Fortune" audition while my husband was dealing with funeral stuff; but both Jonah and his mom insisted I go.  They said Jonah's dad would have wanted me to go.  They're probably right.

All I wanted to do was to redeem myself from my crappy first audition.  In fact, I wondered how I got this far at all.  There were only about 50 or 60 people at this second audition.  There were about 300 to 400 people at the first audition, maybe more.  Somehow they whittled it down to 50, and I was one of them.  I wanted to say, "Did you see my first audition?"

We played several rounds of the actual game.  They had the sound effects and board and everything.  And I did really quite well.  One of the clues even seemed tailor made for me: "May the Force Be With You."  I guessed well.  I got a lot of "money" with five "L"s, but I didn't manage to get the answer, which was "Playing Beach Volleyball."

I could tell the people in whom they were more interested.  There was a set of identical twin sisters next to me who I knew they would pick (they did).  Ultimately, I was not chosen, and I have to wait a year before I can re-audition; but what I am proud of was that I redeemed myself.  I played well and I really enjoyed myself and had a lot of fun; I just wasn't what they were looking for.

I'm glad to have put my Traffic Ham days behind me.

The Supreme Court Decision

I know I'm late to the party, but I just wanted to take a moment to talk about the recent Supreme Court decision regarding DOMA and Prop 8.  I've been a bit preoccupied this past week, but when Jonah woke me up on June 26 and played the news on his smart phone. 

I couldn't believe it.  Especially after their decision on the Voting Rights Act, I wasn't sure they would make the right decision regarding DOMA and Prop 8.  I was overjoyed by the decision, not that it immediately affects me now.  I live in a state where gay marriage is not yet legal.  But it will be...one day. 

I've talked about this before; this rolling stone can't be stopped.  It's only a matter of time.  And I am excited.  What a great time to be living.  25 years ago when I was buried deep in the closet, I never could have imagined the gay marriage would be legal or accepted anywhere.  I never could have imagined that a person could live freely and proudly as a gay person, let alone that that person could be me.

I was also pleased to see very few negative remarks about the decision from friends on Facebook.

Jonah and I will be legally married and will get those rights that have thus far been limited to just heterosexually married couples.  I do not know when, but I believe it is within reach, and I am thrilled.

Long live equality!

Burying Jonah's Dad...and The Intrusive Lamanite

Last week was a very, very long and stressful week.  I'm glad things have calmed down a bit, although there is still much to do.

Jonah's dad died on Friday, June 21, and Jonah and his sister, who are the "take charge" members of the family, took charge of the funeral proceedings.  And of course, being Jonah's spouse, I took on many responsibilities as well relating to the funeral and burial.

Unlike my mom, who has purchased her burial plot, vault, headstone, and burial rights in advance, Jonah's parents never did.  And unlike my mom and dad, Jonah's parents did not have any money invested.  All we have been able to get for his mom is a $7,000 insurance policy and we're working on getting $4,000 out of his pension (which, unfortunately, is all there is). 

Jonah's parents are deep in debt due to money mismanagement and back taxes.  The funeral and burial cost almost $20,000.  Honestly, I don't know how people can afford to pay for it when a loved one dies.

Jonah's parents lived on their Social Security benefits, but with him having passed, she will get less now.  We're trying to find out what survivor's benefit she will receive, if any (Jonah's dad retired early).

Jonah and I set up at fundraising web page through indiegogo.com and managed to raise $1,783.00, but that still isn't enough.  We are worried about whether his mom could lose her home.

Jonah has a lot of siblings, and of course, everyone had an opinion about how the funeral services and burial should go.  It got a little tense at times.  I hope my siblings won't be that way when Mom passes.

Jonah and I took care of getting the programs printed and compiling photos and music for a slide show and for a memorial video.  I wrote the obituary and a reading for the funeral as they were dictated to me.  I helped fill out the information for the death certificate and drew up a pallbearer list and diagram.  I helped fill out and print insurance documents for Jonah's mom.  We collected cards and donations and kept track of anyone who donated time, money, food, flowers, etc. so that we can thank them later.  We helped figure out which out of town relatives would be staying where.  Jonah's sister, Angie and her daughter, stayed with us.

All I had heard about Angie from various family members was that she was overbearing, tactless, and abrasive.  Upon first meeting her, I didn't feel she was that bad, but four days later I could see what everyone was talking about.  Let's just say she has a good heart, but is EXTREMELY high-maintenance, needy, and draining.  I feel like she creates drama and misreads things.  We handled her well, but she was exhausting.

We did a lot of work this past week, made even more difficult by the fact that getting Jonah's family is stay on task is like herding cats.  And we spent lots of time at Jonah's mom's house with his extremely large and extended family.  It was just a very exhausting week and it was especially hard to see my man so stressed by it all.

Jonah's sister took out a $15,000 loan to help cover funeral costs.  It's going to be a tough time financially.

I ended up taking two bereavement days off (and fortunately, the company I work for allows that) for the days of the viewing and the funeral.  Both the viewing and funeral were lovely.  The mortuary had put together a video using the pictures we compiled.  It had a garden theme, as requested (because Jonah's father loved working in the garden), but by coincidence (and again, I don't believe in coincidences), almost all of the flowers in the video were purple, which was Jonah's dad's favorite color.  It really was beautifully done.

Jonah's dad didn't look as much like himself as I would have hoped.  He face was bloated and the makeup was a bit too heavy.  But mostly, his spirit was missing, and that's what made him him.

