Eighty Seven Cents a Month (Save our Pool)

Eighty seven cents.  I think I could scrape that together from either the bottom of my purse or the bowels of my work bag.  Most of us probably could find that on the floor of our vehicles, or in a cup on top of the dryer.

Eighty seven cents is about half of a Pepsi or Coke from a machine, one medium black coffee from McDonalds or perhaps a couple songs in the juke box at the Mikado Tavern.  Eighty seven cents is not a lot.  Really, it's not.  Especially if you only need to scrape that together one time a month.  That is roughly less than three cents a day.  But you can do the math.

Right now, what that eighty seven cents a month from each tax payer in our Oscoda School District (over the next five years) can buy is the future of our high school pool and our track.   Our pool is in dire need of repair. The air handling system needs to be replaced, plumbing needs to be upgraded and a boiler (which the school currently owns) needs to be dedicated to heating the pool.  The track is in such poor shape the track team has not been able to host a home meet in five years.

Tonight was the Rock The Pool Party at the high school.  Luke and I went.  Largely to show our support in the effort to save the pool.  I also went because I don't think I have been in that part of the high school since I graduated a few years ago...well, several years ago.   Not only did I take every swim lesson possible to take in that pool but I also swam on the swim team all of my four years of high school.  (I briefly considered being a Blue Marlin, but soon realized that synchronized swimming required a certain amount of gracefulness and coordination I did not possess.) I am proud to say that I swam on the first girls swim team at Oscoda High School.  I think I even held the 50 yard freestyle record for about 10 minutes once.  But the most amazing thing is I can still swim.  Not as far or as fast as I used to, but I can still swim quite well.   Fortunately, I have never had to call upon that skill to save my life, but I know I could if I had to.  And, I can't think of any situation where throwing a softball or serving a volleyball could get me out of a dangerous predicament involving open water. (Although those are also very important skills to have too.)

My point is that there are hundreds of people from Oscoda that have gained life time skills and fond memories from that pool.  And from the track too for that matter.  We took it for granted when I was in school.  And now the pool is going to be drained soon and will not be refilled unless this bond passes.  And our track and field athletes won't ever hear their parents cheering them on at their own track because they will never be able to participate in a meet at their own high school.   There is no reason to have both an empty pool and unusable track.  No reason.

Eighty seven cents a month, folks, for five years.  That's it.  That's all.  May 5th.  Vote yes.  We can do this.  I am going now to check my pockets and look under the seat of my car.  You should do the same.

The Visit

I went to Alpena to see my dad today.  I stopped at the BP Station in Ossineke to purchase my usual offering of chocolate and lottery tickets.  As always, the clerk commented on the number of tickets I was buying....."well, that is going to keep you busy" and I offered back my usual "they are for my dad."  And, as always, I got the little "sure they are" smile as she rung them up.

But, as always, he was very excited when I got there.  And as he does every time he sees me come in the door he said "you didn't get me any tickets did you?"  I reply "yes, of course I did" as I take off my coat.  He tells me if he "hits it big" he will give it all to me.  Then he stands over my shoulder and watches carefully as I dig them out of my purse.  I had them to him along with the chocolate, which this time is two packages of Reese's Cups.  "Boy, I love chocolate" he exclaims as he rips into the package and begins eating them.

He offers me one, as he always does, and I tell him "no thank you."  He looks relieved that I didn't actually take one.  He has set the second one aside "for later" but in his world later means right after you have eaten the first package.

 I gently remind him that lunch is soon, but to no avail.  He continues to eat the next two.  When he is finished he tells me "boy that was good."

Yesterday was his sister Joann's  birthday so I tell him we should call her and let her know we are thinking about her.  He has never liked to talk on the phone so he tells me, "no we better not" and I say yes, we should and that she would love to hear from him.

So he talks with her for about two minutes and hands the phone to me to finish the conversation.  With that task out of the way he notices that it is ten minutes before noon.  One of the aids has come into his room to drop off some laundry and he asks her what time lunch is.  She tells him it is at 12:30 just like it is everyday.  He looks at me and asks me if I mind if he goes and gets ready for lunch.  I think about telling him that lunch isn't for 40 minutes yet but I know that won't make any difference.  So I tell him to go ahead and I will come and sit with him.  He stuffs his lottery tickets in his back pocket and starts out for the dining room.  

