Full circle

Cleaning out the house my parents called home for almost four decades feels a bit like a long road trip to visit all of my relatives, my own personal history and the inner recesses of the mind and heart of the two people who gave me life.

There have been more than a few tears along the way.

Also, a few surprises!

Here's one that combines amusement and romance.

I've found hundreds of "love notes" scribbled on paper dinner napkins, mainly from my dad to my mom, stashed in drawers all over their house. Mom returned the favor a few times herself, leaving dad notes in his desk. The notes were written and left for the other, but few seem to have been discarded. Touching, sweet stuff. No surprise they were married over 68 years!

I've also found lots of stuff that relates to me, their only child. Some of it surprising.

I found these toy trucks hidden away in a large plastic container out in their garage. When I discovered them, I was instantly transported back to the magic period between age 6 and about age 10. There is no way to know the number of hours I spent playing with these trucks.

I remember loading them down with toy soldiers and reenacting the fiercest battles of World War II! The red truck had been converted to a Nazi troop transport. The U. S. Army green, of course, carried all American troops.

I remember my best buddy, Eddie Wilson, and I dug a "fox hole" in the vacant lot beside our house. There we fought so many battles, the trucks and our toy soliders always present. My dad, who was beyond meticulous about his yard, never objected to our exploits or to our digging projects.

Rain or shine, I played with these trucks.

Recently, I brought the trucks home to share with my grandchildren.

When Wyatt first saw them, he stopped everything to explore their possibilities. To my delight, he loves the trucks and during a recent visit, we played with them on the living room floor. I have a hunch that Owen will feel the same. Gracie found them curious. She laughed watching us play.

Taking care of my memories and, hopefully, creating more.

Life has a way of coming full circle.

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My place in line

It was my first Christmas without parents. A friend reminded me that this will be my first New Year as an "orphan."

It is very difficult, more so than I ever anticipated.

Sadness, gratitude, joy and hope all mixed up in an emotional bundle I didn't see coming.

This Christmas forced a time of refocus, of realization, of recognition. I expect the New Year will be the same.

Both my dad and my mom are gone.

Hard to grasp.

Brenda's folks passed away over a decade ago. They were precious people, and very important to me and, of course, to her. She warned me of the surprising emotions that would wipe me out. No warning could really prepare me. You just have to be there, as so many of you know as well as or much better than I.

Today I realize, possibly for the first time, just how much my parents loved me, how much they sacrificed for me. This "after-the-fact" realization adds to the burden, as well as the gratitude.

Complicated.

I miss them. Not complicated.

At the same time, I realize in a brand new way just how much I love those who remain near my side.

Brenda and I will have been walking together for 40 years, if we make it until June 2009.

Where did the time go? Sounds so trite, but the feelings are anything but routine. She has put up with an awful lot! When we married, she had no idea! She couldn't have been a better partner than she has been and will be. I'm grateful for her. Somehow, again an unexpected result of their both having left us, I am more in touch than ever before about just how much I love her.

This death-induced magnifying glass has had the same affect on my heart as I think of our daughters, their husbands and our three grandchildren. My family means everything to me. We are so very blessed. My parents taught me that, tried to help me see it while they were here. It is almost as if their departure provided the last, best lesson about just how important my family is to me, and will be until it is my turn to move on.

We are on a journey through life.

Those closest to us who accompany us are the most important to us.

We need each other.

And, we need other people as well. Friends, neighbors, community members, community life and the support and joy it brings us. I felt and experienced the power of community in the passing of both of my parents. Working to sustain and to expand relationships with other people is a good way to spend one's days.

Today, January 2, 2009, my mom would have celebrated her 88th birthday.

But, she is gone.

And, I am at the head of the line now.

It feels okay to be "next."

What is most important is clearer today as the new year begins.

You know, you just see things differently from the front of the line.

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Mother

My mom, Mildred Oleta Sawyers James, died Sunday morning at about 10:30, just two days shy of the one year anniversary of my dad's death. They had shared 68 years together in an incredibly strong and wonderful marriage. It's my opinion that she just couldn't go forward very much farther without him. Partly because she loved him so much, partly because he created a world in which she depended so much on him.

The cause of her death was related to her chronic Myelodysplastic Syndrome, or MDS. She battled the disorder for about five years, including enduring countless blood transfusions and chemotherapy. She received great care from Dr. Manish Gupta, a brilliant young doctor with whom she developed a wonderful friendship.

