He used that straight edge 'til the day he died.
.
...continued from prior blog.
(Please >CLICK HERE< if you haven't read part one).
*Once again, please bear with me, as I copy from my journals; and remember.
Written December 17th, 1984...
...I felt his presense...
Mom returned to me the gift I have given to him on his 71st birthday. A silly little red quartz timepiece that he had carried around in his pocket.
"A memento," she said.
I took it, and cried. The idea alone.
Mom with such pain and great loss; and I of virtually no use to be able to comfort her.
I was SO tired.
I only wanted sleep to come.
So drained of everything.
Mr. Pfotenhauer called at 11:45, and was everyone alright, and when could we talk?
And I wanted him just to hang up, but he was kind.
So to have him call back in the morning.
For me to lie down again.
My Aunt Alice called for Mom.
Mom in such shock, still acting and talking so well; (but only because of that shock).
Something guiding her to talk, and to act, and to speak, and to eat...
And sleep came slowly for me.
I lay upon the opened sofa.
It was the last place Dad had been before the Rescue Squad came early that morning.
Mama had opened it to comfort him.
A sound sleep for me, but I remember it being a haunting one too.
I awoke at 5:15 and fixed the fire, filling it with wood.
Mary called from the airport in Wausau, and was on her way back.
I began telephoning friends and family at 7:00.
It took every ounce of strength and courage (and then some).
Slowly, I got through it.
An unenviable task for me.
That awful repetition of hearing myself say this over and over and over again,
~ what I had to say.
Kay came out. (My Godmother).
Aunt Florence.
And later, my sister Mary.
I left then to pick up my girls.
With driving into town alone, came my first (and only) question of my own Faith.
It faltered, only for a moment, as I asked...
Angry too...
"What if there is no Heaven???"
"Then where is he now???"
And I remember how horrified, and scared, I felt with those thoughts.
I switched on the radio, hearing the song, "I'll Go to My Grave Loving You"...
And the tears came all over again.
...I remembered hearing Sinatras' "My Way" at St Marys Hospital the day before...
How hearing that somehow made me feel proud.
...He was yet in surgery, but somehow I knew then how that day would end...
And so, over to Laurie and Jims, and to tell my children.
My babies gathered around me, (bright-eyed, and unsuspecting as children often are).
And I told them.
Quietly.
"Grandpa died last night."
Bobbe (at 4 and a half), immediately put her arms around my neck, and spoke.
"I know Mom. He told me. But now he is watching us all the time."
And I had to admit to myself once again that he had so peacefully prepared, not only himself, but also his youngest "Pooperina" for his death.
I was stunned by her words at the time, but I can understand and accept his acceptance of his own death...
I stopped at Barbs after that for a moment.
Then on to Blazeis for Mom; then back to the farm.
All was well when Mr. Pfotenhauer came to make plans to write the obituary.
We went to the funeral home for that.
It was surreal...
My fathers name.
A short life story.
A brief outline of his history.
And ours too.
This was Wednesday.
I went home in the evening, for Mary and Aunt Florence were with Mom.
Dennis came over; and it was good to be held just close.
And quiet.
And compassionate.
...quite unexpectedly.
I knew Lisa had called him.
(He didn't have to come, and yet, he did).
Thursday morning, I had to be brave...
...alone again.
But it was OK.
Out to Moms then to prepare for the wake.
By 3:00, we were at the Funeral Home.
No funeral prior to this...
No coffins or caskets anywhere could have prepared me.
To see him lying there.
And it really hit home with me.
And also for my girls...
The first time, for them
and coming to see Death.
Grandpa 'sleeping' over a satin bed.
Satin pillows.
Ruffles.
Roses.
And so still.
Their eyes held fear...
...and many questions.
And with the courage and strength and wisdom that grandmothers possess, Mom took them one by one...
Zoe.
Then Jennifer.
Then Roberta.
To pray.
To see.
To touch.
And to understand each what God allowed them to understand.
They saw him sleeping at first.
And they spoke to him.
No response came...
They touched.
He remained still.
And when they touched and felt his skin, it was hard, and it was so very cold...
For this, they cried; for they didn't understand.
(Only time will teach them that he is gone forever)...
Me, waiting in the wings then for each little girl.
The wake was one expression of grief, followed by repeating almost the same words, over and over again.
The St Francis of Assisi prayer came to my head, in parts...
"Lord grant that I may not seek to be consoled as much as to console."
"And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life"...
.
Never had I so fully realized the extent of peoples lives that my fathers life, and heart, had touched.
So many, many people came.
I could not grasp the extent to open both chapels that evening just to accomodate...
And then, it was over.
The next morning was a mess of emotion, and things to be done.
A short prayer service at the funeral home, followed by the last time I would ever lay eyes on my fathers body.
All the other people (save for his pallbearers), having been instructed to leave the building, and to wait in their cars while our family paid our last respects...
It was the hardest part of the whole thing...
Mary barely able to look at him, let alone touch him.
Mom only wanting to hold him and to never have to let him go.
...Never mind the cold and lifeless state of his body.
This was her husband.
The one and only love of her life.
She only wanted him back so badly.
The tears.
The grief.
And the overwhelming love in my own heart.
I slipped a picture of my 3 little girls into his breast pocket...
~for him to have and hold for all time.
And for a moment or two I literally lost my (good) 'hold' on my emotions...
A frightening scary sense of being all alone.
And lost.
And hurt.
The "rock" upon which I had built my life, my attitudes,
(and even that damned irrefutable sense of pride and determination)...
He was always standing behind me; and to lose that, or any part of it, confused and confounded me.
(As still it does)...
How peaceful he looked.
His rosary.
His suit.
How good he looked.
So ... 'asleep.'
But he was there.
The presense I'd felt by the coffin the night before, was overpowering then.
He was all around us.
And that, that final goodbye, was the very hardest of all...
The culmination.
One last desperate hope.
A word.
A prayer.
And so very many torn feelings.
His presense, once again, SO overpowering.
So stunning.
And so real.
And the casket was closed.
Sealed away from our sight.
From the funeral home; an endless drive out to the church.
Dad was first.
Mary, Paul, and Mom were second.
Then me, with all the grandbabies.
I can remember looking in my mirrors and all I could see were the processional headlights...
Arriving at the church; the lot there was full too-
(I was once more filled with a sense of awe).
So many, many cars.
The procession itself so very long, but so many already at the church...
A church bell ringing so closely.
A moving, sad tolling.
And in waiting for all to enter the church, it tolled 168 times.
I have no recollection of why I'd counted.
Perhaps because there were no other sounds.
A cold and yet a crisp, and sad, ringing of the bell.
But it rang FOR him.
And on then as his service was to begin.
A stunned silence from the overflowing church.
And the organ began to play...
.
