Reflecting on Mother's Day

my brother Joe, mom & me

Mother's Day has always been more about my mom and my mother-in-law than me, even after I had children. I guess it is natural to think about the one who gave birth to you. I haven't been able to celebrate my mom in person since 1989, when she died in a car accident as she and my dad were driving back to Cincinnati from visiting my brother in Colorado.

My mom was only 69 when she died, which is my age now. I have thought about that a lot, so I decided to calculate exactly how old she was on the day of her death. AI informed me that she was 69 years, 193 days old. Then I entered my own date of birth to see exactly how old I am currently. At that point, I was 3 days older than my mom on the day she died. Let me tell you, that gives you a lot to think about. Even at my age, I don't give a lot of thought to dying. I doubt my mom did either. When they left for their trip to Colorado, I'm sure she didn't even consider that it would be the last time she would ever see her home.

I'm forever grateful that they stopped to see us in St. Louis on their way to my brother's house. It was the last time I saw her, laughed with her, hugged her. Not a day goes by that I don't miss her and think of things I'd like to share with her. But it hits home particularly on Mother's Day, especially since my mother-in-law died in 2020.

Love and miss both of my "moms", who were such incredibly loving women and exceptional role models for me and all their children and grandchildren. Hopefully I still make you both proud. 

Waves of Grief

sunrise on Mountain Island Lake

For the most part, I think I am still in denial about the fact that my only sister is dead. But for some reason, last Tuesday reality hit me like a tsunami. My husband was out of town, and I woke up very early in the morning. Sensing that additional sleep was out of the question, I made some hot tea, got dressed, and then grabbed my camera to catch the sunrise on the lake. 

I felt my sister's presence as I watched the night turn into day. It was comforting but sad at the same time. I wish that she had gotten the opportunity to come here for a visit as she would have loved sitting and looking at the lake with me. Thanks to COVID, she was not able to do any traveling as she was afraid of contracting the virus.

All day I felt very weepy, though a call from my niece helped as we could talk about the way we are both trying to deal with Kathy's untimely passing. Planting some fall flowers made me feel better, but playing pickleball with my ladies group here in the community was just a bit too overwhelming for me. I left after a few games. Maybe I just felt guilty for living when my sister had her life cut short. 

After I got home, my phone buzzed with a message from one of the sweetest women in my neighborhood. She said she had left something on the porch for me. Opening the door, I found a lovely card and a beautiful plant. She wanted to tell me that she and her husband were thinking about me. I texted her to let her know her timing could not have been more perfect as I had been feeling so down. It was a gentle reminder to me that I should be appreciative and enjoy my time with the living before it is too late.

sympathy greetings from friends

Cemetery Streaming

Jerry's casket

My father and mother-in-law purchased a family plot at St. Andrew's Cemetery in Fairfax, Minnesota decades ago. Many of their relatives are buried there as well. It was their wish to have a funeral in Charles City, Iowa and the burial four hours away in Fairfax. We always joked with them that they better not die in the winter as no one would be able to make that drive.

As it turns out, even though dad died during beautiful weather, we couldn't make the drive anyway. With COVID-19 keeping the country on lockdown, we decided to have a virtual graveside service. On Thursday a cousin who was able to attend because she lives in the area used her phone as the conduit for the rest of us to virtually attend through the internet program Zoom. Those of us who were remote were able to see the handful of relatives who were there in person, and listen to the funeral director say a prayer and sing a couple hymns.

I read a phrase recently that referred to the American way of death. All our past experiences included traditions that were followed. Planning the funeral, picking out clothes for the deceased, setting up the viewing, funeral and burial, and preparing for the post-funeral gathering. There was the viewing, then the funeral, a trip to the grave site and then a luncheon of some sort. The pandemic has disrupted all of that, and really robbed us of the opportunity to truly grieve and mourn the loss of an extremely important person in our lives.

But our virtual service brought us some relief. I suppose things finally seemed real. The best part was that those of us who were online together stayed on after the graveside service concluded. People were able to express their sympathy to my mother-in-law, and she in turn was able to interact with family that she hadn't seen for quite awhile. There were tears and reminiscing, laughter at old stories and jokes, and a sharing of the mutual love we all had for Jerry. It was the closure that we all needed. It might not have been the funeral that was well-planned by mom and dad, but we sure made use of the technology available to spread hugs, love and goodbyes. Even if it was all done virtually. RIP, beloved father.

family flowers

The Virtual Viewing

65th wedding anniversary

Yesterday my father-in-law was laid out out the funeral home. Current mandates during the COVID-19 pandemic allow only 10 people to be gathered in one place at a time. This number includes the funeral home staff and any clergy that might be there. Jim's older sister, who lives in the same town of my in-laws, was able to be there along with some of her close family members. They represented those of us who are having to stay in our own homes.

