The Voice Of An Angel

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                                The Voice Of An Angel




     There have been people who claim to have heard the Angels sing and what a beautiful sound they made. I can't tell you that I have heard Angels sing but I can say that I have heard the voice of an Angel.
     Everyday for forty seven years I listened as Linda sang her songs and she knew a lot of  them. She sang along with the radio, she sang along with the CD's as she sewed, she sang as she sat on the back deck watching the birds and squirrels play. Linda was always singing and if she couldn't remember the words she would make them up but the important thing was that she had the voice to carry the tune - the voice of an Angel.
     When we first met, Linda was just seventeen, the Beatles, Elvis, the Mamma's and Pappa's , Simon and Garfunkel and many other great groups were constantly on the radio with their latest hit song and every teenage girl knew the words to all of them, Linda was no exception. As it turns out she came from a musical family, her mother played the guitar by ear as did her sister Eileen, she had several aunts and uncles - on her mothers side - who also played musical instruments and sang. Her mother once played on the radio in upstate New York with her two sisters when they were teens. Linda for some reason was the odd man out as she didn't play an instrument but she could read music which was something that her mother and Eileen couldn't do and she could sing. Years later I paid for her to take lessons on the guitar and she did OK but for some reason her heart was never in it, I think in part she never felt she would be as good as Eileen but she tried until kids started coming along.
     When ever she got together with her Mom and Eileen, the guitars would come out and the singing would commence, Mom would last till about 11:00 pm, I would make it till maybe 2:00 am but Linda and Eileen would go all night. Eileen had a beautiful voice in her own right and when coupled with Linda's the harmony was as good or even better than what was on the radio. The few songs they couldn't remember were written down in a note book that was laid out in front of them as they sat cross legged in the floor singing, giggling and laughing. Many years later Eileen made a cassette tape for her, it had all of the songs they would sing together, she would play the cassette over and over singing along with Eileen for hours. Sadly the cassette or the player wore out and has been lost.
     It seemed that for many years the music didn't change all that much, bands broke apart, new bands came about but the music of our youth seemed to grow along with us and there were the musicals like the Sound of Music and Mary Poppins. The music we grew up with became known as the "OLDIES " and everywhere we went we could find an Oldies station. I can't tell you when but I think it was sometime in the late 90"s that the local oldies station would only play the top 40 tunes, it was about that time that Linda started listening to Country music.
     Country music tells a story, it can make you laugh or cry, clap your hands and tap your feet to the rhythm, it is the mother of all music, I think it reminded her of the songs her mother used to sing. Country music was from a time long forgotten, it was her break from reality, a part of the beauty of her life. Every day she would sing sometimes to the artist on the radio or CD, sometimes to herself from memory, she didn't need a TV to occupy her mind, her music was already there.
      Linda prized the vocal ability of the artist almost as much as the songs they sang, Julie Andrews and Dolly Parton were two of her favorites. One of Linda's favorite country artist was Garth Brooks, I recently heard him on the radio singing " If Tomorrow Never Comes ", the rest of the lyrics go " will she know how much I loved her ". I had heard the song many times before but I never really listened to it, now that I have, it makes me glad of all the times I told her how much I loved her and of all the times I held her tight and kissed her, I can only hope it was enough.
     No, I never heard the Angels sing but once upon a time my world resonated with the voice of an Angel, now I listen to the radio in the truck as I drive around knowing that this is as good as it will ever be again, and I am sad.
     

   