I come out a few minutes later and sit next to him at the table.  He is drinking coffee out of the same mug he uses everyday.  He has already added water and put his silver wear in his cup to cool the hot liquid.  He then announces, just like he always does, to everyone who is near, that I am his daughter.  I used to tell him they all know that, but I don't anymore.  There is a new resident at his table who is also there early, and she tells me I look like him.   We smile at each other because I am adopted and we really don't look anything alike.   I am offered a cup of coffee and I accept.  My dad wants to know if I would like to put his silver wear in my cup to cool the coffee off and I tell him I like it hot.  

He asks me why I keep talking his picture.  He doesn't like his picture taken because he is bald.  I laugh because he has been fixated on being bald most of his life.  I tell him that combing all his hair forward doesn't make him look any less bald on top.  He then proceeds to tell  a story that he tells every single time I see him (sometimes more than once) about a little girl who once removed his cap and told him that he was bald.   He told her "it's not whats on your head, but whats in your head that matters."  He is very proud of teaching her such an important life lesson.

Soon they start to bring out the food.  He asks me if I am going to eat.  I tell him that I am not, but he can go ahead.  He then asks me the usual questions, where is Matt?  Where is Luke?  Do I still work at the hospital?  How many days a week do I work?  How many hours?  Does Matt work?  Does Luke work?  I answer them all.  He likes to ask the work questions.  His work was something he was very proud of.  

He then transitions into the story of how he got his job with the school system where he proudly worked for thirty years.

He tells me about the preacher who came to the cement plant where he worked and asked him if he wanted to work for the schools ( I am not sure why a preacher was offering a job at the schools, but he has stuck by this detail faithfully every time he tells the story, so we just go with it).

He says the guy who owned the cement plant was so upset that he took a new job that he threw "bottles and cans through the windows."  I would have liked to have seen that.  Then he tells me if he hadn't worked for the school he would not have gotten a retirement.  I tell him that he has a good retirement and benefits from working so hard all those years.  He shakes his head and says "boy" and then resumes eating his lunch.

They bring out the dessert and give him the biggest piece without him even having to ask.  I finish my coffee as he asked me again about mine, Matt and Luke's work locations and hours.  I tell him again where, when and how long we all work and then tell him I think I will be going.   As always I ask him if he needs anything next time I come.  And as always he tells me just some tickets and candy.  I tell him I won't forget those things.  

Then, as aways as I kiss him good bye he tells me that I am a "sweetie". Some times he tells me I am a "worker worker."  Then he says I am "quite a gal."  I tell him I love him and he says "I sure love you too."  As I am walking aways he says "don't forget to bring me some tickets."  I think about saying "do I ever for get to bring you tickets?"  But instead I say "I won't."  Then he replies, as he always does, "I know you won't because your quite a gal."  

A Part of my Heaven

Not too long ago, my stepdaughter , Matte, asked me a question about Rich.  After I answered her she told me that she had been wanting to ask Luke but was afraid it would make him sad to talk about his dad.  I assured her that she could ask Luke about Rich and that we talked about him frequently.  Although we were still sad that Rich died we also enjoyed telling stories and talking about him.  We still cry now and again, but more and more we find ourselves smiling at the memories.

Rich was very busy in life, and is probably busier in eternal life.  There are many things that are needing his attention and supervision.  He probably chugs his morning coffee just as quickly as he used to so he can get on with his busy day.  He is watching over Luke and his daily activities of course.  There is also a lot of farming and agriculture that needs to be checked on.  And now that Nascar has started, I am sure that demands a lot of his attention.  We take comfort in our imagined scenarios, mostly because we believe that they are true.

After Rich died, Luke would often have dreams about him.  In the dreams he would be talking to Rich about everyday subjects and Luke would feel a great sense of relief.  He would tell Rich that people were saying that he had been killed in a car accident.   Sometimes Rich would just turn and walk away.  Sometimes he would tell Luke that it wasn't a joke and he really had happened.  In one dream they were in the basement and after telling Luke that he had died, he turned and started walking up the basement stairs.  Luke asked him if he could come with him and Rich told him it didn't work that way.  Luke said that some nights it was hard to go to sleep as it was hard to find out again that his dad had died.