During the last two months of her life, Hospice workers more than befriended her with gentle care, rich compassion and strong friendship.

Mom was a real character in her own right. Both of my parents were largely defined by their marriage and commitment to one another. Both had memorable qualities that set them apart.

My mom never met a stranger. She loved people. Her friends meant the world to her. She could be incredibly opinionated, especially about politics, narrow-minded religion and people who condemned others.

She would often ask me unanswerable questions about theology and the Bible, questions that if I could have answered, I surely would have landed on the cover of Time magazine!

She remained interested in what was going on in the world until the end of her life. A CNN-junkie, she was very pleased and excited to see the nation take another step beyond its racist past to elect the first African American as the president representing of all of us. My dad would have shared her joy, and likely did from the other side.

Unfortunately, I was an only child. The upshot of that cruel reality was her tendency to be a bit over-protective of me. My response basically was to go about my business and just not keep her very fully informed. I remember a million stories related to this! All fond memories.

Growing up, I loved sports and played about everything. I know it drove her nuts, especially football and baseball. I loved cars and, at times, speed! She would never fall asleep until I came home at night. We never really battled over these concerns of hers. I learned to listen, agree and then make my own choices! I deserved a serious whipping on many occasions! Still, grace prevailed.

I remember in about the 9th grade, it was a Sunday afternoon. I rode my bike over to meet a friend who had a new Honda motorcycle, a 150 I believe. He let me take it for a test spin. I got on Central Expressway without a helmet or a license to drive and streaked (well, streaked about as much as a Honda 150 could streak!) all the way to Allen. She never knew about that one! Didn't seem worth upsetting her even years later. Sorry, mom.

My mother loved my father and he loved her. Their lifelong love affair. . .well, it was something to behold. Of course, it helped a lot that my dad worshipped the ground she walked on. She felt the same way and, unfortunately for him, in his later years she transferred her anxiety and worry over in his direction. They really cared for each other, as they did for me and my family.

My mother loved Brenda like the daughter she never had. She loved our girls in a way I didn't fully understand until our own grandchildren came along. So many great stories here. And, the great grandchildren, oh my. She loved the three of them--we'll spend the rest of our time trying to help them understand that legacy of love for them.

She could be an insufferable braggart about all of us! She was just proud of everybody in her family and she loved to share "just the facts," especially with her best friends.

She loved her church and her friends. She displayed fierce loyalty and, as I say, a tendency to defend and protect people who were being judged or criticized by others. Since I had been her minister for fourteen years, she and my dad were huge supporters of the all of the other ministers who served with me and who followed me after I left the church. You'd best not criticize one of her ministers or you'd learn quickly the folly of your mistake!

Both of my parents were extremely generous. Since taking over their finances over the past couple of years, I've been amazed at all of the efforts they supported beyond their church--human and civil rights organizations, environmental efforts, medical research, veterans' organizations, Third World relief and development groups. This was certainly true of my mom. She found all sorts of ways to help me, usually without doing much damage to my sense of the importance of hard work, diligence and effort. She loved to give and her an my dad made a good team of it.

She enjoyed a great sense of humor and loved telling us stories from her childhood during the Great Depression and from the earlier days of her married life.

She loved to take road trips across the country. We never could get her on an airplane. She always told us that she didn't fly because she "wanted to see the countryside." I remember with great fondness one Christmas road trip to Colorado. She and my dad were packed in the backseat of our Jeep Laredo like E. T. in the closet! What a time of laughter and joy.

She was a perfectionist about her house, her looks and just about anything she did. The ultimate "neat freak," mom took tidy to a whole new level! She actually loved to clean house. She loved to cook. She loved flowers and plants. She loved being a homemaker. She turned a little bungalow at the southeast corner of Spring Valley Road and Greenville Avenue into a wonderful, warm and delightful home. She was so proud of the new home that she and my dad built in 1976, but she always loved that first little house in old Richardson. So did I.

She also loved to get dressed up, "cleaned up," as she would say, and dolled up! I told Brenda a few days ago that on the day of her death, if she were able, I wouldn't be surprised if she got up and put makeup on and "fixed her face." I know she did that every day toward the end as her way of trying her hardest to get well. She displayed so much courage and will to stay with us.

So many memories.

So much to tell.

Feelings overwhelm at times like this.

Now that both of my parents are gone, things seem really different. I feel the same loss as when my dad died last year, but more now. My mom is gone after a tough physical struggle, but so is my father.

Life will be both the same going forward and never the same again for me.

