a Walk, a Beating Heart and Time..

walk in to a bar  A Valentine

He would ask if I wanted to go. Yes. That winter I wanted to go. The year I turned eleven had been long and boring and lonely. Sitting in hospital waiting rooms. Lounging in the snack bar eating my fill of candy and chips. One soda after another. Waiting. Not allowed in.  I would grab my shoes when he asked and head out the door. We would drive a few blocks and park. Walk to the access and climb down to the sand. His zipped jacket covered the violent looking vertical scar bordered by reddened dots in a trail.  Like a railroad track bisecting his breastbone. The frightening gleam of the row of staples from a few months before was gone but they left behind...these tracks. They couldn't be seen but from time to time his hand would gravitate to the center of his chest gently brushing back and forth with his finger tips. An unconscious habit that continued the rest of his life. He walked before me in brand new running shoes. Something he had never owned before, gleaming white. The paunch recognizable my whole life gone and replaced by bone thinness, the face just beginning to lose it's pallor of the past months and return to a living shade of beige. The sharp edged cheekbones revealing a character alien to me with only a faint resemblance the full cheeks and rounded nose of the face I recognized. But when he rolled his sleeves, even on this twiggy canvas the faded hula girl etched on his forearm still gracefully raised her hip in the air,  her grass skirt flying,  pale flowers ringing the blurring edges of the blue black locks of bouncing hair.  We would face south and begin, our feet crunching companionably on the coquina.  Jeans swishing in unison. Sometimes the wind blew soft from the south. Quickly warming us until I removed my jacket, tying the sleeves around my waist. Flapping around my legs, spreading like a sail as we turned back, gently steering the return. Most days it came from the North and West. Misleading by the easy journey out. Bundled up it pushed us effortlessly forward, fast paced because we had no choice. Already I would be dreading the moment when we looked up to see the row of pylons that marked our miles as halfway.  The return trip a tortuous fight against the wind roaring in our ears, freezing the lobes and the tip of my nose and tears running from my blinking eyes. Leaning forward in to the wind slowly we trudged our way back. The water too cold for swimming rolled to one side. Beautiful elegant homes on the other. Sometimes he would break the silence.  "I like that house". I might nod to agree. Wait to pass the one I liked best. Wondering who was the fortunate family to fill it. Their view at the moment a father and his daughter walking on the beach. I would keep my head down watching shell fragments fly past beneath my eyes. Focusing between my sneakers in the event something caught my eye. A sharks tooth. A twirled brown sea snail shell like a fish eye staring back at me. Broken fragments of sand dollar. The riches of the deep shattered on this shore. Mostly coquina crackling, crunching, mixed with sand. He never broke his stride and if I spied a treasure I would bend and swoop to grab and double my steps to catch up, holding it up for him to see before shoving it deep in pockets to be forgotten until laundry day. We did not dawdle. We kept a brisk pace,  maybe remarking the passing of a porpoise in the waves but not stopping to watch it's antics. White and gray seabirds swooped in escort demanding a handout in shrewish screeches but we marched purposefully over the gray sand hardened by the receding tide or struggled valiantly through collapsing ivory humps like the Coty loose face powder spilled on my mothers vanity. Our feet keeping a consistent beat. Our hearts doing the same.
We had a purpose.

My father was told to walk. Walk so that he would continue to walk this earth. So when I was eleven we walked together. We walked to make up for time we had lost. Months of recovery in the mid seventies. He walked me down the aisle nine years later. Walked to the kitchen with all ten grand babies at some point holding his hand to see what cookies he had hidden there. Walked beside my mother for 53 years total. He walked among us for 23 years after his heart attack and quadruple bypass surgery at the age of 52. He changed his lifestyle completely to make sure no more time was wasted or lost. He also started wearing a silver chain with an eagle pendant and bought a Camaro but that's a whole nother story ; )

February is American Heart Month

Visit the National Heart Association website to learn more.

