Main Street

I just finished reading Main Street by Sinclair Lewis. This is a classic I've always wanted to read, but never got it done. It was free through ibooks so I downloaded it and read it on my iphone.

I found the book a fascinating take on the agony so many, especially women, faced in the early 1900's. They moved from the east, from cities, from society, and settled in upstart, unkempt communities filled with prejudice, gossip, small-town thinking, ugliness, and unending hard work. Anything and anyone who did not fit into their little "mold" was disparaged and ridiculed. Though I grew up a half century later, I could see that many of the shackles spoken of in Main Street were still alive and well in my main street.

Thankfully, many of us kicked against the "norm" and pushed for a different type of thinking. In my little corner of the world, at that time, it was a travesty to go to a non-Lutheran church, to believe in equality of all races and both genders, to wear pants off the farm, to want to travel to other countries, or to want a career other than teacher, nurse or secretary.

Oh, how the world has changed...especially in the past 100 years! But ... is it better? Or have the issues, the prejudices, the lack of acceptance, the smallness just moved around? Rather than tight family units with a defined set of mores all must adhere to, do we now have tight ideological units that are superior to all others? Do we still try to make others think and believe and act just like us? And when they don't, do we disparage and ridicule them?

Sometimes I think we haven't changed that much at all....

If She Had Died in Her 80's - Addendum

A few years ago my mother gave me her mother's Bible. She used this Bible for a long time, but eventually started using a different one. Tucked in the leaves I found the following "poem" that she identified with. All those years that I was feeling emotionally estranged from my mother, she had her own emotional deficits. She spent 35 years being a widow. 35 long, lonely years. Sometimes my heart breaks at the lost years when I could have done a better job at alleviating that loneliness. If only I had "broken the barrier" years earlier.....

Minnie Remembers

by Donna Swanson

God,

My hands are old.

I’ve never said that out loud before,

but they are.

I was so proud of them once.

They were soft

like the velvet smoothness

of a firm ripe peach.

Now the softness is

like worn-out sheets

or withered leaves.

When did these slender,

graceful hands

become gnarled, shrunken?

When, God?

They lie here in my lap,

naked reminders

of the rest of this old body

that has served me too well.

How long has it been

since someone touched me?

Twenty years?

Twenty years I’ve been a widow.

Respected.

Smiled at.

But never touched.

Never held close to another body.

Never held so close and warm

that loneliness was blotted out.

I remember

how my Mother used to hold me,

God.

When I was hurt in spirit or flesh

she would gather me close,

stroke my silky hair and caress

my back with her warm hands.

Oh, God, I’m so lonely!

I remember the first boy

who ever kissed me.

We were both so new at that.

The taste of young lips

and popcorn,

the feeling deep inside

of mysteries to come.

I remember Hank and the babies.

How can I remember them

put together?

Out of the fumbling,

awkward attempts of new lovers

came the babies.

And as they grew, so did our love.

And, God, Hank didn’t seem to care

if my body thickened

and faded a little.

He still loved it.

And touched it.

And we didn’t mind

if we were no longer

“beautiful.”

And the children hugged me a lot.

Oh, God, I’m lonely!

Why didn’t we raise the kids to be

silly and affectionate

as well as dignified and proper?

You see, they do their duty.

They drive up in their fine cars.

They come to my room

to pay their respects.

They chatter brightly

and reminisce.

But they don’t touch me.

They call me “Mom” or “Mother”

or “Grandma.”

Never Minnie.

My mother called me Minnie.

And my friends.

Hank called me Minnie, too.

But they’re gone.

And so is Minnie.

Only Grandma is here.

And, God! she’s lonely!

If She Had Died in Her 80's - Chapter 5

Fifty years.

Half a century.

Most of a lifetime.

Why did it take me so long to get it?

Why did I spend most of my life focused on me and my needs instead of trying to understand her and her needs, her culture, her heart? Yes, I was 50 before I could move beyond my perceived injustices, my slights, the lack of affection, my own needs. She was 85 when I realized that it was within my power to change that.

