Mom and Dad are everywhere

Dad gave Jordie his Tundra last November. 

Jordie and I spent most of yesterday together while he was home for the weekend. The time was special to me because we actually talked quite a bit. We even talked about our grief, and some of the things we have experienced in the past year. (Oct. 16 will mark the beginning of what I truly believe was a traumatic experience for us all.) I also felt like my parents were right there with us, because everything we did and said seemed to circle around, right back to them.

We visited Dale and Connie Blaut at the hospital; it's been two weeks since Dale had a series of heart attacks and then surgery. Hopefully, he will be going home soon (just so he can heal enough to have another surgery in a couple of months). Dad and Dale were tight, tight, tight. If men had BFFs, I would call Dale one of Dad's. They coached, they golfed, they ate foods their wives wouldn't approve of, they drank coffee ... everything. Only God knows what the heck they talked about! And Dale was with Dad almost every day until Dad died. I grew used to seeing Dale in my house every day, as if he were just part of the family. It was the same with Leslie Broadhurst.

I realized when sitting with the Blaut's yesterday that Dad's friends had become family to us. They were always there, both physically and emotionally. I did not know how much I missed those coaching buddies of his — and their wives — until we sat with Dale and Connie yesterday. I loved catching up, and I wanted to hear more. I have really, really missed the Blaut's, the Broadhursts, the Weese's and the Lombards. And yesterday, I saw a post from Ronnie Glenn on Facebook and thought, "Awww, there's Ronnie!" (Facebook has been a great tool for keeping up with people, if only just a little bit.)

Dean Weese celebrated his 80th birthday Saturday with a surprise party. I told Jordie yesterday that I should call Dean and sing him the "Very Merry Unbirthday" song to him, in memory of Dad. Dad's tradition was to call us after our birthdays and sing the song. I loved seeing the pictures of Dean with his family, and his great big smile. I had only seen a very sad and troubled face before.  When the Weese's came to visit us during Dad's illness, one of our caregivers, Barbara, whispered to me, "Mr. Dean is taking this so hard."

Jordie and I had to run to the store yesterday, too. I got some cash and handed it to him. He said, "No! I don't need this!" I told him to take it anyway. He said, "Well, OK. Thanks, Granddad." I told him somebody had to take over! (My dad was notorious for stuffing wads of cash in Jordie's pocket every time he came to visit.)

We talked about Dad's truck and how I've enjoyed driving it, and that I no longer see myself with a BMW instead. I just like the truck. :-)

And I spent a big part of yesterday afternoon hanging out in the yard with Blaze, our newly adopted kitty that my mom adored; Blaze is one of three kitties my parents took care of in their backyard, although one would run off for months at a time, so he almost doesn't count. It was like Mom was there with Blazie and me.

Of course, not all the memories that came back were happy ones, although I'm grateful that now I have the good ones that make me smile and not just cry. I was able to recognize that growth yesterday, too.

When we drove into the BSA parking lot, the same way I always drove in every day for two months after Mom's stroke last year, I felt nauseated. Walking through that hospital, into that elevator, seeing all the healthcare professionals coming in and out of Dale's room, and especially noticing the pullout bed where Connie had been sleeping were enough to send me back to ugliness for awhile. How, other than by God's grace, did we get through that? What a terrible, horrible, awful, traumatic time. There is no other way to describe it.

In spite of that, yesterday was amazing, once again thanks to Jordie and Dad's friends. And I suspect another corner has been rounded in being able to notice and relish the happy times.