You can take your risk assessment test here.  Find out your score for a start.

I am 46 years old. My score was 17%.  A 17% chance of dying from a heart attack within the next ten years. This puts me in the same age frame as my father. Would you be surprised if I tell you that my weight is exactly where it should be and that I have perfect blood pressure?  There are many factors in the risk for heart disease.  My father passed down some of his risk factors to me through genetics. He also passed down what he learned to help combat it. Even with all I learned from my dad I haven't been careful enough. So, to my family this Valentines Day I give the promise to try harder. Step away from the chip bag ma'am. If you're good you can have a low salt Triscuit with .02 ounces of reduced fat skim milk cheddar. But that's ok.

As Moms we tend to put ourselves last. Taking care of yourself,  Taking care of your heart, Is taking care of your family. Heart disease is the number one killer of women but my message is for everyone. Wives, mothers, husbands, fathers, sisters and brothers.

This Valentines day don't just give your family your heart. Give them a healthy one. 
Give them the gift of a long walk with you beside them.



Have a Happy and Healthy Valentines Day!


© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Being Prepared

I wrote about my father last month for fathers day but I didn't tell the whole story because I wanted to save something for this month. I have lost the women in my family in September. With both it was the right time to go. July is when I lose the men of my family. Neither one was ready to go.


My father passed away in July 2001.

People often find it strange that I don't mind hospitals, I am very comfortable there. I also have very little fear of death. They sometimes seem to think I seem under concerned. This is not true. It is simply that I take these things as a matter of course. Part of everyday life. You see I was prepared at an early age to accept the possibility of death for my loved ones. Most particularly my parents and especially my father.

  The summer I was 10 going on eleven my mother had cancer and had surgery followed by radiation treatment. My father took care of me of course and I remember he took me shopping for some clothes because school would be starting soon. While we were there a police officer approached him and began to speak with him but I couldn't hear. Concerned I moved closer and heard my father reply, "no I think I have heartburn." "You're very pale, said the officer, are you sure you feel alright." My dad said he was fine but he told me he was ready to go because he didn't feel well. What was happening? A warning sign. Signaling the heart attack he had about a week later. Just as my mom came home.
  I spent a whole lot of that year in the hospital snack bar. It was my haven. I feel perfectly at ease in hospitals and around illness. The one my parents were in that year feels as familiar to me as the home of an old family friend. Over the years he was in this hospital in ICU multiple times. His heart was very damaged. He needed bypass surgery more than once. He changed his lifestyle dramatically which is why he survived as long as he did. He passed away just shy of being 76. He was a fighter. His cardiologist called him his miracle man. He made it to walk his last child, myself, down the aisle and see all 10 of his grandchildren born.

In the end he still was not ready to go.
From the time I was ten I was prepared for my father to die. What I wasn't prepared for was .....

Looking at you coming in one day and seeing a thin and frail man standing there. A fringe of fully gray hair.
Your hands and arms with thin skin often with ugly bruises from years of blood thinners. The wide back becoming narrow and slightly stooped. You still seemed the same most of the time and I was caught off guard from time to time when I focused on this fragility. Something that had never been part of you before.  One of those moments when you suddenly see the change that has been slowly progressing over a long time without really being noticed. What I was not prepared for was seeing you age. Watching you become old. Seeing you be "unable". You didn't like it much either. We teased a little when you decided to wear slippers even when you left the house, not out in public of course but if you were coming over to visit. But you earned that right.

