Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Giving the dead their due....
Ran across this post on the Journal of SolemnDragon:
Bring out yer dead!
In it, she asks her readers to describe memorable people in their lives who have passed on and what sort of influence they had. This is not to be morbid; the idea is to honor those who have gone before us. While I've known several, I will mention just a few here in an abbreviated fashion; otherwise, I'll end up typing all night. And to those of you whom this is review (I've posted about the two most recent in this blog), just read the first couple. Here goes:
First, there is my maternal grandmother. Granny, at least the Granny I knew, was called "eccentric", a polite Southern way of referring to someone who was off their rocker. Apparently, she was not always thus, but became so when her husband suddenly dropped dead one day of a stroke in 1944. She never ever got over it. She also survived the Depression, which does account for the financial eccentricity. She had money hidden all over the house, not trusting the bank. She also was rather into collecting coins and stamps, acquiring them slowly over many years. I learned to share her appreciation for these things; I have but a tiny fraction of her original collection. Granny also taught me how to be silly and that humor is a great distraction from grief. She taught me how to be frugal, not that I necessarily follow her example. I learned from her the importance of exercising your brain on a daily basis and to appreciate the little things like homegrown tomatoes, backyard songbirds and dessert. The very most important thing I learned from Granny, though, is to not fear death. When she was in the advanced stages of cancer, she arose from her sick bed on Memorial Day and insisted that she be taken to the cemetery so she could visit her husband's grave. She wanted me to go with her even though I was only 14. She made her way to the veterans' section and climbed a hill with a giant oak tree on it. She beckoned me to her and showed me the empty space next to my grandfather's headstone. She told me, "This is where they'll put my body, but my soul will go elsewhere. I'm ready to die. There's really nothing scary about it. I want you to remember this spot so you can visit it sometime." Twenty years later, I took Dan to that cemetery in Little Rock, Arkansas, found the oak tree and the hill and told him what Granny had said.
Next, there is my paternal grandfather. He was highly intelligent and far ahead of his time, but he was also quite blunt, stubborn and enjoyed starting arguments. From him I learned to appreciate intellectual discussion, but I took care not to follow his example of belligerence. Grandpa, probably more than anyone else except my parents, would take me aside and tell me how smart I was and to never be ashamed of that. He was the most voracious reader I've ever known. He was especially fond of history. The last time I ever saw him was when he was in the hospital against his will, dying of liver cancer that had spread to his brain. I knew instantly that I would never see him again because there were no books in his room, and if he couldn't read anymore, he wouldn't want to continue living. I was right.
My mom died in 1997 of lung cancer when she was just 54 years old. I could fill volumes with memories of her, so I'll just try to touch on the most important ones. Mom was funny, smart, creative and good with money. She also had a dark side filled with depression, an eating disorder, poor choices in men and a history of being abused. I learned from all of these things except maybe the being good with money. I developed a very similar sense of humor, a smidgen of her creativity and equal parts of her and my dad's intelligence. I also unfortunately inherited the tendency toward depression and the food issues but feel I have dealt with them more successfully than she was able to. Watching her mistakes with men taught me what to avoid, not that I was mistake free myself, but I eventually got it right when I married Dan. Mom taught me that you are not your job. She had wanted to be a fashion designer but lacked the money for college and ended up joining the Navy to get out of Little Rock. She did clerical work there and bookkeeping when I was young. Later, she became a loan officer at a credit union. None of these deterred her from her photography, writing, drawing, painting, making her own Christmas ornaments and all kinds of creative things. She showed me that you do whatever you have to for money and do what you love to on your own time. I think I handled the loss of my ability to work a lot better than I would have otherwise because it did not involve a loss of identity for me. My mother could have been a successful stand up comedian; she told jokes better than anyone I know. She embarked upon a rather unusual spiritual journey after I became an adult: she was raised as a Southern Baptist but avoided organised religion until the New Age movement came along. She eventually joined the Church of Religious Science. She befriended psychics and palm readers and devotees of the Science of Mind and at one point became a certified hypnotherapist. I don't know if she ever really found what she was looking for. But she did take me to church with her and introduce me to her friends, and even if I didn't accept all of her spiritual theories, she did lead me to open my mind and embrace the pursuit of peace. She died long before she was ready, leaving much unfinished. But I even learned that that doesn't matter so much. When I was at the funeral, there were about 100 people in attendance, and many of them told me that she had a major effect on their lives, and that was much more important than whether she completed anything.