A Question Of Why

                                  A Question Of Why





     The brain of a young child develops by watching and listening to the world around them, then as they learn to vocalize they ask questions and as any parent can tell you their questions can sometimes drive you nuts especially when the answer you give them prompts them to come back with that annoying question " WHY ", it makes no difference how you answer the " why " question as nine out of ten times they will come back with another " why ". Questions like these give a whole new meaning to the word - infinity, answering the question "why is the sky blue" could generate at least a dozen "why's" and take hours to answer.
     The word "why" is somewhat of an enigma, according to Websters dictionary it is a multi use word that can be used as a noun, adverb, conjunction, an interjection and if you add an "s" to the end it becomes plural. It can express sorrow, excitement, laughter and fear, it can cast doubt and guide one down the right path. For the moment I can't think of another word that has such a wide range, my learned sister Vickie probably can. But let's look at this another way, just because we grow into adulthood does not mean that we no longer seek knowledge nor do we no longer question the status quo, nay the search continues. Even from the depths of old and decrepit brain cells a question mark can still arise, just not as often.  Maybe because by a certain age we have more time on our hands to ponder the little nuances that have troubled our thoughts for years that we attempt to solve the woe's of the world, and "why" not, it may be our last chance for greatness.
     Take for example something that has troubled me since learning to spell in grade school. The word Wednesday, this word represents the middle day of the week and to my knowledge has no other meaning but I want to know "why" there are two " d's " in the spelling when everybody pronounces the word " Wensday " with one "d" . I can't tell you how many times I have misspelled this word, I even looked at my calendar prior to this writing just to be sure I was getting it right. Words with silent letters have always confused me as my mind keeps asking if that letter is silent "why" then is it there at all, the answer I give my mind is "why, how should I know", nobody else seems to know "why" either, I have asked.  Fortunately this newest generation doesn't have to worry about spelling, they just have to know where the spell check button is although if you follow social media it is obvious some people have yet to find the spell check button.
      Us old folks already know all the answers so we don't ask "why" too often and when we do we are skeptical about the answer we are given. Our memory, which at times trails behind us like a long shadow, doesn't always correspond with the information given to us so we like to mull things over for a while  so we don't come off as some senile old person with drool running down our cheek. So here I am an old fart with time on my hands to ponder the little mysteries of life and ask " why " along the way. Truth be known I really don't care what the answer might be as I am too old to worry about being right or wrong but when you have time on your hands you have to think about something. Then again if enough thought is put into the right pondering I might just have my 15 minutes of fame, if I come up with an answer the world has been waiting for.
     One such thought provoking subject is water, I have heard about the world wide water shortage for years and how it will eventually be a bigger concern than the oil shortage. Now standing on the banks of a river watching water flow by knowing that it's destination is the ocean makes me scratch my head especially when it is the mighty Mississippi River who's banks I have stood on, millions of gallons flow by in the time it takes to blow your nose. This is a moment when I brainstorm and think about the Alaskan pipe line which pumps crude oil from the north slopes over mountain ranges to the gulf of Alaska and then down here in the lower 48 we buried pipe lines to pump gas all over the country. Seem to me the answer is obvious " why " can't we build a pipeline to carry water from the Mississippi River to say Phoenix, AZ.or for that matter pump water from the Nile River into the deep Saharan Desert, "why" let it pour into the ocean. There we go problem solved and it didn't take a rocket scientist - not bad for an old guy.
     The next thought provoking subject is - neckties. Many years ago Linda and I worked for banks, the jobs didn't pay all that much but there was a lot of prestige in working for a bank, any way Linda would go to work nicely dressed in a skirt, blouse and matching jacket all of which was very comfortable as well as pleasing to the eye. I on the other hand had to wear a suit and tie, often with a vest, a combination known as a three piece suit. The suits were usually dark colored with white shirts - bankers never wore colored shirts - the only piece that really stood out was the neck tie but they too  had to be reserved and appropriate for banking.  I can't complain about the dress code because I did look very handsome, if I do say so myself, but the thing that bothered me and many others like me was the need to wear a neck tie at all. It was difficult to get a shirt that fit correctly around the neck - usually to tight - and then have to tie a strip of cloth around your neck and cinch it tight, I felt sorry for those guys with large Adams Apples. Neck ties were uncomfortable, they were always in the way and when eating usually wound up speckled with bits of the meal. So I ask you, "why" would a man in his right mind want to truss himself up in a three piece suit and neck tie every day ? You know it is rumored that the neck tie was invented by a woman with a strong desire to choke the living daylights out of her husband or maybe it was her boyfriend or both.
     So now comes the question of  "why" are neck ties necessary other than prestige and good looks. I would think that men would definitely be more comfortable and the appearance of success and prestige could more confidently be expressed by a man dressed in slacks, an opened collared shirt and tweed sport coat. Add a Florida tan and a couple of gold chains around his neck and you have a banker though some may refer to him as a shyster - same difference.
     One thing I have come to realize since I have become a senior citizen is that time does not pass at the same rate of speed as it did when I was a kid, seems that as I got older and slower father time kicked things into a higher gear. Remember being a kid waiting for Christmas to come around and it did ever so slowly. Forget the fact that it only came once a year, those first eleven months flew by in comparison to the last twenty five days filled with excruciating hours of having to be good all the time. As I write this, Christmas is only eight days away and I am still not ready for it, it gets here too quickly now days.
      "Why" does time pass differently for the young than it does for the elderly ? I distinctly remember when I was young, I couldn't wait to be older so I could do all the things I wanted without having to ask permission or have to be home by a certain time. No matter how hard I tried it took a long time for those first eighteen years to pass. Now I am pushing seventy and there aren't enough hours in the day to do everything I want to do, seems like I no sooner get out of bed and it's time to get back in it. "Why" it was only six years ago that I retired and three years ago that I became a Grandpa,  in my mind those days were yesterday. So much has happened in such a short amount of time that I want to plug the hole in the hour glass to slow the sands, I want to enjoy the fruits of my life but the time seems to pass too quickly.
      Now I am asking myself  "why" am I not spending more time with the Grand Kids or "why" am I not on the lake fishing. After all I am getting to old to be worrying about things that have never changed and most likely never will, let the next generation scratch their head and ask "why" and when Michaela  or Matthew ask why the sky is blue I'm going to send them to Mom or Dad and maybe, just maybe, they will be the ones that turn the world around - "why" not ?
   