I'm so grateful for her, as I am for him. What blessings they both were to me.

When I was just a little boy, I can remember praying again and again that nothing would happen to my parents, that they wouldn't become ill or die and leave me all alone. Today I realize that my prayers were answered, answered for a long time.

Words can't convey how much I will miss them.

How very blessed I have been for so long.

Good-bye, mom.

Later, for sure.

[Family reception for Mildred James will be tonight, December 16 from 6 to 8 p.m. at Restland Funeral Home in Richardson. Her memorial service will be on Wednesday, December 17 at 10 a.m. in Memorial Chapel at Restland.]

An old lady with a baby doll

I sat by my dad as he tried to eat his lunch.

He has great difficulty swallowing. He has little appetite for any kind of food, especially that served up at the skilled nursing center where he lives right now.

He tries, but it is so hard for him.

Strange, how it breaks my heart to watch him, but at the same time it is so good just to be with him. Sort of like those times when I was much younger and we would occupy ourselves out in the garage for hours doing. . .I can't remember what. . .we were just together. I loved those times. I think he did too.

Now we sit and visit, but with long periods of silence between us.


I'm having to come to grips with the fact that he is dying. But then, aren't we all? At times like this I realize again the importance of just "being with" a person you love.

But, back to the lunch room.

We sat at a table with his roommate, R. V. Thompson.

Dad and R. V. worked together over 50 years ago at the City of Richardson. R. V. was the Mayor. My dad served as City Secretary, a position like City Manager today. At the time, Richardson's population numbered about 1,500 or so. A few stories have been heard between them as they've shared the same room. We feel fortunate that R. V. is dad's roommate.

Also at the table was a lady who cradled a baby doll in her arms as she ate. Sad, but sweet and moving. She found comfort in some far away memory of her own children--the ones she loved the most, no doubt.

The other man who shared the table couldn't talk much, but he too was a long-time Richardson resident known by my dad and R. V. It was just good being with them all.

It was also sad. But, you know, sad is okay.

As I sat with my father, I remembered lots of visits years ago to nursing homes with youth groups. Many, if not most, of the residents we visited enjoyed our visits, but it was clear that after we left most of the residents probably didn't remember that we had been there. It hit me as I sat with my dad that it didn't matter. They knew we were there when we were there. Just like my dad.

So much of what counts most in life is all about just being there. You know?

Just being there. . .that's hard to beat.

68th Wedding Anniversary

Today marks my parents' 68th wedding anniversary.

On November 18, 1939, they eloped to get married in Peacock, Texas. What's more amazing is that they came back home and kept it a secret for about a year! Makes me feel better about some of my teenage antics!

My dad was 19, my mom 18. They both grew up in Stonewall County, about 50 miles north of Abilene, Texas. Both were members of relatively poor farming families who, as children of the Depression, struggled to wrestle a living out of the red, dry dirt of that part of Texas. Cotton, cattle, wheat, feed grasses--that was their life.

After the War, they moved to Des Moines, Iowa seeking a better life economically. Then, they relocated to Spokane, Washington where my father worked for the county as a purchasing agent. I was born there after they'd been married a little over 10 years.

We returned to Texas in 1953. My dad worked as City Secretary (much like City Manager) for the little town of Richardson until 1959 when he joined a private real estate development firm that literally developed almost the entire the west side of Richardson. Until his very recent health problems, he was still going to the office one day a week to handle some company investments and to "help out" with things.

My mom was fortunate to be a "stay-at-home" mother. She kept things running smoothly in our home. My dad worked very hard. They both taught me what it meant to be a decent person in a world of difficulty and joy. They have always been sensitive to and concerned about the lives and status of laboring people and the poor. They taught me that every person deserved my respect without regard to possessions or the artificiall status that wealth tends to manufacture.

They have been members of the Richardson East Church of Christ (where I served as minister for 14 years) since 1961. They evidence this staying power in regard to just about everything they find to do.

They have what seems like a million friends!

They certainly found a way to make their marriage work. My observation across the years tells me that the keys for them were daily give and take, a willingness to listen, mutual respect, clear commitment, enduring romance and practical love.

Two young kids, some would say, foolishly running off to get married without their parents' approval. They sure have done well for themselves and for me and my family and so many friends who've enjoyed watching them make a great life together.
This anniversary will be unlike any other they've experienced.

They will be apart.