I will never forget that phone call. Before I called her I determined that I would tell her, "I love you." Something I never heard her say to me; something I had never said to her. We talked about many things for about 20 minutes. Then it was time to hang up the phone. The time had come. I was a bundle of nerves and I was afraid of the reaction. "Well, I better go," I said. And then...I blurted it out..."I love you." There was the slightest hesitation, then, "I love you, too," she said. And we hung up. And I cried. And I cried.

It was so hard, yet so easy. The barrier was broken. Over the next eight years of her life, I strove to make up for lost time. Before I could really forgive I needed to understand her better. Speaking with her sisters and brothers, I learned a lot about my mom and the times and events that shaped who she was. I better understood the culture of emotional repression. And I discovered that my mom was a lot like her mom. I forgave.

How thankful I am that I had eight years of not only telling my mom I loved her, but showing her that I did as well. I did what I could to be there for her, to listen to her, to advocate for her. I hugged her, I thanked her. And I'd like to think that in some small way I opened the door for her to express her feelings as well.

August 7, 2010, when my mother died, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she really did love me. I thank God for giving her a long life. I'm so glad she didn't die in her 80's. If she had, I would never have known the loving bond of a mother.

All I Wanted Was an Ice Cream Cone!

Only 50 more miles to go on my 3,093.9 mile road trip. The last day of driving was the most difficult. I was driving directly into a very strong west wind. And my little Prius was only getting 35 mpg when it should have been getting 50 mpg.

Only 50 miles to go, but I was getting sleepy and needed a break. An ice cream cone and a cup of coffee sounded really good. Taking the first Fort Morgan, CO, exit, I walked into Burger King and asked for my cone. "We don't have ice cream", she said with a deadpan face. What?? Well, I thought I might as well get my coffee there and stop at McDonald's a mile down the road to get the cone. So I ordered my coffee, gave her the money, and waited. She disappeared and I waited. And waited. Finally, after several minutes, she appears, plops the coffee down, and starts to walk away again. "Where can I find some creamer?" I shout after her. She trudges back, reaches for a bucket of creamers, slides it towards me, and disappears again. I open the coffee, see that it is very strong, and add three creamers, noticing a lot of coffee grounds as I stir it in.

Now, off to get my ice cream cone. I take the next exit and drive up to McDonald's. It is closed!! Getting frustrated, I drive through a parking lot full of potholes; then I see a brand new McDonald's right across the street. I just may get my ice cream yet, I thought. Just as I'm driving into the parking lot, I see a sign - new McDonald's opening Wednesday. Well, this was Tuesday. By this time, I was wishing I had stopped at the Dairy Queen back by the Burger King; even if their small cones were more than $1. But after making my way through more construction and back onto I-76, I decided to give up on my little treat. Forty-five minutes later, after I pulled into my driveway, I took that horrible Burger King coffee and dumped the whole thing out.

It was good to finally be home.

Beanie Stein

I don't know if I spelled his name correctly, but this is a true story! It happened somewhere around 1962 - 1964.

It was another beautiful fall school day in Churchs Ferry, North Dakota. From time to time one of us grade-schoolers was lucky enough to bring a quarter or two to school. Why? Because during noon hour we would walk down to "Bert's" grocery store and purchase some candy. It was only a short walk, maybe 2-3 blocks. On this particular day, my friend, Lisa, had the money and she asked me to walk with her to Bert's. Enjoying the lovely weather, we skipped and hopped along the broken sidewalk. On an impulse, I hopped up onto the cement stoop of a little house that set right up against the sidewalk. Suddenly, the door flew open and I was confronted with ... a scraggly looking man ... with a shotgun! In shock, for a moment I was unable to move. I gaped at the whiskered man in the flannel shirt. He had his gun pointed at me. Lisa and I heard him say, "You stay off my property or I'll shoot you!" Like a human bullet, I shot off his stoop and Lisa and I ran the rest of the way to Bert's. We were shaking with fear.

My shaking lasted a long time. It may not have been visible on the outside, but it was weeks before my "insides" settled down. And you can be sure I never walked in front of Beanie Stein's house again; and I certainly never placed a foot on his stoop!