I didn't know Dan's Uncle Mickey for very long, but he left quite an impression the few times I saw him in person. He was a scientist with a passion for paleontology, astronomy and archeology. He had a rare autoimmune disease, the name of which escapes me now, but it left him with a great deal of pain and weakness in his legs, and at times he was housebound. He also required dialysis. In 2002, Dan and I traveled across North Dakota, meeting Dan's parents in Bismarck, where Uncle Mickey lived. Even though he was too ill to accompany me on my sightseeing, he was impressed with my interest in his home state and told me all sorts of fascinating facts I would not otherwise have found out and gave suggestions as to what was worth visiting. When he found out I was a photography buff, he put together slide shows of some of his most memorable vacations: I saw pix of Australia, South America and Hawaii. At that time, I knew I had fibromyalgia but not the other ailments, and he stressed the importance of getting out and experiencing the world while I still had mobility. And he gave Dan and I money with the stipulation that it be used on a dream vacation and nothing else. We did take the vacation, an amazing two weeks in Hawaii, but unfortunately, he died unexpectedly six months before we were able to go. But I remembered his slide shows, particularly of the Big Island, and made sure we went to some of the very same places. I think it helped Dan grieve, knowing that his uncle had traveled the very same road, had seen the same sights via helicopter, had stood at the base of the very same volcano. A part of his uncle did seem to be there, and I felt his approval as Dan and I had the time of our lives. Did he know that in just two short years I would also become nearly housebound by autoimmune disease? Probably not. But he taught me a huge lesson about not delaying joy.
Finally, there's my paternal grandmother. Grandma lived the longest of any of my grandparents. But her decline was slow and heart-wrenching, as is anyone's with Alzheimer's/dementia. So it stands to reason that most of her influence on me occurred when I was young. When I was elementary school age, my sister and I would spend weekends at Grandma's. My parents would bring us over on Friday night and stay and play cards or board games with her and my aunts and uncles. My eldest cousin was usually there also. During the summer, we would go to her cabin in the mountains. The rest of the year, we'd go with her to church. I would say Grandma had the most to do with my manners and cultural upbringing. I was expected to wear long dresses to church, to sit quietly in the pews during the regular service, and to not run too wild in Sunday school. I was allowed to bring a doll, or when I was older, a book with me to lunch after church, but I was to be respectful of the wait staff and other customers of the restaurant. I was taken to the ballet, classical concerts, plays, museums, and I think even an opera once. I was treated to these experiences more often than my sister or cousin because I behaved well in these situations. My fondness for the performing arts has never waned, thanks to Grandma. Even though I became an atheist at age 12 and then agnostic in my 20's, when I did finally embrace organized religion again, it was the same denomination as my grandmother's church. Grandma was generous to a fault, but she never complained if the recipient didn't seem grateful. She just kept on giving. She didn't seem to know any other way to be. She was a very quiet contrast to my strident grandfather. I don't remember my grandmother ever being healthy, but this never slowed her down for long, at least not until the Alzheimer's got bad. So I also learned from her that poor health doesn't preclude having a life. And whether anyone realized it or not, Grandma was the glue that held the family together. After her funeral a year and a half ago, I've only seen my aunts and other relatives once or twice.
So those are the main influences in my life who are no longer with me in person. Too bad not all dead have their day.
Bring out yer dead!