They say that time helps to heal and it does.  Luke misses his dad everyday.  But we have gotten to the part where we can remember Rich and enjoy those memories and they are separate from the grief.  This morning Luke told me that he had a dream last night about his dad.  He said they were riding in Rich's Blazer, checking on all the farmers, center pivots and what Lennie Jaworski was up to.  It started to get dark and Rich told Luke he should be heading back to Oscoda soon.  Luke looked at Rich and said that he was living in Oscoda because Rich had died.  And then he asked Rich if he indeed was dead.  Rich told him that yes, he was.  Then Luke asked him "is this Heaven?"  He said Rich looked around at their surroundings and and then looked at him and said "yes, it's a part of my Heaven."  Luke told him that before he left he just wanted to make sure that Rich died quickly in the accident and he didn't suffer.  Rich assured him that he did not suffer.  I believe with all my heart that Rich was once again letting Luke know that he is okay.  And for that I am grateful.

So we continue on toward the one year anniversary of Rich's death.  And I think we will miss him just as much on the tenth Christmas without him as we did on the first one.  And when the tenth, eleventh and twelveth ones get here, we will remember and smile more than we will cry.  And we will wait for and hold on to each message that Rich sends letting Luke know that he is okay and is never too far away.

Happy Birthday, Rich.

It has been almost one year since my last entry on this blog....it started as a case of "writers block" that wouldn't seem to go away.  Then in April, our lives took a huge turn and we are still working to establish some sense of normal.

In the matter of one month we lost three very important people in our lives.  My wonderful uncle, David Tacia, died very unexpectedly from  cardiac arrest.  Two weeks later, my mother, Eleanor Mosley died from complications from a broken hip and a broken heart from losing her much adored little brother.

Two weeks prior to my Uncle David dying, Matt and I were sitting in our living room, drinking coffee.  Matt had just gotten laid off from his job at the hospital and we were planning what we were going to get accomplished while he was jobless.  My phone rang and it was my son Luke, calling to tell me that his dad, Rich, had been killed in a car accident that morning on his way to work.  Could Matt and I please come to Kalamazoo as soon as we could.

Matt quickly threw our large suitcase on the bed, we added our clothes and various miscellaneous items and headed to Kalamazoo within the hour.  After we arrived we learned that Rich was sitting at a red light in Schoolcraft.  He was hit and killed by a man in a car traveling at a high rate of speed.  The days that followed were a blur.  Trying to comprehend how life can change so quickly, plan a funeral and watch my son attempt to deal with the loss of his father, while dealing with the loss of my son's father was difficult, to say the least.

Richard W. Simmons, Jr. and I were married in 1991.  Although our marriage ended in divorce we somehow managed to come out as friends.  We spoke on the phone frequently and even traveled together to Kansas City to see Luke for his birthday when he was living there.

We shared the bond of deep love for our son and we cared about each other too.  We spend 20 years together and knew each other well.

Rich was the brother of Lori, who I worked with when I was a manger for Wendy's Old Fashioned Hamburgers.  Upon getting to know Rich, one thing was apparent.  Rich loved farming and he loved John Deere.

 In fact, he worked for a John Deere dealership called Finnermans.  He drove their semi and delivered their equipment.  There was no better job in this world for Rich, whom I fondly called a "Spectator Farmer."  He didn't want to farm himself, he just wanted to watch everyone else do it.  And delivering equipment to all of the big farmers in the area was a great way to accomplish this.  He always knew who was planting, harvesting and who had a new center pivot, tractor or combine.  At Rich's funeral, his dad, Dick said that Rich always loved things that were "green with yellow wheels."

 A ten minute trip with Rich could turn into an hour and a half if he thought there was something in the farming world he had to see.  He faithfully read the Farmers Advance every week and watched the US Farm Report on television every Saturday morning.  As our relationship grew I knew that Rich really liked me the day he presented me with my very own John Deere tractor key.  I put it on my key ring right away as I knew that was a very special token of affection coming from Rich.  A little over a year after we met Rich and I got married.  It was a rainy fall day in October.  The rain was good as all of his farmer friends we able to attend because they were unable to work in the fields due to the weather.  And of course, under his tux jacket, Rich sported a pair of John Deere suspenders.