What is strange to me now is that we never told our teacher about this experience. No cops were called, the principal never found out. Eventually, I told my mother, but as far as I know, no one ever had a conversation with Beanie Stein about how he shouldn't threaten little girls with a gun. Maybe he was just another harmless old man ... but it sure didn't feel like it to me!

If She Had Died in Her 80's - Chapter 4

Jealousy.

There is no other word that can more accurately describe the feelings I had. Why should others receive from my mother what I so strongly desired, yet was denied? I could hear it in the lilt of her voice; I could see it in the softening of her face. And I first noticed it in relation to my sisters-in-law. She seemed to genuinely like them. She said nice things about them and to them. She enjoyed visiting with them. As much as I myself liked these new women in the family, it hurt that they were so quickly able to have an affectionate relationship that was beyond my grasp. I saw the hugs, I heard the words, “I love you, too”. And I was intensely jealous.

Later, it was the children of my brothers. I would hear about how cute they are and how smart they are. I would hear about the nice cards they sent on her birthday and for Mother’s Day and how pleased she was with them. She would brag about their accomplishments and their activities and their dreams. Yes, that, too, made me jealous. I never saw any of that spirit exhibited towards my children, even though they, too, were cute, they were smart, they sent cards, and they had accomplishments and dreams.

Often over the years I would agonize on how to break the silence, the sterility of our relationship. Always the obedient and dutiful daughter, inside I longed for a relationship of love and tenderness, affection and pride. I would see the easy, fun and loving relationship some of my friends had with their mothers and feel … jealous.

If she had died in her 80’s – there is a lesson I would never have learned. I’m glad she didn’t die in her 80’s.

If She Had Died in Her 80's - Chapter 3

Surely it must have happened when I was very young. Surely there was a little cuddling, a hug, a tender touch. But there is no memory of any affection, any tenderness extended towards me. Oh, I received lots of expressions of love from my older sisters. They were tickled to have a baby sister after having four brothers come into our home. But it seemed my relationship with mom was all brusqueness, practical, sterile. But I knew the day would come that my mother would embrace me and kiss me. I knew it because I saw what happened to my sister.

I was only nine when Evie got married. It was so exciting. Evie even bought me a coloring book about a couple who became engaged. Every page to color was about the steps they took preparing for the wedding. I colored each page and dreamed. Finally, the big day arrived. I don't remember a lot about the wedding itself, but I vividly remember the reception line. Standing off to the side, I watched as my mother came through, gave Evie a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. I'm sure my eyes widened in wonder as I witnessed this demonstration of affection. From that moment on, I held it close to my heart - on my wedding day, I would receive a hug and kiss from my mother.

Ten years later, I was the bride. The ceremony went off beautifully and we were introduced as "Mr. and Mrs.". Walking down the aisle, I felt both anticipation and trepidation for the moment I had been awaiting for ten years. There were hugs, kisses and well-wishes from the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Then came my parents. A hug from my father, a perfunctory handshake from my mother. And a sense of something lost forever.

If she had died in her 80's - there is a lesson I would never have learned. I'm glad she didn't die in her 80's.

If She Had Died in Her 80's - Chapter 2

There were around 150 students -- in grades 1-12. Yes, it was a small school. So things were done a little differently. For two or three years prior to junior high the girls in my class often talked about being a cheerleader. In our tiny town, that was one of the most prestigious and "popular" thing a girl could aspire to. The junior high basketball team had four girl cheerleaders, and they were "elected" every year. Finally, we were in 7th grade! Shortly after the school year started, we were told that the next Friday all the 7th and 8th graders were going to vote on who the cheerleaders would be. Oh, the anticipation was high! Will I get it? Will I get it? I didn't mention anything to my mother because I know she would say I needed to withdraw my name. If I didn't tell her, and I was elected, there is no way she could take that away from me. This was the most important thing in a 7th grade girl's life! And, besides, my brother, Tom, was on the basketball team. How could she NOT let me do this??

