october 2015

When your daughter loves leaves more than most people love pretty much anything, October is a good month.

family pic / visiting grandpa at work for his birthday / trench coat in the leaves / strawberry halloween baby

more leaf fun / nora takes youth group / snuggles with gg / even more leaf fun / selfies with aunt jackie / sleepy snuggles on uncle derek

happy birthday, gg!

You guys, look how cute my grandma is:

 

...and today she turns 80! We actually celebrated with a surprise party (planned by her four daughters) a few weeks ago. 

Happy Birthday, GG! We love you!

 Here are some of my favorite shots:

hugs after the big surprise

famjam

cousins

nora and some of her fave aunts

whats up just hanging out in a field i don't know

"Excuse me, sir, that's my GG up there!"

jilly just jillin

finn

nora just totaling blue steeling

ugh, c'mon dad

cuties

gg clicked her heels and then...

check this: starting with GG: Bethany Grace >>> Grace Christina (skip the babe for a sec) >>>> Tina Jayne (back to baby) >>>> Eleanor Jayne #namechain

everybody (kind of)

       

Remembering Dorothy

Earlier this week, I woke up to an email from my dad.  He wrote the following tribute to his mom (my grandmother), Dorothy.  I share it here (with permission) for the benefit of friends, family, and anyone struggling with grief.

PS: I think my dad is great.

____________________

12/11/14

My mother, Dorothy Esther Burtch, passed away late at night on September 11, 2014.  She was just a couple of months shy of her 83^rd birthday.   It has been three months since her death and I still think about her every day.  I expect I will think about her every day of the rest of my life.

The grieving is easier now.  I have had some time to gather a few thoughts and process a couple of events that brought me peace.  Grief can be so overwhelming; I am praying my experience and these reflections can bring hope to those who feel trapped in their grief with no sense of purpose in the wake of losing a loved one.

Mom became ill with meningitis and was hospitalized for several days.  Family members were taking shifts throughout the days and nights so she would always have a family member near.  We were all hoping for a full recovery and wanted to be on the spot if Mom became communicative.  On Thursday, September 3^rd, I took the night shift. As my 86-year-old father was leaving to go home for the evening, I gave him a hug and a kiss and told him “I’ve got her tonight.”  He looked up at me, cupped my face, and told me, “She couldn’t be in better hands.”   I have never received a higher compliment.

We moved mom the next day to another hospital so she could be assessed neurologically.  She fought hard, but was unable to overcome the damage the meningitis had caused to her brain and passed away the following Thursday night.  I had been with her earlier that evening.  My wife and I received the news on our way back home from my big brother, Tom.

It may have been the travel or the weeks of emotional strain, but by the time I laid down that night, I was asleep in a matter of minutes.  The next morning when I awoke, I recalled an extraordinarily vivid dream.

……..

In the dream, my brother Tom and I had taken Mom out of the hospital.  We took her to the vacation lake cottage we rented several summers in our youth.  Tom and I put Mom, still very weak and sick, on a comfortable couch and told her we were going to bring her back some fresh fish, which we both thought would make her feel better.

Tom and I had a good outing and brought back several nice bluegills and perch. We quickly filleted the fish and brought them inside to cook them up for Mom.  When we opened the door to proudly display our catch, we were surprised to see Mom, so frail when we left her, sitting up on the couch.

This Mom, however, was 25-year-old Dorothy Esther Levihn Burtch.  Her skin was smooth and perfect.  She was not wearing glasses, and she gave us a dazzling smile, just a slight crinkle in her twinkling eyes.  This was still Mom, but in her glorious, resurrected form.  Whenever I picture her now, this is the image I strive to see.  Tom and I were so stunned that we could not speak.  Sensing that we were struggling, she simply smiled broadly and graciously.  Glancing at the fish, she told us, “Thanks, but I don’t need that anymore.”

Then, she was gone.

….....

That morning, Friday, was chaotic as my family prepared for my son’s wedding.   We were preparing for the reception, welcoming family members to town, rehearing for the wedding and hosting the rehearsal dinner at our home.  I was still processing my dream, but had these many distractions.  Saturday was also a whirlwind as the wedding went off without a hitch, just as Mom would have wanted.  The reception was an incredible celebration of joy and family.  I thought often that night that Mom would have wanted to see the wedding and the reception, and she found the only way to make that happen.

Exhaustion set in, and on Saturday I had another peaceful sleep, this time with no dream of Mom.  Sunday morning included Mass and another gathering of family and friends at our home for brunch. 

That evening, the youth ministry program at our parish (with which I volunteer) was to kick off the new year with a guest speaker.  I debated about going, but decided it was best to keep busy to keep my mind off of the upcoming funeral, so I headed back to church.

At the end of the program, the guest speaker asked everyone to close their eyes and turn over whatever problem or situation was causing anxiety in their life to God.  I have so many blessings in my life, I just closed my eyes to set a good example in case any of the students were looking around and caught me not participating.

I closed my eyes, and only then did think of turning over my grief to God. Mom’s death was still so recent, and I was still processing the loss.  In my typical fashion of dealing with this type of issue, I was working the problem out on my own---rationally and logically. Death is a part of life. Mom lived a great life.  All of the normal platitudes were playing in my mind.   I was still struggling to let her go. 