   
   
   

Master of Arts

                                                 Master Of Arts



     I sit alone in the house I once shared with Linda, I look around and see her in everything around me. Every wall, every shelf, where ever there is a space to put something there is something that Linda made with a needle and thread or piece of cloth and even a few things of ceramic.
     Linda first learned to sew in a high school home economics class and later when she stayed with my parents, while I was in Vietnam, my mother introduced her to other forms of needlework such as crochet and knitting. Somewhere along the way Linda picked up embroidery, counter cross stitch, quilting and anything else that could be done with a needle and thread. Over the years she tried them all and was very successful at most of them with the exception of knitting.
     I don't know why knitting was not to her liking but it wasn't, the only thing she ever knitted was a turtleneck sweater for me, she worked on it for quite sometime  but it just didn't turn out the way she had hoped. I thought the sweater was beautiful, it was a nice maroon color and it was warm, it was also big enough that both of us could fit into it at the same time which did not bother me as I liked Linda close to me. Linda wanted to rip the sweater apart and start over but I talked her out of it and wore it as it was, I was proud of it and loved it and it was very warm.
     Linda's skill with needle and thread developed quickly and she became a master at her craft, all of her work was not only beautiful, it was perfect. Back in the early 1970's we bought an older home for our first house and one Christmas I bought her a needle point kit titled " The Four Seasons ". It was something she had been wanting for sometime but it cost $50 which was a lot of money back then. The kit when completed would be a picture 32" x 25" and take her several years to complete, the completion time was not due to the size of the project but rather the care which Linda put into it. One night I walked in and she was pulling out all of the thread from the work she had completed which consisted of about 1/3 of the project. When I asked why she showed me where the threads were not consistent  so the nap was uneven, she did this several times after that but to look at the finished work you will know her persistence was worthwhile. It has been several years since I have seen the kit advertised, the last time it was valued at more than $400 as a kit, to me the finished work is priceless. This particular piece of art occupies a wall in the bedroom and when I am gone it will be passed down to one of the Grand kids who will hopefully recognize it's value as an heirloom and pass it along to future generations.
     Over the next few years, between raising two boys and putting up with me dragging her and them all across the country and back, she worked on many projects but seemed to narrow them down to quilting and crocheting.
     Not long after returning to Georgia Linda met up with a lady who made ceramic dolls that ranged in size from a couple of inches high to several inches high, they had one problem, they were naked and needed clothes desperately. Diane Waring was the lady who made the dolls, Linda would create, by trial and error, a pattern for each doll then crochet dresses, pants, shirts and accessories for them. Linda and Diane bonded and one of the most beautiful friendships developed between them, it lasted for at least 20 yrs. until Linda's death.
     In celebration of our 25th anniversary we left the kids behind and took a trip to Gatlinburg, Tn., we stopped at a small welcome center in the Georgia mountains area and looked around. I found an older lady siting in a corner cutting octagon shapes from stiff paper, she had a couple hundred stacked up so I asked what she was doing. The lady explained that this was an old English method of quilting rarely practiced anymore, I found Linda and got her to talking to the lady, which wasn't difficult, and as we drove off the wheels started turning in her head. Not long after we returned from Gatlinburg Linda started piling up a collection of octagon shaped pieces of stiff paper and fretting over the correct design she intended to produce.
     When she started this project we had a king size waterbed, this was another one of those projects that took awhile to complete but the day did finally come around. I was there when Linda took the massive quilt and spread it out on the waterbed and I watched as her shoulders slumped upon realizing she made a slight error. The quilt when spread out on the waterbed also piled up on the floor around the bed, this was just a slight miscalculation which only took a few more months to fix.
     The quilt turned out beautiful and a great conversation piece, it now adorns Danny and Marie's bed, I hope that they will take care of it so that maybe one day it too will become an heirloom to be passed down thru generations.
     While living in California, Linda crocheted for an organization that needed baby booties and hats, they used these items as gifts to encourage young unwed and often unemployed pregnant girls to keep their doctors appointments. She made hundreds of pairs of booties and hats from scrap yarn, she never charged them for her time or materials.
      Not long after moving into this house she hooked up with a lady named Fran who worked with an organization called " Newborns In Need ", they crocheted baby blankets and hats for premature babies, small oranges and golf balls were used to size the hats. I can't tell you how many blankets she made over the last few years, I do know that in the last year of her life she made in the neighborhood of 150 blankets. She used store coupons, loose change and even had me collecting aluminum cans to pay for the yarn.
     In addition to working on the above projects, she worked on other things such as baby blankets which she sold to people who gave them as gifts, some were given freely to friends for their newborns. She made trinkets such as her wonder wallet, Barbie doll clothes and dresses for other brands of dolls and sold them at craft shows, the proceeds went to tuition for Danny and Clay.
     Once in California another mother who was a Cub Scout den mother with Linda was dying of cancer and wanted to go to Salt Lake City to see her sister one more time. Linda and another den mother worked tirelessly for several weeks prior to Easter making crochet Easter Bunny baskets from plastic milk jugs and then sold them in front of the local grocery store to raise funds for a plane ticket. They bought the ticket and had enough left over to insure a happy Easter for the lady's kids and husband and give them $200 cash for whatever they needed.
     These projects were close to her heart and she did them with love and as with everything else they were beautiful, not a stitch was out of place, they were perfect. Countless strangers have benefited from her artistry, children across the country born in less than ideal situations and conditions were warmed by her works of art made with love.
      Now I look around and see the things she made to brighten her own world, the quilts, wall hangings, afghans, table cloths and pillow cases, the list seems endless. She would spend countless hours sitting on the back deck or the couch in front of the TV even riding in the truck as I drove  on a long trip, she paid attention only to the piece she had in her hand, to her it wasn't work it was enjoyment, an act of love. For someone who could not see her own beauty she left the world a more beautiful place in her deeds and her art and in that she was a master.

