The W Word ...

                                                                          

 Although the word widow(s) is mentioned 81 times in the Bible and  I’ve read some of the passages Alan Walker (BD, Westminster Theological Seminary) references, i.e. this verse from Psalm  68:5 Fundamentally, God is the kind of God who keeps a careful eye on the widow. He is profoundly concerned for her, together with the stranger and the fatherless. He is righteous and protects them for he is “a father of the fatherless, a defender of widows ... in his holy habitation”.  Widow is a word, an identification I don’t like. My husband of 45 years passed away four months ago. I still feel married to the man I shared so much with; my life, my forever love. Just this morning while at the Doctor’s office, and asked to update a form: Married. Single. Divorced. Widow. I couldn’t bring myself to check the W box. 

I don’t want to be a widow. I want to be married. To my life long soulmate, my lover, my friend, the father of my children; I want the love, the companionship, the security, the joy of being Mrs. Gary G. Dobbs.  

Earlier in the week my sweet friend, Ella, whose husband also passed away from Alzheimer’s texted me about two sites she thought helpful, providing understanding and a depth of insight to those of us who have lost a spouse, or loved one.  The first is  Teepa Snow. Teepa  can be found on Facebook. For many years she has been recognized as a strong advocate for Dementia patients, and their caregivers. In this recent podcast Teepa suggests with the loss of our spouse/loved one, it’s not so much ‘stages’ we go through , but a state of grief we’re in. How do we move it forward , get to the point of acceptance. How shall we remember, celebrate in honor of. How do we move beyond the grieving, realizing it is never over,   but coming to terms that a painful remembrance often leads to a joyful remembrance. 

The second site Ella suggested is Widowhood Is More Than... by Alisha Bozarth  (https://alishabozarth.com) .  Although somewhat long, I share what Alisha writes as I believe it describes, paints a  word picture of  what is it to lose a beloved spouse, and may be helpful to others who are grieving. The loneliness, the agony, the despair. But also, ultimately of courage and even hope.  I’m not there yet. But will always strive and do my best to make my darling husband, ( and  I include my beloved Mother)  proud of me.  I will carry on, but always with a sadness and longing for him (them) not here .

“Widowhood is more than missing your spouse’s presence. It is adjusting to an alternate life. It is growing around a permanent amputation.

Widowhood is going to bed for the thousandth time, and still, the loneliness doesn’t feel normal. The empty bed a constant reminder. The night no longer brings intimacy and comfort, but the loudness of silence and the void of connection.

Widowhood is walking around the same house you have lived in for years and it no longer feeling like home. Because “home” incorporated a person. And they’re not there. Homesickness fills your heart and the knowledge that it will never return haunts you.

Widowhood is seeing all your dreams and plans you shared as a couple crumble around you. The painful process of searching for new dreams that include only you amount to climbing Mount Everest. And every small victory of creating new dreams for yourself includes a new shade of grief that their death propelled you to this path.

Widowhood is second guessing everything you thought you knew about yourself. Your life had molded together with another’s and without them you have to relearn all your likes, hobbies, fears, goals. The renaissance of a new person makes you proud and heartbroken simultaneously.

Widowhood is being a stranger in your own life. The unnerving feeling of watching yourself from outside your body, going through the motions of what was your life, but being detached from all of it. You don’t recognize yourself. Your previous life feels but a vapor long gone, like a mist of a dream you begin to wonder if it happened at all.

Widowhood is the irony of knowing if that one person was here to be your support, you would have the strength to grieve that one person. The thought twists and confuses you. If only they were here to hold you and talk to you, you’d have the tenacity to tackle this unwanted life. To tackle the arduous task of moving on without them.

Widowhood is missing the one person who could truly understand what is in your heart to share. The funny joke, the embarrassing incident, the fear compelling you or the frustration tempting you. To anyone else, you would have to explain, and that is too much effort, so you keep it to yourself. And the loneliness grows inside you.

Widowhood is struggling with identity. Who are you if not their spouse? What do you want to do if not the things you planned together? What brand do you want to buy if not the one you two shared for all those years? What is your purpose if the job of investing into your marriage is taken away? Who is my closest companion when my other half isn’t here?

Widowhood is feeling restless because you lost your home, identity, partner, lover, friend, playmate, travel companion, co-parent, security, and life. And you are drifting with an unknown destination.

Widowhood is living in a constant state of missing the most intimate relationship. No hand to hold. No body next to you. No partner to share your burden.

Widowhood is being alone in a crowd of people. Feeling sad even while you’re happy. Feeling guilty while you live. It is looking back while moving forward. It is being hungry but nothing sounding good. It is every special event turning bittersweet.

Yes. It is much more than simply missing their presence. It is becoming a new person, whether you want to or not. It is fighting every emotion mankind can feel at the very same moment and trying to function in life at the same time.

Widowhood is frailty. Widowhood is strength. Widowhood is darkness. Widowhood is rebirth.

Widowhood…..

is life changing."

Not a rebirth , or  change I was seeking. Pretty happy and content with where I was at.  But I think, and reflect on all those   times widow mentioned in the Bible. And find some  solace in knowing widows have a part in God’s plan, under His care. As with our dearly beloved He called from us, to their Heavenly  home.