My dad is still in skilled nursing--he is very ill. My mom at their apartment home. We'll get them together for a little celebration later today. I know it won't be exactly what they would prefer, but the love will still be there, and the joy in each other's company.

Sixty-eight years is a long time.

Congratulations, mom and dad. We love you both.

As I consider the blessing they've been to me, it strikes me that the new country hit by Brooks and Dunn, "Proud of the House We Built," pretty well sums up the life they've enjoyed together.

I dropped to my knees
In that field on your Daddy's farm
Asked you to marry me
All I had to give was my heart
While other kids were divin' in the swimming holes
You and me dove off into the great unknown

We were barely getting by taking care of each other
And I became a daddy
You became a mother
It was an uphill battle nearly every day
Looking back I wouldn't have it any other way

I'm proud of the house we built
It's stronger than sticks, stones, and steel
It's not a big place sitting up high on some hill
Lot of things will come and go
But love never will
Oh, I'm proud, I'm proud of the house we built

Still working our way through the land of milk and honey
At the end of the day there's always more bills than money
I close my eyes at night and I still feel
The same fire in my heart out in that field

I'm proud of the house we built
It's stronger than sticks, stones, and steel
It's not a big place sitting up high on some hill
Lot of things will come and go
But love never will
I'm proud, Oh, I'm proud of the house we built

Oh, look at us together
Oh, we've come such a long, long way
I'm proud of the house we built
It's stronger than sticks, stones, and steel
It's not a big place sitting up high on some hill
Lot of things come and go
But love never will
I'm proud,
Yeah, I'm proud of the house we built


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Considering the circumstances of my demise

No one who believes in life can choose the details of his or her ending.

My parents continue to teach me about the tough reality of growing old. Movement to life's end can be halting, harsh, humbling, humorous and, at times, horrible.

So, I find myself working on a check list of hopes relative to the conclusion of my own journey. Here's what I've come up with so far:

1) I hope I live fully until the last minute, sixty seconds after which I long to fall over dead and gone. Then, let the party begin! I am currently working on a list of friends who will be invited to tell jokes on me at my funeral, that is, if they can rise from their own wheelchairs.

2) I hope to be delivered from long stints in unfamiliar and dangerous hospital beds where the floors around are always too slick for common sense, weak legs and distended bladders. I suppose bugs in the rugs are more of a threat than broken bones on the linoleum.

3) I hope never to be "delivered" to any "skilled nursing center"--since I now know that is simply code for "nursing home."

4) I hope never to be "roomies" with anyone who doesn't remember his name or who insists on singing off key all night long.

5) I hope when someone says to me with a stupid grin, "Well, I bet you have seen lots of changes," that I have the good sense to say, "Well, not nearly enough!"

6) I hope I never need a pill box to keep all the meds straight, morning and night, that I can't keep up with in my head.

7) I hope, if I have to have doctors, that they will have the good sense to talk to one another, at least occasionally.

8) I hope I never end up on some chaplain's list for "rounds" and prayers that I haven't asked for. Why does that line, "May I say a prayer for you?" always make me angry?

9) I hope my running buddy, Dan and my development partner, John and my long-time friends, Edd and Randy, as well as others I won't list here, come by to see me just because they want to and not because they feel obligated. I also hope they sneak in hamburgers and milk shakes!

10) I hope I get sweeter and softer--however, I fear I'm already headed in the opposite direction!

11) I hope I'll be able to communicate to my children, grandchildren and, if I live long enough, great grandchildren just how much I love them in a manner that will make them laugh and understand deeply without feeling any embarrassment.

12) I hope I remember my name, at least every now and again.

13) I hope I'll keep up with technology so that whatever is coming after my laptop will be something I use daily. I hope I can think clearly enough to write something or someone every day.

14) I hope I still read the box scores during baseball season. I hope I can get out to a game or two or 10 every year.

15) I hope that I die before I leave the battle I most believe in.

16) I hope, even if I am forced to sit down, that I never give up.

17) I hope I don't outlive those I love the most.

I'll keep working on this list. You got one?


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Aging

I suppose I looked into my own future last Tuesday. What I saw left me with very mixed emotions.

Tuesday was moving day for my parents.

For over 30 years my mother and father have lived in the same wonderful home in Richardson, Texas. Before that, my growing up years were spent at another, much more modest Richardson house where we first moved in 1953.

I have incredibly fond memories of that time and of that house. My dad bought the vacant lot next door to the house and me and my buddies turned it into a ball field--football in the fall, baseball in the spring and summer and track year round! Mark Wallis, one of my best friends, and I played "Home Run Derby" on that field for hours at a time.