Through Messenger I was able to set it up that Jim's younger sister and her husband, our son and his wife, our daughter, and Jim and me were able to virtually attend the viewing. I thought I also had my mother-in-law in the group chat with the help of her hospice nurse, but we had a technology fail so they were not online. The funeral director sang "Be Not Afraid", and Sister Diana from their church read some scriptures and talked about her own personal experiences in knowing Jerry as long as she did. I was doing my best to text what was said to the hospice nurse to relay to mom.

It was a short service but very poignant and personalized. Then the hospice nurse sent me something mom had prepared and asked me to read it to everyone since she wasn't online with us. It was beautifully written and made me cry. I could barely get through it. To witness the love of this 68 year partnership is truly something.

Today is the virtual graveside ceremony in Minnesota. Our family will be well-represented by cousins and nephews and nieces, to the limit of the 10 gathering in one space. We are so grateful to each and every one of them for being there when we can not. Zoom is set up and a young woman will be providing the eyes and ears for us. If the technology gods are willing, mom will be joining us from her room in the nursing home. Worst case scenario, it will be recorded for future playback.

All of this is not what we planned or desired, but it is the hand we have been dealt. We are doing the best we can under extremely difficult and trying circumstance, and are grateful that technology is enabling us to have a least a little bit of closure.

Saying Goodbye to Dad

Gerald Wolterman

My father-in-law Jerry died April 22 at 10:53 in the evening. While no family member was allowed in the room with him, other than my mother-in-law, we were extremely grateful to learn that he passed while two nurses were there taking care of him. Hopefully with everyone wearing masks, he thought it was one of us.

I cannot find a word to exactly describe what it feels like to lose someone you love during this COVID crisis. Surreal comes close but seems insufficient somehow. You have an expectation, and a picture in your mind based on past experiences, of how the end of life for your loved one will be. The family would be gathered around the bedside of the one who is dying, holding their hand, telling them they are loved, saying good-bye...And those left behind would hold each other in their grief, mourning together, crying together. Relatives would be notified, and funeral preparations would begin. The loved one's life would be blessed by the priest and celebrated by the living before being taken to the cemetery for the final resting place.

Nowhere in that scenario or our wildest dreams did we expect a situation where we would be told not to leave our homes, much less our state, to visit the dying and comfort the living. That we could not hold our mom and tell her how sorry we are that her husband of 68 years has passed. That we would not be able to go to the funeral home and help with the selection of a casket and crypt. Or that we would not be able to hold a funeral due to the stay at home mandates, or accompany his body to Minnesota where his cemetery plot is located.

Instead we did a FaceTime chat with Jim's sister at the funeral home, which was better than nothing as we at least were able to sort of see the caskets and help her make a decision. In order to help ease the burden of the local sister we wrote the obituary and found a photo to accompany it. We have also been corresponding with cousins who right away volunteered to be at the cemetery when Jerry's body arrives. This was a great comfort to us as we felt it was going to be one last insult if no one was there by the graveside when he arrives. We are hoping to set up a Zoom event so that those of us who cannot travel to Minnesota can participate visually. If all goes well, it will be recorded so others can view it later. Jim and I are blessed with a neighbor who offered his assistance to set this up and record it for us.

Down the road we will have a Celebration of Life for Jerry, when it is safe for all of us to travel and be able to hug one another as we laugh and cry over a life well-lived. We are doing the best we can under the circumstances with the technology afforded us. But this is no way to lose someone you love and certainly no way to grieve the loss.

My father-in-law lived a long life, and we are grateful for the time we had with him. I was only 19 the first time I met him, and I loved him from the start. Here is a poem I wrote for him on Father's Day in 2017. The words mean more to me today than they did then, and it comforts me to know that he knew how much he meant to me.

poem to Dad

Death by Suicide

One of my nephews died last Monday at the age of 47. While it is tragic enough to lose a person so young, the grief is compounded by the fact that he took his own life, leaving a suicide note behind. Because he grew up in a state far away from me, we were not as close as I would have liked. I cannot begin to fathom what drove him to give up hope, though I have since heard he was experiencing financial difficulties.

As a nation we need to do better at providing mental health options for people in need. Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the United States. Each year around 45,000 people commit suicide in our country, according to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. Sadly, my nephew will be part of the 2018 statistic.

September is National Suicide Prevention month. Let's all do our part to draw attention to the problem of suicide, let people know that suicide can be prevented, and advocate to do more to prevent people from feeling like suicide is their only option. It's too late for my nephew, but hopefully not too late to help others who are struggling.

poem for my nephew

Our New Normal

last picture together December 4, 2016

It's been a little over a week since we had Kirby put to sleep. We are still trying to adjust to our new normal. I knew that Jim would have a hard time because Kirby was his little buddy - they had a mutual love affair going on. I loved Kirby as well, and I know he loved me, too. But I played second fiddle if Jim was around, despite me being the one who was in the house with Kirby all day. But I underestimated how much I would miss the little guy. Everything in the house reminds me of him, especially when I am cooking. I got the can opener out to open some tomatoes. He would have dashed to my side, hoping I was preparing some tuna or canned chicken. The cutting board? He was always right there in the hopes that I was cutting up ham or chicken. It will be a long time before I can buy ham at the deli, as that is what I wrapped all of his pills in so that he would eat them. And I don't think Jim or I will be able to eat a hard boiled egg for quite a while. Kirby loved those, and he and Jim shared one each morning.