*** I love you , Gary Dobbs. Not just in this life, but through all eternity .

Heart of My Heart - Family & Friends

January 31, 2021

The night is quiet. Not late quite yet. Still three hours until midnight. I’m listening to Peter, Paul & Mary on the stereo. Earlier I talked with both my sons on the phone, so good they are about calling; and heard from my Dad and his wife, Susie. And Face Timed with Aunt Cheri. And cousins. I texted back and forth with life long friends. How grateful I am for them in my life. I always was, especially now when Gary no longer here, or my dear Mother. What would I do without them? Their faithful prayers, their presence, their support carrying me  through during these, my sad, lonely days. For the first time in my life such a huge void and emptiness without my husband and mother near. Their sweet love and shining light to encourage, and brighten my way. I miss them so. But I know God threads the needle and weaves the fabric, a fabric strong that will stand the test of time;  family and friends woven together for all eternity. Someday, one day joyfully together again 

I give thanks for my family and friends, heart of my heart; an essential part of who I am 

My Knight in Shining Armor

He was always my Knight in shining armor

 Steadfast. Noble. Loyal. True.

Diligent. Brave. A man of faith.

In times long past I have no doubt 

(and don’t exaggerate)

he would have had 

a place at the Round Table

in King Arthur’s court

He was tall and strong. He

carried himself well.  Handsome.

When he smiled I couldn’t 

help but smile, too. Even if 

I in a sorry mood. I couldn’t 

resist his dimpled cheek.  And his eyes

so blue. Oh! How I miss looking 

into those eyes, bluer than the bluest sky

and seeing them lovingly look back at me

There was so much I liked about my 

husband. My lover. My confident.

My trusted friend. He wasn’t one to 

gossip or speak ill of another. But always 

saw good in others, even those who 

may have slighted him in some way.

His sense of fun, and the way we 

played together. Marathon Cribbage 

games, Ping Pong matches, cutting 

trails in the woods.  And how hard 

he worked, his perseverance in starting,

and running what would become a 

successful business.

He adored his Mother, and

my Mother. And our sons. 

Never leaving a conversation with

either Garrett or Gavin before telling them 

how much he loved them, and how 

proud he was of them.

Never slow was he to help 

me vacuum or scrub the toilets when 

company coming. Or to change Gavin’s 

diapers when he was a baby.  Gary made me 

feel I was the best at everything I did, whether 

playing the piano, raising our children,

laying backyard pavers, 

giving him a shave or writing this blog. 

He encouraged me always. 

Today would be his 80th birthday. 

I reflect, and am blessed in the 

good marriage we had, sharing over 

half our lives together.  If Gary my 

Knight in shining armor, he made 

me feel like his Queen. And together, 

we lived happily in our kingdom fair

My darling Gary, remembering you 

and loving you, always 

December 14, 2020

Notes to Gary (one month gone today)

                                                        

Words of Remembrance: Gary Dobbs

                                                                                   

                                                      

                 Our Pastor says about eulogies that folks either  demonize or canonize the departed one. I’m not here to do either - demonize or canonize my darling husband, Gary Gene Dobbs - well, canonize maybe just a little. 

A favorite story of mine is when Gary was a young boy living in Kansas. It was Halloween and Gary and his two younger brothers were out trick or treating. The night was cold and snowy. Vic had lost one of his shoes and started crying saying he couldn’t go any further because his foot was frozen,  and his legs hurt.  Gary, like the good big brother he was told Vic it was going to be okay, and had him climb onto his back, carrying his  little brother nearly a mile to their home. I think this story early in my husbands youth sums up his creed throughout his life. To be caring, reassuring , loving, supportive; a problem solver taking action. 

In  Gary’s older age I think about another time two and a half years ago when I needed an MRI. I had never had one, and being claustrophobic and anxious I was frightened.  Gary had already started experiencing signs of his illness, but he went with me to help calm, and reassure me that all would be well, that he would be right there with me. And he was. After I got onto the machine, Gary  stood there through the  entire duration rubbing my feet helping to sooth my anxiety, even though his legs weakened and unsteady.  That was my Gary; Caring. Reassuring. Loving. Supportive. 

A very good man was he; Faithful and true in how he lived his life. A man of honesty and integrity. He set goals, and persevered in reaching those goals. In his early years he worked hard to help manage his family’s auto part stores, and for over 30 years he was president and owner of Nutritional Data, Inc., the company he founded in 1979.  Doctors and health care practitioners he worked with still speak of his good character and the valuable  knowledge he provided them. 

Gary was protective of me and our sons, and encouraged us in our endeavors. He was steady, and strong. Constant, like the stars in the sky. Always there. We knew we could depend on him, that he loved us. Gary delighted in being a Dad and was so proud of our sons, Garrett and Gavin. Garrett played football throughout junior and senior high school. With only one exception , Gary never missed a game, scheduling his appointments around Garrett’s game time.  He never missed one of Gavin’s piano recitals or school performances , was always at his wrestling matches in junior high. He laughed with our sons and made memories with them; dirt bike riding, skiing, snow machines, homework, Scouting and Science projects;  Magic Mountain , Broadway musicals and  Disney World. The Statue of Liberty and Tower of Terror.

Gary was a good cribbage player. We played a lot, and would keep a running score. After Gary would win 7 or 8 games I’d say, That’s it! I quit! You cheat! But cheat Gary never did. I think that’s one reason he enjoyed playing golf. Gary said it was a game of honor, and was proud of his single digit handicap. And about our Cribbage games , me not playing never lasted long. Maybe 10 minutes before we were counting those pegs again. 