   

Going To The Dogs

 

                        Going To The Dogs

                                

     I grew up having dogs around the house, don't ask me why we had dogs or pets at all, with five kids to feed a pet seemed like a big expense although back then we pretty much fed them table scraps and seldom took them to a vet. I don't remember that any of us kids thought much of the dogs, they were full of fleas, matted fur and sometimes didn't smell to good, just the same they were a part of the family. I remember there were Beagles and Cocker Spaniels and Grandpa Riggan had a Collie named Shep.
     Then I met Linda, fell in love and married her but not until we got a few things straightened out about our future. You see, Linda was an animal lover and had there been prenuptials  back in 1967  I would have been contractually bound to always have a pet, more specifically a dog, as part of the family and should a divorce ever occur she would have gotten sole custody. As things turned out I liked dogs, they could be a pain in the butt but it did feel good to have a warm wet nose snuggle against your hand as you watched TV which was better than Linda's cold feet in the small of your back in the middle of the night - foot warming was another contractual item.
     Our first dog was named " Bo ", he was a beautiful half Boxer and half German Shepard and he belonged to an aging first class Boatswain Mate I worked with hence the name Bo. Bo was smart and learned quickly, we took him with us when Linda went to stay with my family while I went to Vietnam. Dad was over having dogs by this time but for his only daughter-in-law he made an exception and welcomed Bo into the family and provided him with one of his beloved Navy blankets from WWII to sleep on in the garage. When I returned from my first trip to Vietnam we couldn't take Bo with us to San Diego so we left him behind. Bo was given to a local farmer who allowed him to run free rather than stay chained to a dog house, by the time we came home for good someone had stolen Bo from the farmer.
     While stationed in San Diego the second time we were given a small white terrier who turned out to be vindictive whenever left alone or ignored and after finding several articles of clothing, a blanket and several bags of garbage shredded all over the floor he was out of there real quick, so quick that I can't even remember his name.
     Now we get back to Tennessee and start life anew. My cousin Jackie called one night and told Linda that a friend of hers had a dog who had given birth to a small brood of which there were three available for the taking. The dogs were Poodle and Cocker Spaniel ( Cockerpoo ) and black as the ace of spades. Jackie took the lone female pup, Linda and I took one of the males and lo and behold my Dad took the other. We named ours Snoopy and Dad named theirs Ralf.
      We had to keep Snoopy chained to a dog house for a few months and during this time Linda's sister Eileen came to live with us and acquired a cat from my friend Donnie Odum. Linda couldn't stand the cat as it was sneaky and would rip a loaf of bread to shreds just for the hell of it so it wasn't long til the cat became an outside pet. It was cold that winter and I wondered where the cat went to keep warm over night, then one morning as I looked out a window I saw Snoopy come out of his house and stretch in the sun light, the cat followed a few moments later and sat next to the dog licking at it's paw. We found the cat dead in some bushes a few weeks later. Snoopy went with us to our old new home we bought, it had a nice yard with a fence and everything was great for a while til one day Snoopy was hit by a car while crossing the street in front of the house, he died as I tried to comfort him.
     We next wound up with Ralf, I think Dad felt sorry for Linda. Ralf quickly fit in with us and gave us much joy. One morning Linda suddenly started accusing me of kicking the covers off the bed at night  and she would wake up cold and have to retrieve them from the floor, being the sound sleeper that I was I had no defense. Turns out it was not me kicking the covers off of the bed, one sleepless night I felt the blanket slip down to the foot of the bed a little bit at a time then a little bit more, I woke Linda and told her quietly to watch as the cover slid towards the foot of the bed all by itself. We crawled down to the foot of the bed and watched as Ralf, who was laying on the floor, reached up and grabbed a mouthful of blanket and pulled it down on top of him.  Another time I came home and went downstairs for a cold drink we kept in the basement refrigerator, as I walked down the steps something crunched under my feet, under close inspection the crunches appeared to be small bits of red glass. All became clear later as I watched TV and Ralf wanted to play but I ignored him so he walked over to the Christmas tree and grabbed a red glass ornament from a low hanging branch then carried it over to the top of the stairs and tossed it into the air. Ralf stood there looking confused as the ball didn't bounce like the one I threw down the steps for him to fetch - mystery solved, Ralf had evidently found a way to amuse himself while we were at work.
     Like his brother Ralf died after being hit by a car.
     Next came a golden Cocker Spaniel with a pedigree so she was given a pedigree name - " Linda's Lady Ginger ", we called her Ginger and she never left Linda's side. When Ginger came into heat we bred her with another purebred, she had seven pups but not without some difficulty. She had two pups and then we had to take her to the vet where she had another, he gave her a shot to induce labor on the three he said were still inside her, on the way home Ginger gave birth to another pup in the front seat of the car. The vet told us to give her ice cream to calm her down, while lapping up the ice cream she dropped another pup but ignored it and kept eating, then Linda went up the steps to get towels to clean up the mess - Ginger followed her and dropped the final two pups on the way to the kitchen.
