April 30, 2006

• Michael here in Stephenville.  I just heard a CareFlite helicopter fly over -- and that sound chills the very marrow of my bones.  I grew to hate that sound in Germany, and it brings back horrific images of telling Lorena goodbye at the Stephenville hospital and watching my student being flown off the school parking lot a few years ago.  I was certain my student was flying to his death.  I was extremely fearful that Lorena was.  Everytime I hear that CareFlite come over, I know that someone's life, probably many someones, will never be the same.  Traumatically.  I hate that sound, but I am so thankful that it is there.  Just like so much of life, the dichotomy is crucial...

  
  

  The sound of the CareFlite also reminded me that I did not finish my blog last night.  I was exhausted anyway, and with the additional roller coaster rides of Lorraine's Opry performance and Lorena's phone call, I was almost asleep when I posted the entry in the wee hours this morning.

  
  

  Stephanie did not go to Rainey's performance last night.  She was at a memorial service for a young friend (17) who solved his problems earlier in the week by sticking a shotgun under his chin.  I cannot imagine what his family is going through.  My prayers are with them.

  
  

  Yesterday, Steph came in where I was, sat down, and began telling me how she would want her "funeral" service to be.  We have a broad flow of Irish blood mixed in our American mongrel mix, and I was amazed at how much it sounded like a traditional Irish wake.  I know that Steph doesn't know much about Irish wakes...

  
  

  She does not want a traditional funeral.  She wants a party, complete with music, dancing, strobe lights, and refreshments.  She wants a very informal celebration of her life by her family and friends, and she stressed repeatedly that she wants it to be fun.  She even named off specific songs that she wants to be played -- and why she wants them.

  
  

  I sat here listening contemplatively as a wise father would do, nodding my head, asking perceptive questions, and making insightful comments -- even as it felt as if someone had kicked me in the gut.  I hate thinking about something like this MUCH worse than I hate the sound of that CareFlite.  Most of the time, that CareFlite is an abstraction for me.  Talking about a memorial service for my daughter could not possibly be more personal.  Thinking of my own death is infinitely less traumatic for me than considering the death of one of my children.  I have absolutely no fear or reservations about my own death.  However, absolutely nothing could possibly be more painful than burying one of my daughters, and I would die a million deaths the day that happened.

  
  

  At the same time, I know little Stephi is growing up.  Children should know about death.  That said, they should not have to contemplate their own deaths.  That is just not the way life was meant to be.  Adults, on the other hand, must contemplate our deaths because that has to figure in our life plans and contingencies.  We will all die, and whether it is for purposes of evaluating our lives or for planning for the financial well-being of our families, the disposal of our property, the custodianship of our children, the emotional concern for our families, or whatever, we must consider our deaths.    Stephi is becoming an adult, and I am proud of her.

  
  

  I need to update my will.  For years, I have planned to do that.  This reminds me.  I need to talk about this with the girls, and we need to discuss with each other (and write down) what we want if the unthinkable happens.  Girls, I know you read this, so let's do it.  It won't be pleasant, and it won't be fun, but it should be done.

  
  

  I sincerely pray that I am dead and buried decades before any of my daughters are -- and that Lorena will be holding and comforting them after I am gone.  Mirroring Stephi, I do not want a traditional funeral.  I want a joyous celebration of my life by my family, my friends, and my many, many special ex-students, because, all things considered, my life has been a hoot.  I know that I will be watching and laughing at all the remembrances of the guy who drank soap water and spewed suds all over the kitchen until Lorena gave me vinegar to drink "to cut the suds"; the incomparable cook of clove-flavored onion soup, flaxseed soup, and microwave-boiled eggs; the goofus up on the roof in the thunderstorms under the towering oak -- blowing leaves off the roof; the driver of my original-owner '78 Ford Pinto; the object of so much laughter and ridicule; their own, personal Rodney Daingerfield...  Most importantly, though, I would want them to know how incredibly much I love them all, how deeply thankful I am for them, and how indescribably rich they have made my life...

  • 1:57 pm
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