Throughout  our many years together Gary would ask me at some point during the day, Have I  told you lately I love you ?, or  Well, would you marry me all over again ?  My answer was always the same, you bet I would!   (We did marry twice - the second time at our 25th Wedding Anniversary Mass when we renewed our vows in front of family and friends. And when Gary and I going out- someplace one without the other , maybe to the market or some errand, we’d say to each other , always kiss before you say goodbye, and we’d kiss before heading out the door.  Oh! How my heart aches for one of those kisses now.  And pressed against my heart is that one last kiss with my beloved husband , so tender and sweet before saying our sad, and teary eyed final goodbye.

I love you my dear, darling Gary, now and through all eternity. So proud and happy  I’ve always been being Mrs. Gary G. Dobbs 

                        December 14, 1940 - October 10, 2020

    

                                                                                                                                 

My Darling, Gary

 The room is dark and quiet, except for the sound of Gary’s shallow breathing, the tic tock  of the clock, and songs of faith, and love I compiled on Spotify at 4 a.m. this morning; songs we both like. Songs I hope will calm Gary’s spirit.

 Gary lays in the hospice bed we have set up in the TV room. I sit in a chair next to him. I don’t want to leave his side. I look at his hands, his arms, his face; His handsome face, his beautiful hands. I’m grateful he is sleeping  comfortably right now.  

                                                     

I don’t want to be apart from him. This man I’ve shared 44 years of my life with. During the past few days there have been times I thought,  I can’t bare this. I lost my Mother two years ago this month, and now my husband declining. 

I suppose there were challenges, difficult times in our marriage,  but if so, the good most surely outweigh any bad.  Gary and I worked together, played together, loved together, and yes!, sometimes fought together. Mostly, we liked each other , and enjoyed one another’s company.  When Gary retired we didn’t have to make any adjustments to Gary being home full time because for all our years together Gary worked from our home. We were together 24/7. Some of my friends marveled at how we could make that work.  Thankfully, and most wonderfully,  it did! 

Some who have read my blog know my husband has suffered with Dementia for the past few years, that the journey not always an easy one. I am grateful Gary still knows me, and our sons, Garrett and Gavin.  Yesterday was particularly bittersweet. Gary cried and cried and reached his arms up to hug me. He told me he was dying, and how much he loved me, that he was afraid he hadn’t told me enough.  I assured him he did, telling him how very much I loved him. Tears rolling down his cheeks, I lowered my head into his shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably. 

Amy, our Hospice nurse was here earlier, as she was yesterday, along with dear friend, Jeanne, our youngest son, Gavin and his girlfriend Staci. The Hospice Pastor also stopped by to give comfort, telling Gary, in God’s time, and when you are ready. Earlier in the week our Parish priest, Father Jeff was here to anoint Gary and give him Eucharist.  Our oldest son, Garrett, and grandchildren Zachary & Rachel from California visited. And I’ve had many notes, calls  and texts from dear family and friends saying they are praying for my dear husband, and our family.  

Nurse Amy says now a matter of watching, and waiting. My heart weeps. I am sad beyond words to describe. Sad for my husband that he suffers, sad for me that the love of my life, my partner , the father of our children will be departing this earth. I think of lyrics to the song, What’ll I do when you are far away, and I am blue, what’ll I’ll do?

Yet, as much as I want Gary physically here with me, to be ever close to me- to hear the sound of his voice, the warmth of his embrace, to rest in his strength, I’m beginning to accept it’s time for me to let him go - to release my love to God our Father, in the love of our Savior, Jesus Christ, with the Holy Spirit; under the mantle of our Blessed Mother, Mary. To give thanks for my darling Gary, the gift he was to so many. The fabulous, faithful, loving  husband; the father and friend he’s been; generous and good.  And to pray for his peaceful passage through the Heavenly gate . 

 Oh, my darling, Gary.  I love you always and forever. 

Your Kathleen.

 

SEPTEMBER 4

 In celebrating birthdays, we celebrate the gift of life, and the day a person was born. In remembering the birthday of a loved one passed away, we still celebrate that persons life, in who they were, and what they meant to us. 

Today, September 4, I celebrate my brother Walt on what would be his 66th birthday.  I reminisce about other of his birthdays , and think back to 1975 when we celebrated what is called  one of those milestone birthdays, my brothers 21st birthday. What  a happy, special time it was! Mom hosted a party for him at our home on Manzanares in La Mirada. The Manzanares house was a fun house, suited to parties and gatherings. We had a ping pong table set up in the garage where many a marathon ping pong game was played, a swimming pool in the backyard and an open kitchen leading into the family room. For Walt’s birthday party Mom prepared a Buffett dinner with lots of finger foods and a large birthday cake as the centerpiece. Many of our good friends were there - including Pasty and Lawrence Mattix, who knew Walt from the time he was a baby,( and bought him his first pair of cowboy boots when he was 5 yrs. old),  Jimmy Taylor, my brother’s best friend since Junior High; Jim Moore , Jim and Linda Funk, and Walt’s longtime girlfriend, Patty Wilson. Patty, not only Walt’s girlfriend, but one of my dearest friends; like a cherished younger sister.

