This morning, I received a call from my
oldest brother, Jim, in San Angelo. He called to tell me Mom has
pretty much been unresponsive for the last few days. This week, the
decision was made to allow Jim and Linda to go in. Baptist Memorial
in San Angelo has this vibrant senior ministry, nursing home, houses,
and assisted living apartments. Jim told me that today, there had
been no one in care, no staff, or any workers test positive for
COVID. They are taking this virus seriously and I appreciate it.
Mom's doctor has talked to my brother and sister-in-law about moving
mother into “end of life care.” Dr Cerna tells them it is not
Hospice, and she will remain directing the care for Mom but we are at
that point. Anna and I hope to get there Friday and spend some time
with her.
Mom has been a remarkable woman, not
quite a force of nature, but she did stir up a lot of dust when she
was around. She had a wonderful sense of humor as did Dad, and
between them, well, it is hard to tell where her's left off and Dad's
began. They both could be funny. I was at the station one late
afternoon when one of the regulars came in after a really tough day.
He wanted his company vehicle washed and serviced. Dad asked, “So
Truman, what do you want us to do to it.” To which the customer
replied, “You can burn the d_ _ _ n thing up for all I care.” So
someone rode with the customer and when he got back, Dad and Mom took
us out to eat. They had a favorite place, and about half way through
the meal Dad was paged. Dad would never, ever get a page when we were
out. He got up and went to answer the phone then came back and said,
“There's been a fire at the station and we need to leave now.” So
we did. Arriving at the station, we got the full story. Company cars
were often covered in oil so the person who washed them would wash
them down with kerosene. It was winter time, and he was out of
kerosene, so he got some gasoline which was not unusual, but then
threw it on the hot hood and it vaporized and exploded because there
was a gas stove lit to keep the insides and workers warm. It blew out
the windows in all the bays, and only scorched the man who was
washing the car, but it smoked the white car. Dad, having made sure
everyone was safe, went in and placed the call. “Truman, do you
remember what you told me when we took you home about your car?” He
replied, “Yea, I told you, you could burn the d_ _ _n up for all I
care.” Dad said, “Well, you will be happy to know that is what we
just did.”
I have walked with lots of folks over
the years as they have buried a parent, and later another parent. It
is a profoundly significant time in a child's life no matter how old
they are. I know that good parents become the first to create a
loving, safe, secure environment for each child. That sets the stage
for all of life to come. In a home of faith like mine, it also gave
me my first glimpse of the unseen God as Mom and Dad were the hands
and feet of the God who loved me. Their influence in a child's life
is huge. If home is not a good, safe place and many aren't it leaves
childhood trauma that lives on in the body, heart, mind, soul of the
person.
I have noticed something else as well.
Not often addressed or thought about, but the death of a first parent
is powerful. Dad died when I was 32 and Tim and Joseph were about 4
and 2. I knew they would never remember him, or get to spend time
with him. He would only be a picture without a point of reference.
For me, it was a deep loss because,well, he was my Dad. Dad hunted a
little, loved fireworks, and hated to take us three boys fishing. He
did it once and swore he would never do it again. However, what my
Dad gave me was lifelong lessons in character, honesty, integrity,
and doing the right thing no matter what the cost. Fortunately, God
guided us to a new church after Dad was diagnosed with his cancer of
the larynx which made the drive to Dallas quicker, but more than
that, loved on us the first 3 years we were there because during
those times, they only knew their pastor as “his Dad was dying,”
and then “he lost his Dad.”
What I have learned from 33 years of
walking with mostly adult children who have lost their last parent,
is such a loss marks the end of a lifelong story. The parent who knew
us longer than any other person in our world is now gone. Of course
for our sibling group her passing will end an important chapter in
our lives. It will end lengthy relationships our wives have shared
with Mother. It will end the life long relationships grands and great
grans have shared.
Mom has always been pretty independent,
even after Dad died. In some ways it surprised me because they were
always together always, Mom and Dad. My siblings and I entered a new
chapter with her as she updated her will, put us all (sons and
spouses) on her medical power of attorney, and then after about three
years in the country began a process of downsizing. So, she would
call us and say, “Come move me, I've found a house in town, I can't
keep the other one up.” Then some years later she would call and
say, “Come move me. I can't keep this house up so I have found an
efficiency apartment.” She set aside all the things she wanted to
keep and gave us the opportunity to carry off the rest—which we did
because well, Dad told everyone when she worked at an Ethan Allen
gallery, she took her pay in stuff.” It was nice stuff, so she
wanted to pass it down. Then she found a new apartment across town,
the phone ran and it was “come move me.” During these years, I
was the one who had more control over my schedule so if a problem
developed—mostly health, I would head out and communicate with the
others about what was going on. At some point, Mom picked up the
phone and said, “Come move me to San Angelo, it is too hard for you
boys to help me out here where there is no family. So we moved her to
San Angelo, and Jim, Linda, Jeff, John, Julie, and their families
made sure mother wanted for nothing. It was awesome and in God's
timing, it left Anna and I free to turn our attention and presence
to Livingston where her only surviving sibling was taking care of her
mother and step Dad. It was at times overwhelming. So we
surprisingly, but wisely, uprooted ourselves from an awesome church,
and moved off the grid to Livingston. It was there, I got an
education in life in the shadows of Texas and perhaps the United
States. I dreaded telling Mom because we were only 90 miles away, the
closest we ever lived to her, but with her grace, she said “of
course you need to go. I have had you for so long taking care of me.
You are needed down there.”
So that is Mom. One of the last
conversations on the topic of her dying was when she was in a lot of
pain, almost given up for dead, and earlier had expressed to all of
us, “Quit praying for me to get better! I want to go on to Heaven.”
So on that day, Joseph and I were getting ready to leave to get him
back to catch a plane from Houston for home. I said to her, “Mom, I
need to tell you that everyone—absolutely everyone in the family
has quit praying for you to get better. However, if God chooses to
spare you(and He did) you will have to take it up Him. We are not
responsible!” Yep, we had that conversation.
So, the news today was not completely
unexpected, but such news begins a process of grieving because a
chapter will be closing, my last parent will go on to glory. And we
will miss the dust.
Wash your hands, wear your mask as a
sign of caring about others, mind the gap, and be kind.
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