I wasn't prepared for the day I came by to help with housework and was surprised at how far behind you had become. Mom was still working and was concerned because you no longer could keep up these little chores or felt up to cooking the wonderful dishes you would prepare for her and her co-workers to enjoy at lunch. Something you deeply enjoyed because it added some socializing to your day after you had retired.
The last painting stood on the easel unfinished. It took you forever to finish a painting so it was a couple of months before I noticed that nothing had been changed at all. "Haven't really felt like it you said".
I bleached the bathroom. When I came out I mentioned a new product I was using that might help with it it. You sat in the chair in your usual posture, arms and legs both crossed. You had the saddest look on your face. I could always tell you had to search for words to explain things. You would talk around an issue.
You said, " I really haven't been doing so well Sweetheart."
Well I was used to that. "Have you talked to the doctor," I asked
"Yes," you answered, "he knows."
You just sat there with that look. You looked at the floor.
 "Well maybe you should talk to him again," I told you. Being matter of fact as always.
 You nodded, "I guess so..."
  Was I refusing to hear what you were saying without words?  No, I knew what you were saying and also that you did not wish for it to be said. I bustled and fussed with my work. Told you to call your doctor and kissed you goodbye. You had already talked to your doctor.
What you were saying was, I am dieing.

  In the last weeks in the hospital you still refused to give up. Insisting on a pacemaker even though it was risky and could only possibly provide you a few more months. You convinced yourself that it would "do the trick." It didn't of course. The doctors kept giving us that look. We knew but at the same time had our own denial. We had heard it many times before and it had been for nothing. During that time the kidneys were failing. The doctors put you on dialysis. I think they tried to tell you but you made plans anyway. You asked if I would be able to drive you in to town for it and were very insistent that Mom would not be capable of it. You said, "Because your Mom.....she probably won't be up to it......she hasn't driven up there in a while". Was this a hint? Were you already seeing the first signs but didn't want to say? Were you protecting her?

You were convinced you would be coming home when you healed from the pacemaker. You didn't have the time to heal. But you were able to breathe better and speak with us easier for a few days. We weren't there. All the hours in that place over the years and years and none of us were there during that one. You were improving some. We could take a breath. You so insisted you were doing fine that you fooled us. You seemed fine that morning. No one got to say goodbye. You had talked to each of us in turn in the previous weeks. We learned later that you had privately spoke with each of us. It had seemed casually, you spoke of things we should do in our future. I know what you told me to do and I'm sorry I haven't done it yet. You told our loved like a sister S to remarry and find a good man. You know she has. You told Biggest to be good. Losing you didn't help. But you see her now. All of us got our message and didn't even realize it because you would not admit you were going anywhere.

I had the dream though. Probably my own unconscious mind consoling itself. There was that hallway. Peach with green bumper walls. Clean clean clicking floors. Last door on the right just past the nurses station. You are walking out of the room. You are wearing your burgundy robe with green paisley pattern and your favorite brown leather slip on slippers. Your skinny white legs that you hid for years seem to be of no concern. Your hands are in your pockets. There is no IV pole with you. You are strolling down the hall. You nod to the nurses at the station and turn so that I see you grinning from ear to ear. You are leaving that hospital forever. You feel fine. You are happy. You are ready to go now. Your face reads "I am out of here, and that is good.......it is absolutely fine....very, very fine."
You were prepared.

© 2010 All Rights Reserved

My Father I Hope In Heaven

Since this is the first year of my blog I have been putting down the past. Keeping things I want to remember. So like Mothers Day this Fathers Day goes to My Dad.

My dad was not a talker. His past before becoming a father came out in short sentences usually only to direct questions. He didn't want to talk about it. I have a bunch of tiny puzzle pieces of information that don't fit. Now that I'm older it is maddening. We did learn that at 17 he walked away from a college scholarship to study art and joined the navy to serve in the Pacific during WWII and later in Korea.
At some point it occurred to me that I only had one Grandparent. My moms mother. The answer, my grandmother died when he was two. He was born in Rhode Island and later was raised in Boston mostly by her family members. His father was merchant marine and was gone a lot. He said for awhile he was passed around until a particular aunt and uncle said they would keep him. Another time I vaguely remember him mentioning a mother who was mean, locked all of his toys up in a closet so there wasn't a mess. This was confusing . Did he really mean one of his aunts? Over the years only the least bit of information came from him. Some was supplied by my mom whose knowledge was limited also. I didn't realize I actually had a grandfather somewhere until I was older and it occurred to me to ask and was told that he had passed away when I was small. I remember being very confused. Why didn't I know this, why hadn't I met him? The answer from my mom, he wasn't a good father. Your Dad didn't speak to him. He had remarried. He had more children. I assumed this was later in my dads life when he was closer to adulthood. I have no idea who they are. My dad wanted nothing to do with him. I was told his first name and that his middle name was the same as my father but that his mother had wanted a different first name so my dad wasn't a junior.