     Turns out Ginger was dumb and cuddly just the way Linda like them, we had her for several years  and shortly after Clay was born I was transferred to the west coast from Florida and we couldn't take her. I know it broke Linda's heart to have to take her to the pound.
     It was several years later when Danny was starting school that they decided we needed a dog so we got a Schnauzer, because of his coloring we called him Pepper. I can't say I knew Pepper that well as I traveled quite a bit back then, I do remember that he was a feisty little dog and would snap at you when irritated. Pepper came back to Georgia with us  but it seems as though everybody lost interest in him and he wound up in a pen in the back yard, it was still up to the kids to feed him - a chore which they had to be reminded often. One day Danny brought him up to the house for some reason and left him tied to the garage door, I climbed into my truck to go somewhere not realizing Pepper was under the truck and I ran over him, the vet couldn't save him. This was the time where I put my foot down and said no more.
     It was several years later when Danny and his first wife were living in the basement that they asked me if they could get a dog, I should have known better but I said sure as long as I was not going to take care of it. They got a rescue black Lab pup that was full of energy, they called him Bailey.Fortunately they moved into their own place and Bailey went with them.
     A couple of years after the kids moved out I brought home a parrot, more precisely a Sun Conyers from South America. While at work one night I was called over to the office area where several people were watching this bright orange and yellow bird walk around looking for food. He didn't seem to be afraid of us so I put my hand down and the bird walked up my arm and sat on my shoulder, I put him in a box and brought him home to Linda. It was three in the morning when I got home, I woke Linda and told her to come meet her new friend. The bird was still in the box on the floor, Linda opened it up and the bird cocked his head and looked up at her, when she placed her hand into the box the bird climbed up her arm and lost himself in her hair where he stayed the rest of the night. He was about twice the size of a canary and because of his coloration Linda named him Mango, she went out the next day and spent two hundred dollars on a cage and other bird paraphernalia.
     The kids were gone and I worked long weird hours and even when I was home I was was not really there if you know what I mean so Mango filled that void for Linda. Most of the time Mango had freedom of the house and wherever Linda went Mango went. I quickly found out I needed to close the door while shaving as Mango liked the taste of shaving cream and would sit on my shoulder eating mouthfuls as I shaved. Linda also found out she needed to close the door when taking a shower, Mango would fly into the shower landing at her feet and start bathing himself.  Linda sat on the couch in front of the picture window as she crocheted, Mango would fly down to the floor and walk over to the ball of yarn at her feet, after unraveling some of the yarn he would make his way to her foot and start climbing up to her shoulder where he would preen her hair or bite her shirt. She had several shirts that were her Mango shirts, they had holes in them where he had chewed thru with his sharp beak.
     Mango had one major flaw, he was LOUD, I'm telling you this bird screeched so loudly that neighbors  two doors down the street wondered what that noise was- and we kept the house closed up. His minor flaw was that he didn't like most other women and would attack them.
     When we moved to this house Mango stayed with Clay and when Linda brought him home he took sick and died, Linda was devastated.
     Not long after Mango died Linda came to me and wanted another dog, I was still working long hours and she needed the companionship. As much as I understood her needs I tried to talk her out of another dog, I had buried too many of them already. It didn't take her long to wear me down as truth be known I could never really say no to Linda, soon enough she was looking on the computer for a new face to love.
     Lizzy is a rescue dog, she was about a year old when we got her, she is part Lab and part Cocker Spaniel with long black hair and I swear she has the longest tongue I have ever seen, she is also known as Licking Lizzy as she licks at everybody who comes to visit. Although we only paid $50.00 for her she cost us just over $3000.00 because we had to install a fence and lay down sod in the back yard.  Given the opportunity she will escape her confines and go for a run, all of the calling will not stop her and when you get close she will just look at you and take off again, to catch her you have to get in the car find her and open the door she will come running as she loves to ride.
     Lizzy is definitely not the sharpest thorn in the brier patch, she will chase a thrown ball but only bring it back halfway but she loved to crawl up next to Linda and get her ear tickled or her butt scratched.
     Linda loved Lizzy and got to the place that she didn't want to take any trips if Lizzy couldn't go, Lizzy brought great comfort to Linda in her final days and knowing that she was concerned I promised Linda that I would take care of Lizzy.
     We loved our pets, each of them brought many moments of happiness and frequently absorbed the stress of daily life often with only the act of laying their chin on your thigh and looking up at you with a sadness in their eyes that only they can express. They are memories from a life that seems so long ago.
     So, here we are just Lizzy and I, each of us a reminder to the other of how much we loved and miss Linda. Lizzy is at least ten years old and I am sixty eight, it is even money as to which one of us will out last the other although we may find out soon enough if she continues to stop in front of me in the dark making me trip over her.