People deal with grief differently.  Jonah channels his into keeping busy, making sure everyone else is taken care of.  Jonah's sister allowed her emotions to overtake her, sometimes to the point of being irrational.  Jonah's mom didn't want to be alone whereas I do during times of grief.  It's just interesting.

The viewing service was very nice (also quite different from your typical Mormon service).  Jonah's mom wanted the services short and the mood light.  Jonah's brother wanted the services to be a celebration of his father's life, but also centered on the Lord.  Jonah and his sister were careful to involve all the siblings and make sure no one felt left out, but they also made sure that his mom's wishes were the where the buck stopped.

I found it very touching that I was discussed at great length.  One of Jonah's sisters brought me up and said I should be allowed to sit with the family because of my importance in Jonah's life.  Jonah's brother backed her up, and even Jonah's pastor brother, who once told Jonah he was going to hell for being gay, agreed that I was part of the family and should be recognized as such.

I was also included in the obituary as Jonah's spouse (with Jonah's mom's blessing, and she said if anyone had a problem with it, they could talk to her) and had been asked to stand with the siblings and their spouses when the siblings talked about their dad (apparently that had been suggested by Jonah's pastor brother as well).  Neither Jonah nor I could have imagined this a year or two ago.

But the fact is Jonah's dad liked me a lot.  And Jonah's mom likes me a lot.  And I know certain siblings like me a lot and appreciate all I have done for the family.  They've gone out of their way to tell me so.

Apparently, Jonah's dad had a fairly typical Hispanic Pentecostal service.  Lots of gospel music and songs and remarks in Spanish.  Lots of praising of the Lord and remembering what a great man Jonah's dad was. 

I was honored to be asked to be a pallbearer for the funeral.  Jonah didn't want to do it (too overwhelming, he said), so I walked in his stead with his four brothers and several other male family members.  There were actually so many pallbearers that I barely had a grip on the casket at all.

Jonah's nieces and nephews read the obituary as well as as story demonstrating Jonah's dad's philosophy to never turn away anyone in need.  I was also impressed by Jonah's family members' ability to keep it together when they had to, singing songs and speaking and barely breaking.  Jonah sang a rocking gospel song called "The Blood Will Never Lose Its Power" and brought down the house.

 

His dad would have been proud.

My only regret is that I didn't know Jonah's dad longer.  He seemed like a great, great man.  Very selfless, charitable, and hard-working.

The slide show is what got me.  They included every picture we submitted (over 160).  It was beautifully done.  It started off with "I Can Only Imagine" by MercyMe and ended with Mahalia Jackson's "Walk in Jerusalem" and Andrae Crouch's "Soon and Very Soon" and was such a touching tribute to a great man's life.  There was also a video at the end showing Jonah's dad giving his mom a rose and kissing her.  It was so lovely.

Somehow this picture I drew

ended up attaching itself to the pictures we submitted.  This is very strange because Jonah and I checked and double-checked the folder three times to make sure there were no doubles and that we had included photos of everyone.  We never saw this picture in the folder, but somehow it accidentally ended up in the slideshow.

Let me tell you about the photo.  This was a rough draft of a drawing I did for a friend for her Sunday School lesson in April of 2012.  Here's what the final drawing looked like:

  

The lesson was about the Lamanites and how stiff-necked and hard-hearted they had become.  They had become deaf and blind to the teachings of God.  Anyway, my friend wanted me to draw a fun caricature that displayed deafness (the ear trumpet), blindness (sunglasses and blind stick), stiff-neckedness (neck brace), and hard-heartedness (stone heart).  The drawing that ended up in my father-in-law's slide show was the rough draft version of that drawing. 

Of course, at first I was deeply embarrassed that such a mistake had occurred (and a mistake that was likely my fault).  When I watched the slide show and the drawing came up, I didn't even know what it was at first or what it had to do with my father-in-law.  The more I dwelled on it, the more I realized what it was.  Jonah knew almost immediately that it was my drawing.  He thought it was funny and wanted to tell his family.  I pleaded with him not to as I was embarrassed about it.  Jonah insisted they would find it funny...and he was right.  

Not one family member cared...and everyone laughed about it, even more so because he was a Lamanite (a Mormon belief).  I'm sure it will become a family joke.  We like to think Jonah's dad, who was hard of hearing and couldn't see too well, inserted it as a joke.

When the service was over, family members got one last look at the body.  I chose not to; I just wanted to remember Jonah's dad as he was, not as the vehicle that once held his spirit.

Jonah's aunt did something almost stereotypical.  She wailed and threw herself on the casket and then fell to the ground clutching it.  

It was a hot, hot, hot, hot day at the cemetery.  117 degrees.  Insane.  We wanted the burial service to go quickly to protect the elderly from heat stroke.

Never in any funeral I have attended (most of which have been Mormon services) have I ever actually seen the casket get buried, let alone actually participated in burying the body.  I guess it's common in Hispanic culture to actually physically bury the body, so I was a bit taken aback when the mortuary workers drove the bulldozer up and family members started shoveling dirt on to the casket.

Originally I wasn't going to participate, but Jonah's brother called me over, and I couldn't exactly refuse.  Here I am burying my father-in-law:

 

I sure was glad the pallbearers were all asked to wear short-sleeved white button-down shirts.  Most funerals I've been to I've dressed in a suit.  It was so hot.  I even wore a sun hat.

It was an honor to know Jonah's dad, who treated me like a son with unconditional love and acceptance.  And it was an honor to help lay him to rest.