One of Walt and Patty’s favorite television shows was Baretta, staring a Cockatoo. Walt was enthralled with that Cockatoo and told Mom that’s what he wanted for his birthday.  Although it wasn’t  a white Cockatoo, Mother did give Walt a parrot. And he loved it!  He  named him Harris. Walt said if he ever got another parrot he’d name him Frank, then he’d have Harris and Frank named after the fashionable men’s clothing store in Southern California. Walt never did get another parrot, but he always felt a special kinship to Harris, teaching him to say a word or two, and glad for Mom’s special gift to him. Harris lived a long life, and resided with our Mother several years after Walt moved from home in 1981. How Mom ended up with Walt’s parrot was a topic of conversation that always brought smiles and laughter.

                                               

While Harris no longer here, Patty’s gift to Walt on his 21st birthday is. A  ski poster laminated onto wood. Very popular at the time. Walt kept it all through the years, and now it still has safe keeping in a closet downstairs.  Harris and the ski poster are sweet reminders of my brother, his 21st birthday and the fairly idyllic life we shared. Our home a safe haven for us, filled with love and joy.

Happy Birthday, Brother!

September 4, 2020

 

A Day in Dementia (Gary)

                                                            

It’s 1p.m.  My  husband has been up since 6:30 a.m. I helped him out of bed, guided him to the toilet, then to his red recliner chair . Gave him his meds. I assumed he’d fall into his usual early morning ritual and go back to sleep for an hour or two.  Instead he started talking, talking, talking . Some might say rambling, and  hasn’t stopped talking. I don’t exaggerate. He’s talking now as I write this blog.  Sometimes he includes me in the conversation, but mostly he’s talking to people I can’t see; imaginary to me, but real to Gary. Talking about a variety of things. Things to the average person that wouldn’t make much sense. And while he’s talking his hands are constantly moving, like he’s pulling thread though a needle, stitching a garment.  Then he cups his hand as though holding a gem . He calls me over, wanting to place it - whatever it is, in my hand. I take it. Gary tells me to be careful not to lose it. I assure him I won’t.  

After a few minutes I step out of the TV room to get coffee in the kitchen when Gary yells out in a loud voice,  “Mom,  (I‘m never sure if he means his Mom, my Mom or me) I’m hungry for eggs and bacon”.  I tell him, “Great! I’ll fix breakfast”.  No, he says , I already did , I’m keeping it warm right here, under this”, and he points to the blanket on his lap.  

It’s a new, sad development in Gary’s Dementia. One that is happening more frequently , usually during the night, but now more often, during the day, too.  Amy, his Hospice nurse says Gary is hallucinating, that it’s not uncommon with Alzheimer’s patients. I decide I hate that word,  and all it implies. 

4:10 p.m. - The shower aid has been here and gone. It required both Christina and I to navigate Gary into the bathroom , to help situate him onto the shower chair. He cannot stand on his own, and where just a couple months ago Gary could execute directives about lifting his leg over the tub, or moving this way or that,  now he can’t.  After the difficulty in maneuvering Gary in the bathroom today, and the risk to his safety,  the shower aid strongly recommends bed baths for Gary, and emails her concerns to the nurse.  I take a deep breath, and sigh. Another sign of my husband’s decline. He’s not eating much either,  or drinking much, and hardly ever asks for an ice cream bar, a Reese’s Peanut Butter cup or Pepsi. When he does eat, I put a bib on him and help feed him or the food will get all over his shirt, the chair and floor.  We go through this as if it’s normal. It’s not, but it is the journey my husband and I travel together right now. A journey we hadn’t planned on, or wanted to go. The road has  been bumpy, bruising yet we are making our way; trying to adapt, accept and persevere. But to be sure, I’m not always a happy camper. It’s not easy. At times I’ve been angry, impatient, frightened having to deal with the all consuming, aggressive, irrational, ever changing moods and needs of Gary’s Alzheimer’s. The sorrow of watching my dear one - his mind and body slipping away. And nothing I can do to make it better. Except love him, and reassure him I am here.    I expect other care givers whose spouse or  parents suffering with Dementia feel the same way.  Helpless; Hopeless at times, yet praying often to serve the one we care for  with a happy heart, and for them to have peaceful days.  To be grateful for the tender, lucid moments shared -  a few days ago Gary, waking from his nap looked up  at me, and sweetly said he’d like a hug. I bent down and wrapped my arms around him, and he hugged me back. One of the nicest hugs ever! 

I don’t understand why my husband, or anyone has to suffer with Dementia - the purpose or reason. It’s a hideous disease. Robbing one of cherished memories of people and places,  movement and bodily control, participation in the simple, daily activities of life.  But I do trust our Heavenly Father with Jesus, His son , and the Holy Spirit is always near. I believe Jesus’ words to us, I am with you always. Cast your cares on me, because I care for you. And with the Psalmist I pray,  You are my rock and my salvation, an ever present help in time of trouble . 

I’m thankful, and blessed in family and friends - for their encouragement, prayers and visits; for their kindness and love for Gary, and me.  I encourage all primary care givers to seek out a support group, or open yourself to a trusted family member or friend. Not to close yourself up, and think you can do this on your own. To find quiet time for yourself - to renew, refresh ; to breath deeply, and relax. Because if we don’t take care of ourselves, we won’t be able to take care of our loved one in need of us.