October 3, 1993 our son, Luke was born.

 It was only natural that when Luke could talk, he would declare that "farming is my life."  He was a great companion for his father.  They would go out together, riding around and keeping track of all the agricultural goings on in the area.

 They would spend hours at Lennie Jaworski's operation (a "big time" farmer in Vicksburg) discussing crops and inspecting equipment.  The Centerville fair was always the highpoint of the early fall as they had a spectacular display of combines and tractors. (Rich no longer worked for them as he got a job with Consumers Concrete after Luke was born. Although he hated to give up his work at Finnermans,  he wanted to work closer to home.)  Luke joined 4H has soon as he was able and raised pigs just like his dad did.

 Farming was always the tie that bound them to each other and also to Rich's dad, Dick and Luke's Uncle Joe.  The four of them even traveled together to the John Deere headquarters to watch a tractor for Joe's work at the MSU Farm being built.  When Luke graduated from High School,  the "Little H" John Deere tractor that has been in the Simmons family for many years sat out in the front yard during the party.

At the time Rich died, he was once again working for Finnermans, which had grown into a very large John Deere dealership and was called Greenmark Equipment.  I don't think anyone really loved their job more than Rich did.  He drove their semi truck and once again was delivering John Deere tractors and combines to some of the largest farms in Southwest Michigan.

 He took great pride in his work and we often talked about his job and how happy he was to have it back.  Luke moved back to the Kalamazoo area and would often stop in to see his dad or have lunch with him at work.  Rich was truly living the dream by being involved with the farming world that he loved so much.  Greenmark bought Rich's semi with a tractor on the back and parked it in the church parking lot during the funeral.  Rich arrived at Heavens gate in a fresh work uniform as that is what Luke chose to have him buried in.

One night before the funeral,  Luke was telling us how badly he wanted a sign that his dad was okay.  The accident was a terrible one and it was very hard for everyone to think about.  Rich had a very strong faith and we knew that he was in heaven.  But to Luke it was very important that he get a sign from his dad that he was not suffering.  I told Luke that he would have to be patient but I was sure that someday, somehow, Rich would send that sign to Luke.  I asked Rich to make it as soon as he could because it was so hard to see Luke struggle the way that he was.

Rich's visitation was planned for a Sunday afternoon.  On Saturday, we were at Rich's sister, Ann's home.  We were making an attempt at normalcy watching her daughter, Kealey get ready for the prom.  All of Lukes cousins were there also (except for Phillip who was serving in Afghanistan) and they took him out for a ride and to get some ice cream.  Rich's sisters, Phyllis and Diane, Diane's husband Jerome and Rich's brother Joe went for a ride to the site of the accident and to leave some flowers.  They arrived back at Ann's house before Luke and his cousins did.  Luke's Uncle Jerome asked me if he could talk to me in private.  We went into another room and Jerome told me that when they got to the accident site, they had found a few things of Rich's.  Some contents of his wallet were scattered about in the median close to where the accident happened.  They found his partially burned social security card and a few other things that they had put into a bag for me to give to Luke when I thought he was ready.  Then Jerome said that he had walked several feet away and was looking in the grass.  He said "I found this, do you think it belonged to Rich?".  He held out his hand, and in it was a John Deere key.  It was exactly like the one he had given me over twenty years ago.  It was just like the ones he always had in his car.  Of course it was Rich's and Jerome found it in the grass, in the median of 131 just like Rich wanted him too.  I told Jerome the significance of what he had found.  I told him that he had found the sign that Rich had sent to his son to let him know that he was okay.  The key was scratched and beat up but it was whole, just like Rich was in heaven.  I told Jerome that he had to give it to Luke when He got home.  Then I thanked Rich for being so prompt in taking care of that.  Rich was always quick to act on matters of importance and this time he came through just like I knew he would.

I was there when Jerome gave Luke the key.  By the look of pure relief on Lukes face, I knew that it would give him the peace he needed to get through the next few days and the next several years.  We promptly took it to a jewelry store where they sautered a jump ring on the key.  We bought a silver chain and Luke wears it around his neck as a constant reminder that his dad, like the key, is whole, is close by and watching over him everyday.