I'm too cheap to join the genealogy thing. The last name is too common for it to be easy but My grandfathers first and middle name was unusual enough that I did find something just by regular Internet search. In the Providence Registrar I found my grandparents wedding registry. A year before my dad was born. A few years later I found a birth registry for a child. The father was my grandfather. The mother a woman I had never heard of. The child was named after the father. He was a junior. They had reused my fathers middle name. He would have been 6 years old.

The heartbreaking possibilities of this scenario just make me weep for my dad. Was he a little boy who was in the way? I had always assumed his father had pretty much deserted him because it was hard to raise a child alone but not this. When his dad remarried was he an uncomfortable reminder? Was he a kink in this new families dynamic. An unneeded son because now there was a new one. I wish I knew.

A man whose role model for Fatherhood was absent ended up with 5 children. He was overseas much of the time my brothers and sisters were little. A special visitor who came bearing wonderful gifts from other lands. Later he was present in all ways. We knew we were cared about and thought about and that he was always thrilled to see us coming. He was deeply proud when we did well. You could see it in his smile.Was quiet and sad when we did not. He rarely said anything, you could see it in his face.  In his later years nothing pleased him more than when everyone came over and met for a meal and visit.

He loved the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Now that I'm old I wonder if there wasn't some deep psychological meaning in that too but probably it's just that it is a wonderful movie.

He was like a child at Christmas. He decorated every inch of the house. He shopped and wrapped and took immeasurable joy in gift giving. All he ever said he wanted was paint brushes.

I guess we were the family he never had as a kid.

No matter how old we became he was always Daddy. Even my brothers when they were grown. They may have addressed him as Dad but still "spoke of him" as Daddy.

As I mentioned before I sort of had a separate childhood. My parents were more relaxed or maybe it's worn out but I got away with a lot.

I have stand out memories that are like vignettes of moments that were mostly just between my father and I.

These are just some of my favorites.

Rescuer
When I was 4 I went to a nursery after school that was ok sometimes but run by a woman called Aunt Kate, who lorded over us with a fly swatter and ignored pleas for bathroom trips during naptime. Then was angry with the envitable results. I was a very shy kid but once rebelled against her power trip because I was sick of getting wet. I just couldn't hold it that long. She came racing in the bathroom with her fly swatter to see what I was up to. If I had known how I would have shot her a bird. Anyway....My Dad was a knight in shining white shirt who saved me every afternoon after being handed the bag with my wet tights and listening to the tirade. When we got in the car he pulled the Hershey bar out of his pocket and sweetened my day and spoiled my dinner on the way home.


Sweetness or Sneakiness?

I was around 14 and my dad brought home a gift. A friend at work had the hobby of making leather goods.
It was a leather visor. I said thank you. It wasn't really my style but I wasn't going to say anything. I looked at the pattern outlining the edge and then my eyes fell upon the imprint edging each side.......Pot Leaves.....Ok.
My dad asked, do you like that one? My friend thought you would but if not he has others. I was frozen. No, this is fine dad. I didn't want to hurt his feeling by pointing out his mistake and make him feel foolish. What was the guy he worked with thinking?
 Later I showed it to my brother. We couldn't help laughing but I had to get his opinion. The thing was, it crossed my mind, Was this a mistake? Or was it a trap? I still don't know. I hung it on a chair in my room and left it there until I moved out.


Randomness.