Friday finally came, the votes were counted, and YES! I was one of the elected cheerleaders! I was so excited. But with great trepidation, I broached the subject with my mother that evening. Surely she would be happy for me; be proud of me; understand how important this was to me. "Mom," I said, "I'm going to be a cheerleader." "No you're not," she replied. "But I was already elected!", I cried. "That's too bad. We're not going to start driving you all over the place and pay for those silly uniforms. You better let them know on Monday that you can't do it." My heart fell, but I would not give up. I had all weekend to work on her. And, she didn't know it, but on Monday after school I was meeting with the rest of the cheerleaders to pick out our outfits. I planned to stay overnight with my friend, so there would be no inconvenience for my parents.

By Monday morning, the answer was still "No!" But I didn't let on to the other girls. Together we went through the catalogs, choosing the skirt, the sweater and the shoes. I began to worry about how to pay for them, as it was more money than I had. Tuesday night, I approached the subject with with my mom again, and it was not a pleasant conversation. It ended up with me crying in my room behind my locked door once again. I knew I had lost the battle. Knowing I could not face the class without crying, I wrote a note to my friend and had my brother give it to her the next morning. And I played "sick" and stayed home.

Oh, life went on. I went to a few basketball games and cheered on our team from the stands. I listened to the cheerleaders talking, I watched them practice, I told them what a good job they were doing. But this big disappointment rooted deep in my heart. Throughout the years, if I looked hard enough, I could sense a little resentment against my mother -- buried deeply within me.

If she had died in her 80's - there is a lesson I would never have learned. I'm glad she didn't die in her 80's.

Health and Wealth

I've been reading through the book "Poems Teachers Ask For". This is the book that mom wanted and Amy found it on the internet. I gave it to mom on her 90th birthday. I found the following poem today. Rather pessimistic, isn't it?

Health and Wealth

We squander health in search of wealth;
We scheme and toil and save;
Then squander wealth in search of health,
But only find a grave.
We live, and boast of what we own;
We die and only get a stone.

The Circle of Life

She was born into this world in 1916. She came with only a body and a soul. She was born into a family who had very little, so her possessions as a child were few. But over time, the possessions began to amass:

• A home filled with furniture
• Buildings, farm machinery, cars and trucks
• Trinkets, nice gifts, worthless gifts
• Pots and pans, utensils, dishes
• Quilts and blankets, towels, tablecloths
• Washers, lawn mowers, refrigerators
• Many more things than any of us would ever be able to recall

A lot is accumulated in over 90 years of living. But eventually, the accumulation of things begins to go backwards. Each stage of life was a down-sizing - from a 400-acre farm, to a house in town, to an apartment, to assisted living, to a nursing home. The process of getting rid of goes much faster than the process of gaining:

• Sell
• Throw away
• Give away
• Leave behind

Early the morning after mom passed away, I went to her room at the nursing home, sat in her chair, and marveled at how little she had and how little she needed to meet her needs. I fired up my laptop and, along with brother Jim (who also arrived early), listed her final possessions. Here is what she had the last weeks of her life:

• Furniture - chair, love seat, dresser, TV stand, side tables, doily
• For snacking - packets of crackers and peanut butter, salt and pepper, packets of sugar, Altoids, coffee cup and candy
• For self care - hearing aid with extra batteries, chap stick, clear fingernail polish, eye drops, emery board and nail file, mineral ice, neosporin, baby powder, 2 tweezers, a few bandaids, mirror, combs, handkerchiefs, magnifying glass, clothes
• For entertainment - TV with remote, word search puzzle book, emails received, Yahtzee, Cribbage board, deck of cards, radio, an altoid box with quarters (for bingo)
• For reflection - Bible, devotional book, Estate Planning Guide, Guidepost magazine, Nicole's essay, the birthday calendar, funeral folders (Zola, Nolan, Charles Hanson, Eva), miscellaneous family pictures, one doll, one stuffed animal, cross stitched wall hanging, picture drawn by Makenna (great granddaughter), award to dad from the Farm Bureau in 1975
• For getting along - scotch tape, spool of white thread, paper clip, 2 ziplock bags, screwdriver for glasses, knife, John Deere letter opener, scissors, 7 pens, flashlight, address book

Mom managed the process of her possessions. She kept control of what to do with nearly every item until she was left with the list above. It took only an hour or two to distribute the last of her things. She went out of this world like she came in, with only a body and a soul. Twelve hours after she died, the ridding of the remaining possessions was all over. The circle of life was complete.