I pray often, usually several times a day.  Sometimes, I wonder why.  Sometimes I wonder if I am doing anyone for whom I am praying any good.   I know all my prayers are received, and I know all of my prayers are answered, however, the answer is not always clear to me.  The message I received that Sunday night was the clearest and swiftest response I have ever received.

That clear response was: “I’ve got her tonight.”  

I immediately thought: “She couldn’t be in better hands.”

……..

Reflecting on my dream and all that has followed, it’s clear to me that the best way to remember and honor Mom is by doing what she always wanted, following the example she always set: being kind to one another.  As I picture that beautiful image of Mom from my dream, I am reminded of her graciousness and constant kindness.  By emulating this, we can keep her with us, honor her, and feel her presence. 

Mom’s absence still leaves a hole in our lives, but I am consoled in this grief knowing that she is in God’s hands.  This is the hope we all have when we follow and trust our loving God.  We couldn’t be in better hands.

An Ode to Dorothy

When I think of my grandma, the first thing I think of is warmth.

Her kitchen has this sort of warm glow about it that seemed to follow her everywhere she went.  I see the wood paneling in the kitchen.  The dinosaur mugs we always used.  The shot glasses filled with saline that I used as a contacts case on more than one occasion when I forgot my case.  I see the kitchen table, with the wrap-around bench that we always stuffed too many people into and then had to crawl under the table to get out.  I can smell the vinegar for painting Easter eggs.  I can taste the cream cheese frosting on the graham crackers.  I feel the warmth of the cake donuts with chocolate frosting she always kept in the freezer and re-heated for us in the morning.  I can hear her making me get out of bed by telling me she was going to eat the last one, tickling my ears.  I can feel the warm well water in the sink.  I can hear the rattling of the miniature cereal boxes: Apple Jacks, Cocoa Puffs, Cocoa Krispies as we turned the lazy susan.

I'm in the basement at their house, my feet on the cold floor or dangling from a squishy bar stool. I can feel the sand for the shuffleboard table crawling underneath my fingernails.  I see the stockings for me and the other grandkids, hand-stitched names hanging from the fireplace, my fingers squeezing the outside to try to guess what they were holding.  I see my parents' and aunts' and uncles' stockings hanging on the coat rack, long and stretched with names of spouses haphazardly stitched on.  I hear my grandma laughing as her kids pulled Spam out of their stockings--she laughed, but always closed her mouth to smile.  I can feel the smooth plastic of the decals we used to decorate the giant window in the basement for the season: Easter eggs, or a manger scene.  I hear the ripping and crinkling of the wrapping paper.  I can smell the straw for the manger scene in the fireplace.  I can smell the Swedish meatballs mixed with the sweetness of the desserts.  I see Grandma sitting next to Grandpa, surrounded by balls of wrapping paper and squealing kids, peeking over her glasses at the latest photo calendar they received.  I hear the voices of my cousins reading the Nativity story from the Bible.  I can hear the cacophony of my family singing Christmas carols.

And then I'm in the family room...the lofted wood ceiling, the globes, the couches full of plaid and patterned blankets.  I hear the player piano playing Christmas songs, or songs from Aladdin.  I can feel the carpet and hear the talking computer from 1992 playing Hangman saying, "Guess...the....word."  I see the onion bin full of books and Tiddly Winks.  I see the curlers in her hair, her glasses, he button-down shirts, the hearing aids she hated...but mostly, I see her with Grandpa.  Always with Grandpa.  Grandpa in his chair, working on a crossword or watching Jeopardy, Grandma on the couch looking out the window, or bringing us ice cream.  She always had ice cream.

I'm in the backyard, Grandma in her matching bright purple sweatpants and windbreaker with tennis shoes. I can hear it swishing as she walks and I reach up to hold her hand.  We walk in the woods behind their house, leaves crunching, the scent of fall in the air. We always walked to the outdoor fireplace and climbed all over it, scraping up our knees and elbows.  I see her hanging her laundry on the line, and then using the laundry line to hang the pinata.  I don't know why we had so many pinatas, but I can hear the whack of the wiffle bat and the candy raining down onto the grass.  I feel my fingers getting stepped on.  I can hear her yelling at Grandpa when he gave too many hints during the Easter Egg Hunt.  I can hear the rattling of the plastic eggs...we waited for silence, because that meant there was a two-dollar bill inside.  I see her sitting on a lawn chair on the driveway, next to Grandpa.

I see her hands holding all 24 cards of her Pinochle hand.  I see the rings on them.  I see them holding the tiny hands of my cousins.  I see them cooking, scrubbing, working.  I see them writing birthday cards and appointments on the calendar.

I think of later when I held her hand to steady her out of the church, onto the lawn, into the sunshine...instead of her holding mine to walk through the woods.  And then, just last week, when I took her hand to my belly to feel the baby move, rubbing circles back and forth on the back of her hand with my thumb while she lay in her hospital bed, the machines whirring and clicking.  I put her hand down, and she lifted it back up, so I kept it there on my belly for another twenty minutes.  And then I kissed her forehead, and I left.  And the next day, she left.

When I think of my grandma, the first thing I think of is warmth.  I hope I can always feel it.

snapshots: easter visit 2014

Easter weekend, we went to see my grandparents and things took a turn for the adorable.