 

My Dad’s Fishy Tale

My Dad has always been a good writer.   In high school one of his teachers was so impressed with an essay he wrote titled The Red Menace , about the dangers of Communism  she encouraged him to take journalism , which he did, and even became editor of his Thomas Jefferson high school newspaper. Upon graduation, the Omaha World Herald offered him a job. While Dad declined the offer, he never stopped writing . Creative stories, poems, letters.

Today, Father’s Day to honor my Dad, I’m sharing one of his stories, A Fishy Tale of a Special Day 

about an afternoon he and I spent at Seattle’s Pike Place Market. Dad and I have taken other trips together - the first when I was just 8 years old when we drove to Salt Lake City in our new ‘57 Chevy to attend my uncle’s wedding.  Little did I know then  the red ‘57 Chevy would one day be a classic! And that road trip a sweet memory of a little girl with her Dad.  Our journey to Marin County to see about my college entrance, and  in my early twenties, our visit to Hawaii - a first for both of us.  

Our time  in Seattle July, 2010  took on a special meaning as my brother, Walt passed away a couple months earlier - in May,  and it gave Dad and I special time together , to help in our healing process, and making new memories. Including this fun memory  Dad wrote about (written as Dad said, with a little literary liberty)

                                                       

                                                           

                                                                 

                                                                       

Dad and me with street musician at Pike Place Market

         Note: I’m pretty sure Dad signaled the fishmonger to throw that fish at me , but I did catch it , and was mighty surprised !  Thanks, Dad for all our great times together - always exciting and fun! 

                                                Happy Father’s Day! I love you, always                        

                                                    

                                       

My Brother Walt, Tony & Slot Cars

Walt. You’ve been so much on my mind, always on my heart. Today, May 30  marks 10 years since you departed this earth. My first thought was to write about the overwhelming sadness of your sudden, unexpected passing;  the shock, the despair, the anguish I felt when Mother told me you had a massive heart attack,  and didn’t survive .  And how like Mama to comfort me, when her heart was shattered  in a million pieces . Of  the deep sorrow, and anguish both   our parents felt.  And so, too , your many friends and family.  But then images , and memories of you at 10 years old began to swirl around in my head.  And I smiled thinking of that time .  So dapper and darling were you , even then.
                                                               
                                                                   

Dad was getting ready to relocate to St. Louis , and Mom, you and I lived on Heliotrope Ave. , next door to the fabulous , faithful , large , joyous MacInnis family ; fellow parishioners at
St. Rose of Lima, such a delight they were ! You and Brian particularly  had  fun  playing together .  And across the rail tracks, Don Wagner’s  5 for a Dollar Hamburger stand- the best Burgers in town  (Susan Wagner and I were friends since early grade school , and remain the dearest of friends to this day).
Two years prior , when we first moved to Heliotrope from our more sheltered SouthHall Lane  Cul  de sac  duplex  in Bell , and the train come roaring through our first night there , you jumped out of bed and ran into Mother’s bedroom crying out , “Mama, is it the Russians ? Are they coming?”  A cute, funny story now, but then, when Drop and Cover drills at school were the norm , pretty scary for a little boy.  Thankfully, Mama was there to reassure, and gather you in her arms.

                                                                       

                                                                           

I think about my brother , Walt and his best friend, Tony Moore. Tony was two years older than
 Walt , and like an older brother to him.  They enjoyed each other’s company;  riding bikes , talking boy talk, laughing, playing at Bell Park, going to movies at the Alcazar , wrestling in our front yard. When Tony got a new surf board for Christmas that year,  they shared their first surfing adventure. But mostly, they spent hours together working on, and racing their slot cars.  Every Saturday, come rain or shine,  Mother would drive Walt and Tony to South Gate, another bedroom community not to far from where we lived, to the slot car track  on Atlantic Blvd. There two young boys shared many happy hours racing , tuning up and adjusting the mechanics of their cars to make them go faster.  I think Walt’s future car hobby, and admiration of  muscle cars stemmed from his early love of Slot car racing.  Walt kept those cherished Slot cars all through the years , with Mom .  At different times  Mom would ask him if he wanted to take them. Walt would always reply, ‘No, Mom,  I don’t want anything to happen to them,  they’re safest with you’.  And now, my brother’s slot cars,  once so special to him are still here in our Mother’s/my house.  Special to me.    
                                                                 
                                                                     

Five years later, when Walt was 15, it would be the first , but not last time my brother would be Pallbearer for someone he loved very much . Tony was only 17 when he died of a Brain tumor.
I don’t have a hard time imagining Walt and Tony together again , laughing and talking and being happy in each other’s company.  Maybe even racing their slot cars.

Walter Rod Cooney Rip +
Anthony Edward Moore Rip +

A Mother’s Love

It’s a blessed soul

who knows so dear 

a Mother’s  friendship

and unconditional love,

the bounty of her goodness;

her kindness of heart ,

the generosity of  spirit 

she bestows on her child 

To know her joy, hear 

her laughter, to feel her embrace 

when the world seems tough 

To witness her faith in God , 

And her faith in you, to choose wisely

and believe. Even when the road is hard. 

A Mother’s love encourages, uplifts, gives 

wise counsel and is constant. Not demanding,

never belittling. Solid and secure.