In it, she asks her readers to describe memorable people in their lives who have passed on and what sort of influence they had. This is not to be morbid; the idea is to honor those who have gone before us. While I've known several, I will mention just a few here in an abbreviated fashion; otherwise, I'll end up typing all night. And to those of you whom this is review (I've posted about the two most recent in this blog), just read the first couple. Here goes:
First, there is my maternal grandmother. Granny, at least the Granny I knew, was called "eccentric", a polite Southern way of referring to someone who was off their rocker. Apparently, she was not always thus, but became so when her husband suddenly dropped dead one day of a stroke in 1944. She never ever got over it. She also survived the Depression, which does account for the financial eccentricity. She had money hidden all over the house, not trusting the bank. She also was rather into collecting coins and stamps, acquiring them slowly over many years. I learned to share her appreciation for these things; I have but a tiny fraction of her original collection. Granny also taught me how to be silly and that humor is a great distraction from grief. She taught me how to be frugal, not that I necessarily follow her example. I learned from her the importance of exercising your brain on a daily basis and to appreciate the little things like homegrown tomatoes, backyard songbirds and dessert. The very most important thing I learned from Granny, though, is to not fear death. When she was in the advanced stages of cancer, she arose from her sick bed on Memorial Day and insisted that she be taken to the cemetery so she could visit her husband's grave. She wanted me to go with her even though I was only 14. She made her way to the veterans' section and climbed a hill with a giant oak tree on it. She beckoned me to her and showed me the empty space next to my grandfather's headstone. She told me, "This is where they'll put my body, but my soul will go elsewhere. I'm ready to die. There's really nothing scary about it. I want you to remember this spot so you can visit it sometime." Twenty years later, I took Dan to that cemetery in Little Rock, Arkansas, found the oak tree and the hill and told him what Granny had said.
Next, there is my paternal grandfather. He was highly intelligent and far ahead of his time, but he was also quite blunt, stubborn and enjoyed starting arguments. From him I learned to appreciate intellectual discussion, but I took care not to follow his example of belligerence. Grandpa, probably more than anyone else except my parents, would take me aside and tell me how smart I was and to never be ashamed of that. He was the most voracious reader I've ever known. He was especially fond of history. The last time I ever saw him was when he was in the hospital against his will, dying of liver cancer that had spread to his brain. I knew instantly that I would never see him again because there were no books in his room, and if he couldn't read anymore, he wouldn't want to continue living. I was right.
My mom died in 1997 of lung cancer when she was just 54 years old. I could fill volumes with memories of her, so I'll just try to touch on the most important ones. Mom was funny, smart, creative and good with money. She also had a dark side filled with depression, an eating disorder, poor choices in men and a history of being abused. I learned from all of these things except maybe the being good with money. I developed a very similar sense of humor, a smidgen of her creativity and equal parts of her and my dad's intelligence. I also unfortunately inherited the tendency toward depression and the food issues but feel I have dealt with them more successfully than she was able to. Watching her mistakes with men taught me what to avoid, not that I was mistake free myself, but I eventually got it right when I married Dan. Mom taught me that you are not your job. She had wanted to be a fashion designer but lacked the money for college and ended up joining the Navy to get out of Little Rock. She did clerical work there and bookkeeping when I was young. Later, she became a loan officer at a credit union. None of these deterred her from her photography, writing, drawing, painting, making her own Christmas ornaments and all kinds of creative things. She showed me that you do whatever you have to for money and do what you love to on your own time. I think I handled the loss of my ability to work a lot better than I would have otherwise because it did not involve a loss of identity for me. My mother could have been a successful stand up comedian; she told jokes better than anyone I know. She embarked upon a rather unusual spiritual journey after I became an adult: she was raised as a Southern Baptist but avoided organised religion until the New Age movement came along. She eventually joined the Church of Religious Science. She befriended psychics and palm readers and devotees of the Science of Mind and at one point became a certified hypnotherapist. I don't know if she ever really found what she was looking for. But she did take me to church with her and introduce me to her friends, and even if I didn't accept all of her spiritual theories, she did lead me to open my mind and embrace the pursuit of peace. She died long before she was ready, leaving much unfinished. But I even learned that that doesn't matter so much. When I was at the funeral, there were about 100 people in attendance, and many of them told me that she had a major effect on their lives, and that was much more important than whether she completed anything.