Fifty-four years in the same town. Believe it or not, they have had the same P. O. Box and the same phone number for all those years. Well, technically, in the early days their phone number had about 6 fewer numbers than today! We transferred the same number to their new home. Stability is something they have known very well across the years.

My dad is 87, my mom is 86.

They have enjoyed a really great life together. Next month they celebrate their 68th wedding anniversary. They have had their health problems over the past fifteen years or so, but have done very well until just recently.

Their house became more than they could manage. Their health has begun to decline markedly.

We've been talking about a move into a more "manageable environment" for a couple of years. My dad's last heart flare up and surgeries forced our hand.

As a result, on Tuesday they moved into an independent living facility in Richardson. It is a very nice, two-bedroom apartment with meals furnished, along with other important amenities.

They didn't want to move.

My approach was to keep them out of the actual moving process. We relocated furniture and other household items during the day. Once the place was set up as much like home as possible, we brought them over and let them come in for their first night.

My mother cried. My dad thanked us.

It was an emotional time beyond words.

For the past two weeks, as he had regained his strength, dad has rehearsed his career--his stint as the first full-time executive with City of Richardson (1953-1959) back when the population was about 1,200. The entire city staff included him, a water department worker and a sanitation worker.

He reviewed the details of his career with the private development company he helped build. Until his most recent hospitalization, he was still going to the office one day a week. The owner of the company and one of my dad's very best friends died about two years ago.

My mom has been worried, depressed and up and down. It is how she handles disruptions like my dad's health issues. Of course, she suffers with her arthritis and gout, as well as several other health-related issues that remain both troublesome and chronic. Night before last she entered the hospital for a blood transfusion and other treatment. We're hoping she gets to come home today after a couple of nights there.

It is a tough time emotionally, as well as physically. . . for all of us.

So many memories came flooding back during the past several days.

I've been so very blessed by my parents and by the life they provided me. It is hard seeing them near the end of their journey. They are blessed with everything they need to make the process as pleasant as it can be, I suppose. Pray for them.

Going through this experience forces me to consider my own future, should I live so long. It's definitely a mixed bag. But, overall, the positive far outweighs the momentary negative.

One thing stands out to me in a huge way: my privilege is overwhelming.

I am thinking of my parents again this morning.

I'm also thinking of the elderly poor who are at about the same juncture in life as my folks, but without all of the blessings and benefits.

Life is a mystery. But many things are very, very clear to me as I look back and forward.

Illness, care and life

The weekend has been a bit unusual. It's also been frightening at times.

It all began Saturday morning. I'd been out for a haircut and had just arrived at home, ready to settle in for some college football, when my mom called.

She reported that she thought my dad was having a stroke. I told her to call 911 immediately and that I was on the way.

When I arrived at the ER in Richardson, my dad was dealing with a nurse and was very confused about where he was and what was happening.

Thanks to a couple of really attentive doctors and some good nurses--especially true of one of his nurses who became his advocate the moment he made it out of the intensive care environment of the ER--my dad "came back" over the course of the next 24 hours.

Now we understand his problems. He likely suffered a mild heart attack, possibly earlier in the week. Compounding that reality are carotid arteries that are 77% and 98% blocked. Surgery could be indicated. But then, my dad is 87-years-old.

Today we will move him to Baylor's hospital in Plano so that his surgeon can evaluate him and they can decide what, if anything, to do next.

Friends have been coming and going since he entered the hospital, mostly from his church and his neighborhood.

He has and will continue to receive lots of care from many people. The nature of his recovery will depend, at least in part, on this caring connection with others, both personal and professional

Illness and life just go together. As life unfolds, illness just shows up. We can count on it.

Care is another matter.

People with deep personal connectons can cash in on the social capital they have in their "account of relationships" when they need to. People are important. Everyone deserves respect, connection and attention. People who enjoy the wealth of these basics of being human just get along better than those who don't.

I've watched low-income folks amass this special variety of capital just as effectively as those who have more income. People can take care of each other in wonderful and amazing ways, whether rich or poor.

Still, my dad enjoys a decided advantage over lots of other people. In addition to lots of friends who care deeply, his high quality health care is guaranteed. He is insured thanks to Medicare and AARP.

Unfrotunately today, almost 50 million other Americans don't have the benefit of such protection and professional care.

Health depends on both varieties of care: personal and professional.

Everyone deserves both.