Back in the 80's we didn't have cable yet and there was a show called Friday night videos that came on late. One night I was up watching it and the Cars videofor the song, Drive. I heard footsteps quickly padding down the hall and my Dad appeared and asked me, "Who is that guy?"

"That's the Cars daddy, It's Benjamin Orr, do I have it up to loud? "

"No, he said, I was watching it in my room, I like this. That guy can really sing, he has a great voice."

I laughed and said, "yes he does, it is a good song." They are one of my favorite bands.
And then he wandered back down the hall.

What on earth was he doing watching rock Music Videos in the middle of the night? I have no idea.

Always A Daddy
When I was 17 someone broke my heart (I thought). My Dad came to pick me up from school and sitting on the seat between us was a funny little gray yarn cat. It was made in a loop with eyes stuck on it and a felt tonque sticking out. it was really cute. I got in the car. My dad just started driving. I waited. Nothing. Finally about halfway home I had to ask. "What is that?" "Oh that, a Lady where I work makes them so I bought one from her. You can have it if you want it."
Yes, I did. I still have it. I think this was a case of dad unsure what to do helplessness. "Will stuffed animals help when they cry when they are 17?"  Yes, they will.

Parent of 5 kids dealing with the last child's final teen years.
I was around 18. I had been out at a party and been thrown in a pool wearing all of my clothes including a hat, an English Driving Cap ( I was all about hats in those days) anyway.... When I got home I was still very damp. When I came in I was dismayed to see he was still up because....well because I was pretty much drunk. I decided to play it cool. I came in, said hi and made a bee- hopefully straight line to the couch where I sat down, damp hat and all, hoping he wouldn't notice my soggy ( in more ways than one) state and became engrossed in the show.

He sat there for several minutes and never even turned in my direction. He just watched the program and then he very calmly suggested to me.

"Don't you think maybe you ought to go to bed? "

So...I did. He never said another word about it. When I brought it up years later he laughed.

Still a concerned father.

When I said I was moving out to live with my future husband my dad actually used the "why buy the milk when you can get the cow for free phrase." But then he said my room would be there if I changed my mind and let me go. And didn't say a word a year and a half later when I dressed not only myself but the entire wedding party in white. Except my bridesmaid. She was already married and I dressed her like the scarlet woman.

  My Dad was a Catholic. He was raised Methodist and converted to marry my mother.
As an adult I joined that rebellious bunch The Lutherans and converted my mother. My father refused to go along with the rebellion. Even though he liked my church and pastor, "he already changed once and He Was Not doing it again."

  He died from heart disease in his seventies. A battle he began waging when I was ten. He was a fighter. But he was beginning to lose and chances are the oxygen to his brain was a little thin which might explain this.
  In the last weeks of his life I was visiting him in the hospital when a volunteer from the church was making rounds and giving communion.  I said, "I"ll go out in the hall dad if you would like privacy." He said,"No stay here" and then to the volunteer. "I don't need to take communion."

They looked a little confused. "Oh, has someone already been by? My dad just answered No.

I knew he was fighting the thought of death but things were not promising. The volunteer encouraged him again by reminding him that communion was an important rite. I think the kind of situation we were in was known and they felt that confession and communion were imperative. My fathers answer....

"I've been in the hospital, I haven't really had a chance to do anything wrong."

I think the volunteer must have been biting his lip at least as hard as I was as I met his eyes and raised my eyebrows. Because that could only mean one thing.

    That My Father..... Was Without Sin!!!!

After she left, I was kind of like, Um dad.... trying not to start giggling, communion is a nice way to be close to God even if you've been good. You don't necessarily have to do something bad to ask forgiveness and take communion.

"I guess your right, he answered. I'll get it next time."

I don't know if he did or not. But even if he didn't is there really any doubt in my mind that my Dad is in heaven?

Not One.

I believe The Father would never turn his back on a Son, or Daddy, like that.


© 2010 All Rights Reserved