I didn't know Dan's Uncle Mickey for very long, but he left quite an impression the few times I saw him in person. He was a scientist with a passion for paleontology, astronomy and archeology. He had a rare autoimmune disease, the name of which escapes me now, but it left him with a great deal of pain and weakness in his legs, and at times he was housebound. He also required dialysis. In 2002, Dan and I traveled across North Dakota, meeting Dan's parents in Bismarck, where Uncle Mickey lived. Even though he was too ill to accompany me on my sightseeing, he was impressed with my interest in his home state and told me all sorts of fascinating facts I would not otherwise have found out and gave suggestions as to what was worth visiting. When he found out I was a photography buff, he put together slide shows of some of his most memorable vacations: I saw pix of Australia, South America and Hawaii. At that time, I knew I had fibromyalgia but not the other ailments, and he stressed the importance of getting out and experiencing the world while I still had mobility. And he gave Dan and I money with the stipulation that it be used on a dream vacation and nothing else. We did take the vacation, an amazing two weeks in Hawaii, but unfortunately, he died unexpectedly six months before we were able to go. But I remembered his slide shows, particularly of the Big Island, and made sure we went to some of the very same places. I think it helped Dan grieve, knowing that his uncle had traveled the very same road, had seen the same sights via helicopter, had stood at the base of the very same volcano. A part of his uncle did seem to be there, and I felt his approval as Dan and I had the time of our lives. Did he know that in just two short years I would also become nearly housebound by autoimmune disease? Probably not. But he taught me a huge lesson about not delaying joy.
Finally, there's my paternal grandmother. Grandma lived the longest of any of my grandparents. But her decline was slow and heart-wrenching, as is anyone's with Alzheimer's/dementia. So it stands to reason that most of her influence on me occurred when I was young. When I was elementary school age, my sister and I would spend weekends at Grandma's. My parents would bring us over on Friday night and stay and play cards or board games with her and my aunts and uncles. My eldest cousin was usually there also. During the summer, we would go to her cabin in the mountains. The rest of the year, we'd go with her to church. I would say Grandma had the most to do with my manners and cultural upbringing. I was expected to wear long dresses to church, to sit quietly in the pews during the regular service, and to not run too wild in Sunday school. I was allowed to bring a doll, or when I was older, a book with me to lunch after church, but I was to be respectful of the wait staff and other customers of the restaurant. I was taken to the ballet, classical concerts, plays, museums, and I think even an opera once. I was treated to these experiences more often than my sister or cousin because I behaved well in these situations. My fondness for the performing arts has never waned, thanks to Grandma. Even though I became an atheist at age 12 and then agnostic in my 20's, when I did finally embrace organized religion again, it was the same denomination as my grandmother's church. Grandma was generous to a fault, but she never complained if the recipient didn't seem grateful. She just kept on giving. She didn't seem to know any other way to be. She was a very quiet contrast to my strident grandfather. I don't remember my grandmother ever being healthy, but this never slowed her down for long, at least not until the Alzheimer's got bad. So I also learned from her that poor health doesn't preclude having a life. And whether anyone realized it or not, Grandma was the glue that held the family together. After her funeral a year and a half ago, I've only seen my aunts and other relatives once or twice.
So those are the main influences in my life who are no longer with me in person. Too bad not all dead have their day.
Comments:
this was a grand post, in my archives i have given a little tribute here and there to people in my life that have influenced me and are no longer with us. john wayne of course passed away in '78, my mother passed in '85, and my father in '88. sometimes i think all of the people worth knowing are already gone, anyway i loved the post, remembering the dead with honor.
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