 Fortunate are we in the words of St. Augustine 

a Mother’s love doesn’t end at the grave 

*** For my beloved Mother, Lenora Cooney for giving herself  unto me;  Thank you , Mama for making me one of the blessed ones, and for my sons, Gavin and Garrett for the profound joy of making me a Mom 


                                           

                                                                       

my Mother (Lenora Cooney) April 24

Loyal and true
Steadfast and kind
Generous of self
( she was always 

giving of her time and talent to 
someone in need 
a listening ear, an encouraging word,
a caring deed)

my Mother
So easy to laugh 
and have a good time
Ever hopeful and full of joy 
my Mother
Hard working, persevering
steady at the helm, calm in a storm
She weathered great sorrow 
Trusting  the Lord
was always near, 
and imparted that to 
me and my brother 
We knew her faithful,

unconditional  love for us 
( in sacrifices made, she didn’t complain)
She gave us joy of life,
and her sweet self 
my Mother 

Happy (Heavenly) Birthday, Mama
I love you so very much, always and forever 

Your daughter, Kathy

* photo of Mother & grandson, Gavin 1984

Easter Past , Easter Present

     Yesterday I received an email from a dear friend living in Spokane saying she remembers the days when Easter meant fancy clothes, new shoes,  the perpetual white gloves.  She then recalled one Easter buying  her four girls  and two boys matching sailor outfits (dresses for the girls, suits for the boys); a precious memory my friend said she will forever carry , and said she was sure I had similar memories in my own mental scrapbook . 
     And indeed I do . The excitement, and anticipation of Easter morning ! Getting ready for church , and wearing  the new spring pastel colored dress, and matching  hat  my Mother and I had shopped for , and seeing my brother sharply attired in his new Easter suit -  and  like my friend, I wore white gloves! 
I can’t help but smile when looking at our photos from that time , as though we were ready to step onto the rotogravure. And the same for my sons , and how special it was each year to browse the department store to find the perfect outfit for them to wear Easter Sunday , and how adorable my sons looked .  Sweet memories! 
    This Easter, like so  many who have written and reflected upon it, is very different for most of us .  There was no shopping for Easter clothes as the stores are all closed . Most importantly, we’re separated from family and friends , and from our churches; our place of worship - where we gather together to join our voices on Easter morning to sing Alleluia! Alleluia! The Lord is risen! Alleluia! 
      One thing discovered, or perhaps, rediscovered is God’s way, His purpose will prevail.  Easter is eternal. Jesus suffered, died and is risen.  Nothing can change that.  Not war, or poverty, pandemic or passing of time.  When Jesus says He is with us always , He means always! Not only in the pews of our church , but wherever we are - with a congregation or home alone; whatever we’re going through. This Easter so many of us are are separated one from the other, but it seems God gave us another way, a different way to worship! By via streaming our Holy Thursday, Good Friday , Easter morning church services, and connecting via the internet. Incredibly, millions upon millions of folks throughout the world are streaming worship services . And the awesome outcome? The internet used not for evil, but for good . Not for division , but to unify.  Separated by distance, yet together at the same time - for one purpose; to pray together, to praise together , to petition in common for the needs of all. 
    With the physical separation we must endure right now ,  let us continue to be spiritually connected, remembering we are called to:
     Renewal
      Restoration
       Rebirth
        Hope

Christus resurrexit 




       
    
     

Living the 6ft Rule

                                                 

   7 a.m Sunday morning .  Standing at the front room window I look out at what seems perfectly natural and normal; a ray of sun shining though a clouded sky, two doves sitting on the telephone wire - I always think they’re looking back at me , waiting for their morning hello, and two squirrel’s chasing each other across the street.

     But nothing is normal. The world is in crisis, at war with an unseen enemy , except in in the death and illness of thousands of people . 

     Here in Washington state , we along with  citizens of other states and countries have been mandated to Shelter at Home. 

Retail, restaurants, pubs, schools, the library, and churches are closed. Employees working from home, others have lost their job .

We read about hospitals being overwhelmed, even doctors and nurses succumbing to the enemy, the cruel and unrelenting Coronavirus,  Covid 19 .

     One friend described being at the market like watching a Science Fiction movie. Customers wearing protective gloves and distancing themselves from one another , and shelves empty of all cleaning supplies , bread, soups, pasta , toilet paper, and other grocery items.  My Dad’s wife, Susie likened the shutdown of their community in The Villages - all the empty streets , closed stores, Bistro’s  , clubhouses, Dentist’s and Barbers to a Stephen King novel - strange and eerie. 
     I think for me, seeing the picture of Pope Francis standing alone in the evening rain , at the Vatican to give his Urbi et Obi (to the city and the world) message was most surreal. St.Peter’s Square when on any given day prior to the Covid war would be filled with thousands of the faithful, and happy tourists awaiting the Holy Father’s blessing. 
      Churches, Synagogues and Mosques have always been a place for believers , and even  non-believers to gather in time of national crisis to seek comfort, to pray together, to petition God’s intervention.   Now our churches are closed. We feel isolated and alone. Separated from the freedom of our  daily coming and going.  Not able to give or receive a hug, or reach out to take someone’s hand. It brings uncertainty and fear.  We are a communal people and need physical contact.  Country singer Dolly Parton says our travail right now is a lesson from God to keep the faith and don’t be too afraid.   And while our brick and mortar churches may be closed, a curious happening is taking place; hundreds, maybe thousands of churches are live streaming, and millions of people tuning in, hungry for God’s word and message of hope. Just this morning,  Pastor Joel Osteen in an empty Lakeland Church in Houston, Texas live streamed to over a million people words of encouragement. 
    Pope Francis said we may feel afraid and lost , but we are all in the same boat, in this together . He admonished us to choose faith over fear and call out to the Lord as the disciples did in Mark 4:35-41 when on the stormy sea, asking for Him to calm the storm. 
    Having faith doesn’t mean to disavow the rules and guidelines, the orders given us by the medical experts , and authority to stay at home, to wash our hands , distancing , and the 6ft rule. I believe  just the opposite. By following the guidelines we are doing our part in answering God’s healing prayer , for ourselves and others.  
And whenever we sign off with a Be Safe, Wash your hands, I like to think what we’re saying is you matter to me, I care about you.
     Last night I studied Psalm 27 and read and re-read verses 13-14. I hope they bring meaning and good cheer to all who read as they do me.
     I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thy heart: wait, I say on the Lord
              