If She Had Died in Her 80's - Chapter 1

Sitting beside my best friend, Kay, on the piano bench, I marveled at the beautiful music she was able to make. They were simple little songs, some familiar tunes, some new ones, and some really fun ones. "I want to take piano lessons," I told her, "but mom and dad won't drive me. They say it is too far." Lying on the couch after a long day teaching school, Kay's mom heard the conversation; heard the longing in my voice. "Tell your mom and dad that you can stay with Kay on her lesson nights and we'll see if her teacher can take you right after Kay," she said. My face lit up and hope rose within me. Suddenly, it seemed like a possibility.

From a very young age I was fascinated with the piano. Vaguely, I remember one of my older sisters waking me up in the morning with piano music. Every Saturday when I dusted the furniture, I lingered over the keys, wishing I knew how to make beautiful sounds. I imagined myself playing lovely music and my parents being so proud of me.

Now - maybe it would happen! The next day I bounded off the school bus, ran to the house, and told my mother that I could take lessons, and they wouldn't have to drive me at all! "No," she said. You are not taking piano lessons. We're not going to have all that noise in the house again." It felt like I hit a brick wall. But, being a pre-teen, I thought it would only take a matter of time to wear her down. After all, this was something I really, really wanted to do.

A few days later, as we were all sitting around the supper table, I heard dad tell mom, "they're going to be here about 7:00 to get the piano." What?!?! With a broken heart I ran to my room, locked my door and flung myself across the bed. Awhile later I looked out my window to watch some strangers load my precious piano into their pick-up truck and drive away. That night I cried myself to sleep. That night my dream died.

If she had died in her 80's, there is a lesson I would never have learned. I'm glad she didn't die in her 80's.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Hi, Mom. Happy birthday. 94 years ago today Frank and Sophia welcomed their first daughter into their family. I bet you are really glad you are able to celebrate this birthday in heaven. Are you with Dad, LeRoy and David today? Maybe, though, birthdays aren't important anymore. Maybe they are only important to those of us left behind - a time for us to remember and rejoice.

And I do remember. September 13 will always bring my thoughts back to you. After you died - after everything was over and I was back home - I felt drained and, yes, relieved. Relieved that your struggle was over. Relieved that (dare I say it??) I no longer had to worry about you. But today, on your birthday, I find myself missing you. Over the past couple weeks I've been reading books that you gave me. They are books full of humor: "Cream and Bread", "Holy Hilarity", "More Holy Hilarity", and the one I just finished, "Stories I Couldn't Tell When I Was a Pastor". It seems like a dichotomy; I so seldom saw you smile or heard you laugh, yet you had a collection of humorous books, readings and poems. And at unexpected times you would throw out a statement that had everyone laughing.

Today, on your birthday, I hope you are liberated from any earthly restraint or piety and are reveling in joy and laughter and freedom of spirit. I miss you, but I'm so glad you are where you are. Happy birthday, Mom!

Chapter 5 - Fear Conquered

It was cold in the Red River Valley of North Dakota that winter. And windy. It was so cold and windy that it hurt to breath. It was a good week to stay indoors. After a few days, however, I was getting restless and agreed to make a hospital visit to a nearby town with my preacher husband. Leaving the car to go through the parking lot, I pulled my heavy coat close around me, put my mittens on, and ran for the hospital front doors. Just that short trip chilled me to the bones; it felt like I would never be warm again.

Making our way to the room of one of our parishioners, I finally started to thaw out. We entered her room and the unfamiliarity of it all assaulted my senses. There were strange smells, there were tubes and lines everywhere, there were beeping and whooshing sounds. And my friend looked so fragile. As Rod began to speak with her, I began to feel surreal. The sights and sounds were swirling around me; I began to feel hot. Knowing I was in trouble, I quickly unzipped my coat and started to pull it off. The last thing I remember was grabbing Rod's arm.

I was in a different place. Where I was, I do not know. I saw no one, I saw no light. But my soul was instantly whole. There is no way to describe the completeness I felt. I've tried for 30 years to describe it; but words fail. I only know that it was perfect and completely satisfying.