The Next Chapter

                                                 The Next Chapter





                                               Smile Because She Lived


                You can shed tears because she is gone
                       Or you can smile because she lived.
                       You can close your eyes and pray that she will come back
                       Or you can open your eyes and see all that she has left.

                       Your heart can be empty because you can't see her,
                       Or you can be full of the love you shared.
                       You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
                       Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

                       You can remember her and only that she is gone,
                       Or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.
                       You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn back,
                       Or you can do what she would want:

                       Smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

                       Author unknown



     The above poem was one of several pieces given to those of us in my grief support group. It hopefully had the effect of encouraging us to move forward and be happy in our remembrance of our lost loved ones rather than continue with the grieving that most of us were still wrapped up in. This was six months after Linda had passed away and she was still deeply embedded in my thoughts, my mind was closed, I was empty and moving forward was out of the question.
     It has been a year since Linda passed away, I have endured holidays without her laughter, the birth of a grandson she longed to hold, her birthday and our anniversary without celebration. It has been a year of sadness and sorrow, self pity and longing, loneliness and darkness. Loneliness is the worst of all the feelings, she was not there to hold or talk with and why turn on the lights when there is only you in the house, in the darkness your vision is not blurred when you cry. Going forward seemed senseless when there was no longer a purpose, many times I shut myself away from the world around me and closed the door on friends and family.
     During this past year I shed more tears than any time in my life, all it took was a smell, sight or sound and the memories would turn loose the tide of emotions and flood of tears. I wanted to turn back the clock and have just one more day with Linda to hold her and tell her how much I loved her.
In the support group we talked about the day when we could invoke memories of our loved one and smile. It was never that memories of Linda were sad or unhappy, I have no sad memories of Linda, I have been sad because all I had left of her were the memories and that has not been enough.
     Without a doubt this past year has been the worst in my life, knowing that other people have walked in my shoes before me and many others will after me did not satisfy the feelings of grief. My survival took a lot of understanding, compassion and love from family and friends.
      I still couldn't move forward until I met with a group of people who were in as much anguish as I was.This group of strangers all had one thing in common, they grieved for someone they loved who had passed away. We shared our grief with each other and in doing so we helped each other. Our session was brief, only nine weeks, but it was intense and we became like a family, we still get together once a month and several of us have gone on outings together. We still grieve and probably will for years to come if not forever but now we know that we are not alone and have understanding friends.
     Like the poem says, I can cry and close my mind, be empty and turn back or I can do what Linda would want - smile, open my eyes, love and go on. Had the roles been reversed I would want Linda to move on and enjoy the rest of her life,I know this is what she wants for me. This is not to say that I have stopped grieving for her, I doubt I ever will but I am ready to smile again and rejoice in the life Linda and I had together, I still love and miss her, I am proud for having had the privilege of loving her.
     So today I am turning the page to the next chapter in my life, a chapter filled with family and friends - new and old, with old memories and making new ones. I am throwing out the thoughts and things that have stymied any growth for some time. A new chapter, I can only wonder what new things await me, where my new life will take me - I think I am ready.


                      











              

The Last Farewell

                      The Last Farewell

     I am on the road again, this time Linda is with me, her cremated remains next to me in the front seat. I am taking her to fulfill her final wish to have her remains scattered on Daytona Beach. This is a family affair that hopefully will bring some closure to us all so Danny, Marie,MJ and Matthew, Clay and Maggie, Vicki and Chelsea are also in route, Eileen's husband Ken will meet us there.