Be safe , and remember the 6ft Rule 

     
     

   
     
   

      

     

     

A Picture of Dementia

                                                         

This day ....

    At 7a.m. I help my husband out of bed, into the bathroom , then to his recliner chair across the hall in the  den ; I cover him with his favorite blanket  (as he’s always cold ) . He asks  for a Pepsi , he takes one sip , and within 10 minutes is sound asleep. 

At 10:30 a.m. Sam, the shower aid  arrives , at 11:00 a.m. the Hospice nurse,
and  later the Chaplain stops by just to check in to see how Gary is getting along, and
how I am doing. He prays  over Gary. At 12:30 p.m. I give Gary his lunch .  

   Being such a lovely, sunny day I think Gary will enjoy getting out of the house .  I help him get his jacket on , out the front door , down the ramp , into the car .  We drive past Rick’s Family Market on Highland  to  downtown 6th St. , over to Bridge, back up 13th .   And Gary did enjoy.  Streets, 

and places we’ve driven by hundreds of times . But within a short time , Gary said he was confused , and didn’t know where he was , asking if I knew where we were , and where we were going .  I assure him I did . But as all those caring for Dementia patients know , emotions, memory process, mood can change for the one being cared for with a snap of the finger .  

Gary asks me what is my last name . Dobbs, I said.  He looked blank. Then asks me my first name . Kathy .  Another blank look .   

    I would be lying , and venture to say the same of any caregiver  not to admit , even though fully aware of this horrible, progressive disease  that it’s still a shock , and sad , numbing and surreal that the one we have loved for so many years , and loved us in return no longer knows who we are , even our name . 

    Back at home , Gary asks if know anything about him. Yes , I say,   and  related where he was born,  the Kansas city of his childhood and the grammar school he attended there , the Junior and Senior High School he went to after he and his family moved to Compton, California ; his time in the 

Army, and afterwards college. His years working with his family’s auto parts business, and Nutritional Data, inc, the company he founded in 1979 , and successfully operated until his retirement when he sold the business in 2008. Our marriage , and two sons.  Gary  said well, that makes me feel good , if that’s true ,  that someone knows me.  He focused again on the house , saying he was just amazed I knew about this house . He asked who my grandmother was . And about my Mother . Then about the Dobbs’ , trying to remember about his Dad , and uncles .  So sad to see how he struggles with trying to fit the pieces of his life together.  I put my arm around him , and pray silently for the Lord to help my husband , to ease his path. 

    Gary wouldn’t eat all his dinner tonight because he insisted there were mites in his meal , he saw them moving . As he was becoming agitated ,  I take his plate away. 

 Soon after , it was time for his evening meds , then I help my dear one undress , and get him into bed and kiss him goodnight . 

    Sitting here now, in the quiet of the night I  must remind myself , there are  times - a few sweet moments of clarity and recognition , at least for now , I’m so grateful for  when Gary seems content , and I don’t feel so all alone 

And I can smile ,  remembering when ..... 

The Fabric of Life , & End of Life

October 25. Today is my birthday.  and a year ago today my Mother’s last day on this earth. Throughout my adult years every October 25 I would send Mom flowers with a note that read ,

                                                                          

     Congratulations, Mother ! 34 (44,54, 64) years ago today you gave birth to a brown haired, brown eyed baby girl . Thank you , Mom. I love you . 

     I think of my darling Mother that last day, laying  on the hospice bed , opening her eyes; her body tired and worn out, lovingly looking into my eyes as I swab her mouth and take her hand. She draws me near and whispers  Happy Birthday, Kathy. I kiss her cheek . 

     This day, my 69th birthday, memories of my Mother flood my heart; I picture her happy smile and think  of her goodness, her joy of life and genuine kindness, and care for others . I think of her deep, abiding faith in Jesus. How she  would say, He will never let you down, no matter what.

     I know how blessed I am to have had Mom for 68 yrs.  My Mother , my first friend ; always my best friend.  