I'm sure it was only a moment or two. I found myself coming back to awareness with the words, "Jesus, Jesus" on my lips and feeling the cool floor beneath my supine body. A nurse was hovering over me, loosening my clothes, putting a cold cloth on my forehead. "She's coming around," I heard her say.

Just a little fainting spell, but, oh, so profound. From that day on I never felt a shred of fear over my own death. From that day on I have had complete confidence that the next life is so wonderful that there is no need for concern about entering it. It took me 30 years to be brave enough to share this very personal story. And for 30 years I've thanked God for that special gift in a moment's time. My fear of death was finally conquered, never to return again.

In A Roundabout Way

As many of you know, I am collecting a single teacup and saucer from twelve different countries (note: must be made in that country). This one came to me from India - in a roundabout way. Here's how it happened:

My daughter's
mother-in-law's
pastor's wife's
sister - was a missionary in India.

My daughter's mother-in-law asked this missionary to bring a teacup and saucer for me next time she returned to the United States. And she did!!

And I love it!!

Chapter 4 - Fear - Up Close and Personal

The next few years were busy years ... finishing high school, going to college, getting married, having a baby, being a "Pastor's wife". Outwardly I had it all together. I had no experiences with death since that episode in the nursing home. Eventually, the terrors at night came rarely. And when they did I would force my mind to repeat memorized poems, Bible verses, and anything else I could think of until I fell back to sleep.

Then, suddenly, I encountered death like I had never imagined. Completely unexpected to me, my dad died. Died. The man in whose home I lived for 18 years was dead. This time I could not ignore, I could not run out of the room and flee from it, I could not think it away. The grief was overwhelming and all-consuming. Along with my mom and siblings, I lived and breathed this loss, pretending to be so strong. As plans were made for the family service and the funeral service, my fears were added to my grief. There was no escape.

At the family service, the setting was beautiful. The soft music was playing, "Be not dismayed what e'er betide; God will take care of you..." Coming into the room I saw the open casket at the front. Praying, and acting strong, I made my way to the front. Dear dad; he looked so good, so peaceful, but .... so dead. As I was standing there alone, I reached out to touch his cheek. It was cold ... and hard. And suddenly, the assurance rushed over me - he is not here, this is only a shell. My eyes were opened and I realized emotionally a truth I had embraced mentally - the real person, the one we love, is a spirit. Our spirit lives temporarily in a body. When the body gives out, the spirit, the real person, moves to a new place. My heart flooded with peace, with understanding, with comfort.

I encountered death, up close and personal. Although the grief remained, the fear was gone. At least, the fear over the death of someone I loved was gone. I had finally reached the end of my fear journey -- or at least I thought I had.

Chapter 3 - Fear on the Job

My first “real” job was as a nursing assistant in a nursing home. After a shocking first few days, I learned to love and truly care about the residents. I found purpose and felt I was making a difference for these vulnerable aged. Whether it was feeding them, bathing them, or cleaning up their messes, I went about my duties with care and compassion. There were challenges I had never faced before, but I felt competent and fulfilled.

One summer day as I was going about my work, “spreading sunshine” (as my colleagues said I did) I started getting my charges up from their naps. I bounced into Mr. Olson’s room, singing a little tune. Thinking it a little strange that he didn’t respond the way he usually did, I went over to his bed, put my hand on his arm and gave it a little shake. Looking at him, I suddenly felt a cold fear sweep over my body. Something was not right. I ran from the room and called for one of the other aides to please come quickly. She took a quick look at me and ran into Mr. Olson’s room. Soon the room was full of people; one went to call the doctor, another started straightening out his bed, closing his eyes, making him look nice. I was plastered against the wall, watching what was going on, wondering what my role is supposed to be, and feeling very, very weak.

The nurse, noticing me on her way out of the room, said, “Audrey, you better go take a break. We can finish up here.” Running from the room, I locked myself in the bathroom, and leaned against the door, trembling. This was the first time I had ever seen someone who was dead. And it shook me to the core. Unexpectedly, with no warning, I was suddenly face-to-face with my biggest fear, my biggest demon. And I was unprepared. I resumed my duties, but I was never the same. The fears returned with a vengeance, just as before.