Rich's funeral and visitation were beautiful.  The Simmons family, Luke and I were shown a lot of love and support by many friends and family members.  Rich was laid to rest on May 5th at Maple Grove Cemetery with the soil from his families farm scattered over him.

The road since Rich's death has been bumpy for Luke, Rich's family, and for me too.  I miss him every day and can't count how many times I go to call him to talk about our son.  We made it through the holidays without him, and today, we are thinking of him and missing him on his birthday.  Happy Birthday, Richie Simmons.  We love you and miss you more than you could know.    I hope you can take a minute out of your busy day in Heaven to have a piece of cake.

It's a Dogs Life

"When there is a dog in your life there is always a reason to laugh."

I love dogs.  All dogs.  Big ones, little ones, even the ugly ones (if there is such a thing).  I am always (trying to) making my dogs pose for pictures and have wasted my entire morning doing just that.  I got a new lens for my camera and since it is too cold to go out and find something to take photographs of, my dogs have become my models.

I thought since I had all of these pictures I just took of the boys I would do a blog post dedicated to them.  Right now we have five dogs in our house.  Which, even for a dog lover like me, is too many.  Especially when they are all in need of attention at one time.  Especially since one wants to go in and out constantly.  And two bark non stop at everything that moves indoors and outdoors, real or imagined.   Only three are truly ours, but I love them all just the same, even if they happen to be driving me crazy on this particular day.

This is Winston, fondly known as Win.

 Winston is about to celebrate his 13th birthday.  He came into our lives when Luke was in first grade.   He is Poodle Terrier mix.  The advantage to this is that he doesn't shed.  He is also tenacious and barks at everything. When he was a puppy someone asked me if he was a Rottweiler.  I don't know why they asked that, but ever since then he thinks he is bigger and tougher than he really is.  Even though he is a senior, he is still fit and very feisty.

 We often have to bring him down a notch by reminding him that his birth father was a Poodle.  He normally resides with his dad (my previous husband, Rich) in Kalamazoo.  Since Rich works pretty much all the time, he is here to hang out with his brothers and get caught up on his vet care.

He is sweet and loving and rides well in the car.  He also hates it when snowballs get caught in his paws and licks the couch all the time.

This is my beloved Trapper.

He is my 7 year old Black Lab.  When Luke was in middle school he wanted a lab in the worst way.  I, of course, said no.  We had a dog (imagine that, just one) and besides, Labs were too big and they shed too much.  We would never get one.  Then we got one.  

My friend, Suzie's Chocolate Lab, Rusty, fathered twelve black and chocolate babies.  We went to "look" and of course came home with this adorable eight pound ball of absolute cuteness.  And, because moms are always the ones to take care of the dogs, despite the multitude of promises from the kids who wanted them, Trapper became my dog.  He has been my best friend and confident through out all of the trials and tribulations of the last three or four years. He was also there to celebrate all the happiness that I found along the way.   And, of course when I moved to Oscoda, there was no question that he was coming.

I love him.

And then, of course, there is Nolan

 Nolan Francis Budrow came to live with Matt and I when we were still in Kalamazoo.  At that time, I shared custody of Winston and Trapper and Matt thought it would be nice if we had a dog of our own.  So we went to the SPCA to take a look.  When we got to the last cage, there he was.  Imprisioned with a hyperactive Jack Russell named Cindy Lou Who.  She was jumping up and down trying to get our attention while he sat there silently imploring us with his eyes to get him out of there.  This was obviously no place for a dog like him.  So, we bought him home.

 Nolan is a Chihuahua/Skipperke mix who was named after Francie Nolan, a character in my favorite book, "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn."   Nolan is the biggest character we have ever met.

He barks too much, for no good reason, is very defiant, loves Elton John and all things sparkly.  He makes us laugh everyday.  

The next dog to come into our lives was Saber.  Sabe's, Big Saber, Saberlicious. 

 Before he knew that he would work for the railroad, Luke rescued Saber.  He was living with a family that loved him, but with many kids he had become rather neglected and they couldn't keep up with an ear infection that wouldn't go away.  So, Luke went to see him.  Luke wasn't sure about taking him and his shoebox full of problems.  As he was trying to think of a way to get out of it, Saber came up to Luke and leaned on his legs, like German Shepherds do.  Then Saber looked up at him with those big brown eyes, and Luke made up his mind.   He has been an adored part of this family ever since.

