In Which I Am Orphaned

Anyone who reads this (you few, you brave) will know by now that I lost my remaining parent last week. It wasn't at all unexpected, but still, it was as wrench. When I got the call to come quickly (not a real possibility, since I lived 90 minutes away), I got out of bed, packed a small bag, and ran for the car. As I was putting my little bag in the back seat, my favorite verse from Psalm 119 popped into my head, so I took it as a message and turned it into a prayer: "God, You are good, and what You do is good". It was a comforting message to have received, and oh so true. Sure enough, I was only half-way there when another call came, this time to say that Dad was gone. And there it was--my status as a parentless child come to pass.

It's an odd feeling. I'm suddenly a member of the oldest generation in my family, and in another week there will be no old home to go back to. The dining room table and blue-trimmed dishes will move into my own house, and every day I feel more and more like I must be my own mother, because look! Here are her things! Those are her blue-veined little hands stirring the batter! And those are her white hairs on my head! Stability, nostalgia, family history, and the old homestead will be where *I* am. As I said, it's an odd feeling.

I'm generally okay with this turn of events. Dad had not been himself for about a year and a half, and after his stroke just after the New Year things had gone downhill with regularity. Dad had no concentration for reading, watching television, or even extended conversations, and his frustration at not being able to do anything, even putting on his own clothing unaided, was difficult to watch--because there was nothing I could do about it. He had been increasingly depressed since Mom died nearly four years ago, anxious about the constant dialysis, and just not having any fun. Quality of life was gone, and I couldn't restore it, not for all the wishing in the world. Heaven knows I tried, but some things are just beyond us.

So when he took that last gasping breath, what did I feel? I was sad, of course, but I was also tremendously relieved that he no longer had to suffer physically or emotionally. And I felt horribly, deeply guilty for feeling relieved! I'm supposed to want him to live, but he was so miserable I just wanted him to be all better--even if that meant death.

It catches up with me at odd times, like when we cleaned out his mailbox and found the Father's Day card that I had sent, but it didn't arrive until half a day after he had gone into the hospital for that final 24 hours. And at dinnertime on Saturday, because I had called my parents every Saturday night for decades. I suddenly had no one to call. And every time something amusing or wonderful happens and I go to file it away in that corner of my brain labeled "Things To Remember To Tell Dad Because He Would Enjoy It" and I am brought up short by the realization that I can let that corner be renovated into something else now.

So I am likely to cry buckets when my kids graduate, and when Emily gets married, and especially if/when she has children, because my parents won't be here to witness these things that they would have so loved to see. That's a lonely feeling. Fortunately, I have a tendency to weep at things anyway, so Emily won't think a thing about it except "There goes Mom again". Mom the family weeper, that's me.

But I am sure of one thing: God IS good, and what He does is good, and I will see my parents again. We are not meant to live forever on this earth, and there is a time to let go and be transformed into something new. I can't begrudge my parents that, only be glad that someday I'll go there too. Not soon, I hope, because I am vain enough to think that my own children need this particular parent for some time yet. So I weep when I can't help it, and then sit up straight and go on with life, and rejoice in all the moments that are ours together, and all the moments to come.

Love, Spud

Stealth Van Strikes Again

Or rather, has been struck. When my daughter had been gone less than 10 minutes last night and my cell phone rang, I knew instinctively that there was trouble. Sure enough! She told me that she'd been in an accident, and that she had hit someone. Then a kindly male voice interrupted and said "No, no, I hit YOU--let's get it right!". Needless to say I dropped everything and high-tailed it over to where she was. It was alarming to see an ambulance parked there, with its lights on, but it turned out they were just passing through and thought they'd stop to see what the bother was, and help block the lane from traffic.

Turns out the kindly male was exactly correct. Em was stopped at a red light and he plowed into her from behind. The stalwart van has need of a new bumper, perhaps, but that's it. The little silver sports car that ran into it, however, may be a goner.

We had quite a wait for the police, and we had a reasonably good time while we waited, trying to figure out why we looked familiar to each other (never did decide) and chatting with the EMTs, who were happy to be dealing with nice, live, uninjured people. The only physical injury was a cut on Emily's thumb, and it had us mystified until one of the EMTs pointed out that it would have been exactly where the long fingernail on her index finger went when she clenched the steering wheel on impact.

Even the policeman seemed to be in a good mood, and we got it all over with in the space of a little over an hour. A nice, friendly accident, for a warm summer's evening. The only thing missing was ice cream all round.

Praise be to God that no one was hurt, Emily doesn't seem to be traumatized, and the valiant and indestructible van took it like the pro she is. What's one more dent?

Love, Spud.

Why is it?

...that whatever we decide that we really,really like, the manufacturers promptly discontinue? Recent deaths include sugar-free Tang, sugar-free Mentos, turkey sausage links, McCains roasted potatoes, whatever bra my daughter likes at Vickie's Secret, hot and spicy Chex mix, baked quesadilla chips, and a host of other long-gone and well-loved products.

...that the inverse is true also? Whenever my family decides they love something and I find it on sale I'll buy a large quantity, only to discover that they suddenly don't like it any more.

...that the weather reports are always wrong until THIS year? Yup, every single blessed inch of snow that was predicted showed up. Why could they not have been wrong again, per usual?

...that every time I sent for the registration materials for a master's degree, I found myself pregnant? I'll be fifty this year, and I'm still terrified to even contemplate getting that degree.

...that everyone sneers at and makes fun of that old standard, green bean casserole, but every time I take a big double-batch to a potluck not a spoonful comes home again?

...that I can sit in my comfy old rocker for an hour, but it isn't until five minutes before I have to get up that the cat jumps up into my lap?

...that I have managed to stay married for nearly 23 years? We have absolutely nothing in common. I'm a lark, he's an owl. I like main roads and direct routes, he likes back roads and as many corners to turn as humanly possible. I like veggies, he must have meat. I'm a technotard, he's a technogeek. When vacation time rolls around, I say "At last, some time at home!". He says "Where shall we go?". I'm all about books, he's all about television. I like quiet, he likes background noise. In other words, I'm an introvert, he's an extrovert. It's extraordinary that we ever got married to start with, and it's a miracle that we have stayed that way.

...that a mutual love of God and family can override all those incompatibilities? It's grace, that's all. Sheer grace.

Love, Spud.