    It has been a long hard path we walked since the early part of 2012 when Linda having difficulty breathing was misdiagnosed with asthma and later discovered to have congestive heart disease, from that day forward our lives changed. Each episode that sent her to the hospital weakened her heart and robbed her of her life.
    One of our friends told her she was very brave for the way she was dealing with her plight and I can attest to just how bravely she fought to live. Inside I think she was afraid even though she told everyone she was ready to go, outside she continued to live as she always had, she sang her songs, laughed out loud, worked on her crochet projects and sought out the beauty of everyday life. She looked forward to the birth of her Grandchildren and made plans for the future. When her friends visited she refused to let them pity her and kept the conversation upbeat, expressions of sorrow and tears were not permitted. Yes she was brave, as brave as any soldier facing death on the battlefield. I, on the other hand, was in denial, this couldn't be happening to us, she will get better and grow old with me. If I focused on the positive then the outcome would be positive, but in reality, for the first time in my life I felt totally helpless. Linda put forth a brave face for the world to see right up to the day before she lapsed into a coma, I wore my brave face for her, never crying in front of her, always telling her things were going to be alright, for her I could do no less.
    Many times this past year I have cried deeply from my broken heart, I have felt as though I am only half of  a person, she was indeed my better half. This past year has been devastating, I tried coping in silence and when that failed I turned to strangers who were on the same path as me. I found out that sharing in the grief of others was a big help and in that sharing I was helping not only myself but others in the most difficult time of our lives.
    I have thought about this moment for some time knowing that I would want to write about it, what will I say, how will I feel. This trip was to be the final farewell, the closure I needed - a door was closing on my old life and another was opening on a new life without Linda. Certainly there have been times during the last almost four years that I have known this day would come though I did not want it to. I would rather that she still be by my side in person rather than in spirit, I would be happier if she would be sitting beside me singing with the radio than  listen to the silence of a box of ashes. Surprisingly I feel a sort of numbness, as I drive there are a few moments where I tear up and choke back a cry of despair. It is like all of the tears and pain of her loss for the last year have led up to this point, I had to grieve before I could let her go.
     When I arrived at the hotel the anxiety set in, on the one hand I was antsy and wanting to hurry things along. On the other hand scattering the ashes meant that she is gone forever living only in my heart and the memories of our life together, will that be enough to sustain me.
     I spent a lot of time thinking as I drove and again as I awaited for the time to wade into the waters. I wondered if I had truly been the best husband for her, did I do everything possible to make her happy, should I now ask her forgiveness for the times I let her down. I told myself that I did the best I could and then realized that I should have done better, she deserved better
     The time seemed to drag on, the others took the opportunity to make this trip a vacation  of sorts and do a little sight seeing and getting together with relatives. I tried to fit in as much as I could though at times I was flustered and probably seemed out of sorts with everyone. This was not a festive occasion for me and I think Ken may have had similar feelings as he brought some of Eileen's ashes to scatter with Linda's. In reality we all grieved in our own ways, the loss of both Linda and Eileen held different meaning to each of us and that is the way it should be.
     The time came and we all gathered on the sand. Linda and I were not religious in the traditional sense, she held God in her heart and spoke of her beliefs to very few, so I asked that everyone take a handful of ashes and say their goodbyes as they wished. For myself, I watched as the wind blew the ashes into the water and told Linda goodbye for the last time, I told her that I loved her and always will. I don't cry as much any more, I hate to think it may be that I am getting used to Linda being gone, but as the ashes flowed through my fingers I cried, not because I am used to her being gone but because I still miss her.
     I read somewhere that " death is that state in which one exist only in the memories of others ". Linda is a memory now as she has been for the last year, our life together is a jumble of memories floating in and out of my thoughts as they will for the rest of my life.
     This writing is to be the last about Linda and her struggles with death. It has taken almost a month for me to find the right words ( I hope they are right ) to say, they were hidden in the dark shadows of my mind and took quite a tussle to bring them to the light. In years to come our grandchildren, their children and grandchildren for many generations will hopefully read these words and know Linda and know how much I loved her.