 After the proper vet care (although those darn ears will never get completely better) and a good diet, Saber is beautiful, inside and out.  He weighs 120 pounds, but is a gentle soul.  He is dignified, majestic and truly never does anything he isn't supposed to.  And whenever we go away, he is in charge.

He is staying with us until the day comes that Luke is able to have Saber with him.  So even though he is here temporarily, he will always have a home here for as long as he needs one and has a permanent part of our hearts.

Before Saber came to stay with us, Matt and I decided that we would love to have a German Shepherd of our very own.  We rescued Diego, a senior, from the Southwest Michigan German Shepherd Rescue in Augusta.  Kristen does an awesome job of finding homes for GSD's that are in shelters and abandoned.   Unfortunately, after we brought Diego home to live with us, we found out that he was very sick.  This wasn't evident when we got him.  Kristen, Matt, and I were devastated when shortly after we got him, we had to euthanize him due to the severity of his illness.  Not long after that my friend Bobbi called, as she heard that another friend, Jamie, had a German Shepherd that needed a home.

We went to meet him and that is how Rudy became part of our family.  His owner apparently had to move and couldn't take him along.  He left him at his dad's home, who tied him outside without food or water.  Probably starving, Rudy killed and ate a chicken.  That prompted a call to the police and Rudy was going to be shot if someone didn't come and get him.  Rudy's hero, Jamie, and her brother went out and got him and saved his life.

He has been with us almost a year.  I believe that Diego sent him to us because he couldn't stay, but knew Rudy needed us.  A very smart dog and quick learner, Rudy has mastered his manners.  The hair that was gone from the chain rubbing around his neck grew back, and he is absolutely beautiful.  Probably because of his past, Rudy is very needy and his nickname is "Needy Ned."

 He always tries to lay in your lap and nudges your hand so you will pet him.  He promptly puts himself to bed in his crate every night at ten o'clock.   Although he loves everybody, he is especially fond of his dad.

So, these are my boys.  As I type they are all laying around me.  And if I get up to get another cup of coffee, they will all get up and follow me out to the kitchen.   If I go into the bathroom, they will all get up and follow me.  If I take a shower, they will lay on the bathroom floor until I am done. They get on the bed when they are not supposed to and leave hair on our pillows.  They shed constantly.  They are always ecstatic when we come through the door, if it is one time or one hundred.  They love us more than anything and they love us if we are having a good day or a bad one.  They are always available for a hug and their warm fuzzy heads have absorbed many a tear.   They keep us company when Matt and I are home alone.  They work hard to keep us safe.  They make us laugh and drive us crazy.  We love them. They are our dogs.

A New Normal

I am sitting here, at my computer, a cup of coffee nearby.  Christmas music is on the radio in the background.  My three loyal companions are laying around my feet.  To them it is just another day.  Matt is on his way to Alpena, taking my restless parents back to where they are most comfortable.  Soon I will have to get ready to go to work.  My first shift in as an Emergency Room nurse on Christmas day.

Last week I called my mother to tell her that Matt and I would be there for lunch on Christmas eve.  I thought we would go, eat with them and then my parents could open their gifts.  Matt and I would come home and have our Christmas, since I had to work the next day.  Before I could lay out the plans to my mother she asked me "are you coming to get us and take us to your house for Christmas?".  Taken aback, as that was not my plan, I paused for a moment.  "That's what you did last year" she said.  Then she added, "we really enjoyed it."  Well, what was I to say to that?  "No, I wasn't planning on having you here?"  So, I said, "of course, we will be there to get you and we can have dinner at our house."  And, then, as I always do, I speak before really thinking.  "You can spend the night and we can take you back Christmas morning."  My mother actually sounded excited (which she doesn't much anymore) replied "we would like that."

So, it was settled.  I informed Matt of the change of plans.  And being the trooper he is, he smiled and said that would be great.  It isn't that we didn't want my parents here, quite the opposite.   We just both know how it is going to go.  He, being far more patient than I, can handle it much better.  Even though I vow to,  I always end up feeling short and then angry at myself for my lack of tolerance.