Chapter 2 - Grace Taught Me to Fear

My fear continued to follow me. It tormented my mind and my soul; coming as always like a thief in the night. I searched for peace, but could not find it. Finally, at age 15, partially driven by my fear, I had a true spiritual awakening; a new soul was born within me. It felt so cleansing, so good, so liberating. I felt that, finally, I had conquered my fears. But was I really freed ... or was I only using a new method to cope? I was soon to find out.

Chapter 1 - Fear, With No Hope

It was the middle of the night and I woke from my sleep. The demons had come back. The fear in my gut was real and it was strong. I lay in my bed hugging myself tightly to stop the trembling. I sat up, put on my bedside lamp and looked at my hands. They were very young, smooth and unblemished. As I looked at them I envisioned myself 50, 60, 70 years later. I could see these beautiful young hands spotted with speckles of brown, wrinkled and with thin, dry skin. And I felt my mortality. Though I had never seen a human death and never been to a funeral, I knew that someday I was going to get old and someday I would die. Death was fearsome and final. It was incomprehensible to me, as a pre-teen, that this could actually happen. But I knew it would and, other than dying young, there was no way I could stop it. Sometimes my mind went to the grave, to cold and dark and alone … and to decay. With time I learned to quickly grab a book and read, read, read until I fell into a deep sleep. In the morning I was able to push it all from my mind.

Sometimes I went weeks, sometimes months without experiencing this episode of fear. But many times during my youth this would come back to me in the night. How do I get rid of this fear? I didn’t feel I could talk with anyone about it; death wasn't something that was talked about. I was probably the only person in the world who just couldn’t get it together concerning death and my personal eventual demise. I had no one to turn to, nowhere to go. It was like a hound, biting at my heels, coming at me unexpectedly; but always at night.

Down To Eight

We started out being twelve. I don't think I've ever seen a picture of all twelve of us at one time. It seemed like we had forever to take family pictures; we'd get around to it some day. But suddenly, in 1975, Dad was gone. It was then we realized that we need to make the effort to get the pics -- while we could. Over the next 32 years, several pictures were taken of the "Eleven"; the most recent was at mom's 90th birthday party in 2006. We had a professional photographer come to that party so we could get some really good pictures. I'm so glad we did, because the very next year, 2007, we lost David. That put us at ten; Then in 2009 LeRoy left us. Down to nine. One year (minus seventeen days) later, mom, the matriarch, passed into the next life. So now we are down to eight. I get an odd feeling watching my family unit gradually roll over from this world into the next. Makes me realize how temporal and mortal our human bodies are. Some day, one of us in this picture will say good bye to the final sibling, and be the only one standing. I wonder - who will it be?

For those who haven't seen us for awhile: Each row Left to Right - Bob, Tom, Jim, Don; Audrey, Vivian, Sylvia, Evie.

A Conversation With Dad, Part 2

August 14, 2010

Hi, Dad. I'm back. As you must know by now, Mom is here beside you. I want you to know that her end was peaceful and without pain. I turned away for only a minute or two, and when I looked back, she was gone. I don't understand everything about the spirit world; it is hard for me to comprehend what it is like. But I hope you have reunited with her by now.

I wish you could have seen your nine grandsons, who were pallbearers. You would have been so proud of them. You would have delighted in seeing all the granddaughters and all the great grandkids. We miss mom, but her funeral was a wonderful gathering of the living, a celebration of the family you both created.

I want to thank you both. Thank you for loving one another. Thank you for the example of a committed marriage. Thank you for your "old fashioned" values and for your strong work ethic. Thank you for your involvement in your communities, your churches and your families. I sorrow over the end of the Oscar-Viola era.

Now that you are finally here together, I will be leaving you. Tomorrow I will be driving out of North Dakota. It is time now to focus on living the rest of my life. I don't know what the future holds for me, but I am confident that the same God who holds your souls still cares about me. It may be many years before I am back at this spot, but I will always hold you both very close to my heart. I love you and I miss you. Good bye - until we meet again.