                  Farewell my love.
   
 
   

A Tale Of Two Sisters

                                         A Tale Of Two Sisters

        " Sisters are different flowers of the same garden "
                                          Author Unknown

     Once upon a time there were two sisters, they were the best of friends but as different as night and day.
     One was a fun loving wild child who had a rebellious nature, carefree, talented, very opinionated and often quite loud, she had a singing voice to rival the angels. She was a beautiful 14 year old brunette, tall and slender - almost anorexic, with long dark hair hanging down her back.
     The older sister was 17, tall with long legs, shoulder length dark hair and eyes as blue as a summer sky. She was down to earth, loving, caring, selfless and gave freely her time and energy for the betterment of others, she touched the hearts and souls of all she encountered, she was wise beyond her years, the world is a better place because, for a time, she was a part of it.
     In the early years their parents relocated often and they had no time to make friends so they became best friends. It was this closeness that carried them thru life, whenever the pressures of the day weighed heavy on their hearts they would turn to each other, the solace of their friendship rejuvenated them, returning them to a childhood filled with happiness.
     Three years separated them in birth and many times thru the years they were separated by great distances but their hearts and minds always remained connected regardless the distance. They would talk on the telephone for hours when they were apart, when together they would burn the midnight oil staying up till the crack of dawn regaling each other with stories of their lives and memories of their past, the wild child would play her guitar as they sang songs in harmony between giggles and laughter, together they were ageless. Never were cross or condescending words spoken, never did one put down the other. When they met after a long separation their eyes would light up, their faces would glow, their hearts filled with joy. When they parted it was with sadness, tears and anticipation of the next encounter when a repetition of the last get together would take place.
     Their lives took different paths, the wild child took many years to settle down, to her despair the rebel in her lurked in the shadows and often showed itself. At times she seemed to struggle to keep herself pointed in the right direction but with the help of her older sister she always kept plugging away, never giving in to defeat. The older sister married, raised two handsome boys that were her pride and joy. She devoted herself to her family and friends. She touched the hearts of hundreds of people she never knew.  She thrived on beauty, laughter and happiness, that was the world in which she lived.
     Sadly it was the wild child that had to say goodbye to her older sister who passed away far to soon leaving behind grieving loved ones who missed her dearly. Though many felt the loss deeply the one who may have suffered the most was the wild child who took the passing hard, she could no longer turn to her sister to be lifted above the reality of life. Less than a year later the wild child passed away, quite possibly from a broken heart.
      Sibling love such as this usually exist only in fairy tales, born of magic potions, sprinkled with pixie dust and passed down thru the ages in folklore.
      This love did exist, it was as real as the air we breathe and I was both privileged and honored to have known and loved both of these sisters. The down to earth sister walked by my side for forty seven years, in marrying her I became the big brother to the wild child. Over many years I witnessed firsthand the love they had for each other and saw the heartbreak in their final parting. I feel their loss equally for they were embedded deeply in my life and my heart.
    
     " Between sisters, often, the child's cry never dies down. " Never leave me, " it says " Do not abandon me." "
                Louise Bernikow

                     Never in life did they abandon each other, neither will they do so in death.
                                                               In Loving Memory

               Linda Jean Dingman Riggan                                          Eileen Carol Dingman Foote
              
        March 30, 1949 - September 12, 2014                              January 11, 1952 - July 17, 2015