     I reflect on the intersection of my birth date,  and Mama departing this life - two hours past midnight , 2 a.m. October 26.  Although , our trials and heartaches not always easy to understand , or accept; the anguish sometimes so sad , and overwhelming,  I believe there are no coincidences, only Godincidences , that He threads the needle and weaves the fabric of our life. For His better plan and purpose.   With the date of my birth , and the date of my Mother’s passing from this life to be born anew in the Heavenly kingdom so closely linked ,  I am ever thankful for the eternal, loving, special bond my Mother and I share 

     So, as I remember my Mother today .. I say, 

Congratulations, Mom! ! 69 years ago today you gave birth to the brown eyed, brown haired girl 

you prayed for.  Thank you , Mom ! I am so very grateful!  I love you forever and always, Kathy.

                                                                   

Confused Memory, but forever love

i sleep next to the same man i have slept next
to for over 40 years , although he doesn’t
always know who i am . We sit together in the
TV room and he’ll ask where his wife is, i say
i’m right here, dear. No, no, says he, and points
to our Wedding picture hanging on the wall ; that’s
my wife . Yes, i say. That’s me . Just a long time
ago.  He wonders aloud whose house this is,
where’s the bedroom , and asks the time.
7 o’clock  i tell him. In the morning ? No, at night.
i mention our two sons, Garrett and Gavin
and he smiles . A minute or two passes, then a clear
moment of recognition, and he says, such good
men are they. The best part of me . I am so
proud of them , and love them so much.
Another minute or two pass, and again he
asks, whose house is this ?
And my heart in its longing , weeps for the
memory of how my husband used to be ,
but grateful for the moments we still share

a Party in Heaven

     I wonder what he’d be like at 65. Perhaps ready to retire after years of working hard. Collecting Social Security. Riding his Harley. Fishing. Likely more white than grey headed, and still holding things of the heart close to heart. But forever young at heart, with the same kind spirit and happy, playful  smile he always had, like he knew the joke better than anyone.
     Today, another remembrance and celebration of my brother, Walt Cooney born September 4, 1954.
     This year different than last, as this year I picture our  beloved Mother celebrating with him - both overjoyed at being together again . With grandparents , aunts and uncles and long time friends.
In Heaven there’s a party going on .

                                                                         

                                                                       

                                                 

(Happy Birthday, Brother ! Give Mom a kiss from me, I miss you both more than words can say)
     

a summer rain

i sit in a favorite wicker chair
under a natural canopy
and can see in the distance
a brilliant orange blooming
from the Trumpet bush,
and listen to rain softly tapping
the broad, heart shaped leaf
of the Red Bud tree;
birds nestled between branches
adding their sweet song
to this lovely moment
Beautiful
Peaceful
Tranquil
and i think of the loved ones,
family and friends
who once sat in this place, too;
my mother and brother
with their love and laughter,
and am grateful.

Mama’s Backyard

                                                                   

                                                                 

    May 12. Mother’s Day. I sit outside in my Mother’s backyard. The yard she worked so lovingly in, planting and weeding; decorated with pink flamingos and angels. The yard she enjoyed so much with  her beautiful flowers , the Rosebud tree, squirrels scurrying about  and birds on wing .
     Twenty five years of friends and family who gathered here laughing and talking . My brother, Walt and Jim, Gavin and Gary and Patty. The Howell’s . Jeanne and Brenda , Karen and Mary Lee; the Chapin girls, PaddleFest pals, and many others who graced the backyard with their presence.   Birthday celebrations,  4th of July fireworks , summer luncheons , gentle conversation at twilight .   Little vignettes, now passing moments in time . Happy times, peaceful times in what we thought of as a magical, enchanted place and started calling it, Mom’s Secret Garden.
     Last year at this time  when Mama and I were sitting out back, she looked around and talked about  how lucky she  was to have this backyard, it brought her such joy. "God is so good to me", said Mom, " I think of all the wonderful times with loved ones here, and it makes me smile.”  Along with  the many loved ones ,  the solitude of being  in her backyard,  and the tranquility it brought her lifted Mom’s spirit.  Especially in the last few months of her life.  She loved watching the Morning Doves and Hummingbirds,  and was always so grateful for what she had .
     Mom and  I laughed about a time Walt was here. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we were enjoying the outside.  Walt knew I had been doing some weight training so he wanted to see my ‘body building’ pose . He pressed on , even demonstrating how I should bend forward, pull my arms inward and flex my muscles . Then I did , to All That Jazz playing in the background, and Walt taking pictures like I might be featured in some muscle building video.  There’s no doubt I looked pretty silly,  which got my brother to laughing out loud ,  and our Mom , and all there , including me. It was  one of those   fun, memorable moments in Mom’s backyard !

                                         

      As sons and daughters honor their Mother’s today , I remember mine with an everlasting love and deep gratitude for her unconditional love and friendship, for all that we shared . For being everything good and kind , for being the very best of Mother’s, always . And I give thanks to God for making her mine.   I think the endearing, tender note my brother wrote to Mom on Mother’s Day 1991 sums it up pretty good.

Mom , this is your day, but it is also my day, for you are here with me to share it with, if ever a person is more deserving of a day designated to only Mother’s of the world, then there isn’t a finer mother I can think of than you . You’re the best Mother and friend a guy could have . All my love from the beginning of time til the ending of time . Love, Walt. 

                                                                     

              

     So here I am , Mama, carrying on. Feeling blessed in your backyard for all you were, and all you provided - for your nearness still so close. And for my sons, that they will know my love for them always and forever. A legacy of love from you to me to them.  Happy Mother's Day, Mom ! I love you.