As dementia patients do, my parents live mostly in the past.  And not in my past, in their childhoods.  And nothing sets off my mothers long term memory better than a ride through the area she grew up in.  As we are driving through Ossineke, Spruce, Lincon and Mikdo, my mother is reminiscing about life with a father who sheared sheep and an older brother who played football, and was, in her mind, the favorite of her parents.  Of course we have heard these stories many, many times and can pretty much recite them along with her word for word.  Not to be outdone, my dad throws in a story about growing up in Pennsylvania.  But as his dementia progresses he gets stuck on the same story and by the time we reach home we have heard the very same tale about his father working in the coal mines five times.  And, they both tell their stories in stereo.  So everyone is talking and no one is really listening.

My dad is very comfortable in his little apartment at Turning Brook.  He has a routine that he knows and it is very hard on him when you take him out of it.   The problem lies in that my Mother loves to go out and very much enjoys leaving for a time.  Compound this by the fact that neither will do anything without the other, and my mother is the boss.  So, my dad has to come to my home when he really doesn't want to.  He won't sit, he paces, worries about the dogs getting hit by cars, and tells us that we leave too many lights on. He gets up and checks to see if his coat and hat are available because he wants to go "back to that place he lives."  My mom tells him over and over to sit down and be quiet.   But he won't.  He just walks around some more, checks on his coat and then tells us the story about his dad in the coal mine again.

So last night I suggested we go to the Christmas Eve Service at the Methodist Church.  It is the church that my parents attended for their entire married life and the one I grew up in.  I knew it was going to be a challenge with my dad.  But, I figured it would be a distraction for a while and I was really looking for something that made me feel like Christmas.  I had spent the last week feeling very melancholy about Luke and trying to be okay with the way things were now going to be.  My son is grown and my parents are like small children.  And the frustration was like a tight ball in my chest as I tried to tell my dad that we wouldn't be leaving for a while yet and he needed to take his coat off and sit down for a bit.

So we finally piled in the car and drove to the church.  My parents hadn't been there since we moved them to Kalamazoo almost three years ago.  I hadn't been there in I don't know how long.  As Luke's dad's family was in Kalamazoo, we didn't come to Oscoda for the holidays while he was growing up. My parent always drove down to see us.

As we walked into the church the first person I saw was Mr. Hunt.  He and his family are as much a memory of that church as the building itself.  He was in his choir robe.  I hadn't been to a church where the choir wore robes in a very long time.  My last church was not traditional and so it was nice to see the choir lined up waiting to walk in during the first song.  We all managed to get in and sit down in the last pew as "All Come all Ye Faithful" was being sung.  I was sitting next to my dad who was belting the song out with all his might.  I found myself with tears in my eyes as I looked around at the people who had been in this church since I was a little girl.  I looked up at the familiar structure, remembering all the times I did the same waiting for that long sermon to finally end when I was a kid.  Hanging from the beams were Christmas banners.  And they were the ones our youth group made  when I was in middle school.

And as we sang, I looked at the Advent tree and candle that were there every single season when I was growing up.

In fact, little had changed.  The pastor was different but the Christmas message was still the same.   I knew all the words to the carols that we had sung year there year after year.  And for that moment all was good.  And for that hour I felt more settled than I had in a long time.

After the service we went home and had dessert.  My dad, not liking to vary from his nine o'clock bed time turned down the sheets shortly after.  Soon the house was quiet.  I thought about all the Christmas Eves I spent growing up.  It was my favorite day.  And, I imagine, one day, it will be again.  Life changes and not always the way we want it to.  My parents dementia will progress and this is possibly the last year that they will be able to make the trip to my house. My mother is becoming more physically frail.  My dads dementia seems to be on the fast track lately.    I tried to think of that but admit that I still became impatient and a little angry when they weren't excited about their gifts.  Matt reminds me that they can't help it.  And, I know they can't. 

But last night at church was nice and my memories of my life growing up there are precious.  Merry Christmas to everyone there who is a huge part of my past.  Merry Christmas Matt, I love you and the new memories we are making.  Merry Christmas Luke, I love you and miss you.   Merry Christmas to all my friends who make my life so full.  

Merry Christmas Mom and Dad.

Thank you for a childhood full of warm and fuzzy Christmas memories.