Last Wednesday the trash bins did not get rolled back to the house because I always grabbed them after our afternoon walk. And the W-K Times didn't get picked up Friday morning because Jim and Kirby would get it after their morning walk. We both find ourselves leaving a last bite of meat on our plates because we would save Kirby a treat each meal.

Friday I came home to a message on the answering machine from the emergency clinic with "some information about Kirby". I almost didn't return the call, but I knew it would be hard for Jim to do it as well so I just got it over with. As I suspected, they wanted to let us know that Kirby's ashes were ready to be picked up. Jim had requested that he be cremated. I confirmed that they would hold the ashes until we were ready to come and get them. When is one ever ready for that? I am still traumatized over my dad making me go to the vet to pick up the collar and leash of our German Shepherd after he died on the operating table when I was in college.

But Jim was out yesterday afternoon, so he did stop and pick up the remains and settled our bill. He said it was terrible. He felt the eyes of the other pet owners on him as they sat in the waiting room with their pets on a leash while his was in a box. When he got home, he told me not to freak out, but that Kirby was in his favorite spot. I peered into the conservatory, and sure enough Jim had set the box on the couch where Kirby had spent most of his time. He loved sitting in the corner of that couch (or on top of the cushion) so that he could watch for Beloved (as I referred to Jim) come home from work. It was a jolt to see the box in his corner. One surprise is that the emergency clinic had made a cast of Kirby's foot to give to us. It was a nice gesture that I am sure we will appreciate at some point. For right now it is another reminder of what we are missing.

all that remains

We received sympathy cards from our new vet as well as the emergency clinic. A couple of friends have sent cards as well. My Facebook post about Kirby's death received over 100 comments in addition to all the emoticons people tagged on it. It is comforting to know that he touched so many people in his ten years with us. I know that we gave him a great life, and he in turn graced us with much love and happiness. But right now our new normal doesn't feel very normal at all.

Our Hearts are Broken

Late yesterday afternoon we had Kirby put to sleep. In the past few days he had seemed more restless, particularly at night. He spent a lot of time on the tile floor of the conservatory, despite the cold temperature. The conservatory was definitely his room, with the couch serving as his throne where he could observe his subjects - the birds, bunnies and cats who traversed through our yard. And where he could watch for his most loyal subject (Jim) to arrive home. It was unusual for him to be spending so much time on the hard floor.

His tumor had continued to grow, but did not appear to be bothering him until yesterday. He had eaten well in the morning and taken his pills nicely for me. He and Jim took their normal long morning walk, and then we went out to do some Christmas shopping. Kirby still seemed fine, and Jim went to the office to do some work, and I headed upstairs to try to look at a website issue I've had ever since some cretins hacked into my web host and ruined four of my sites. Jim got home a little after four, and called up to me that Kirby was bleeding. He must have just been licking the tumor nonstop while we weren't watching. He was bleeding quite a bit, and his muzzle and feet were covered in blood. I knew what that meant as I had discussed this with the doctor a couple weeks ago when he aspirated this latest lump. Mast cell cancer is incurable, and he would continue to get these tumors. It was time to let him go. I called the emergency clinic while Jim was cleaning things up to let them know what was going on. It was the same facility where we had met with the oncologist, so they had a file on Kirby.

We wrapped Kirby up in towels and headed to the clinic. They immediately took us to a private room, which we very much appreciated. We spoke first with a technician, and she took Kirby away to insert a catheter into his leg in preparation for the medication. The vet took a look at him at the same time, and then the tech returned Kirby to Jim's lap. The very young vet then came in to talk to us. She confirmed that we wanted him put to sleep, and then said in light of all that was going on with him she felt this was the best decision. I told her it was hard to let him go though, as he was still eating and playing and wanting his daily walks. She said that it was a blessing that he did not have to go through all the really bad stuff that this cancer can cause. It was just the right thing to say to us. She asked if we wanted more time with him, and we said no because he was really agitated at the point. So she injected medicine to make him go to sleep, and then the final dose for his permanent rest. It was all very quick though he did take one last inhale that was a little disconcerting. She continued to listen for a heartbeat until there was none. 5:45 p.m. It was all over but the crying. Truer words...

After we got home I washed up the bloody towels and Jim's bloody clothes. I texted or emailed close family members to give them the news, asking them not to call us last night. We couldn't handle talking to anyone. Neither one of us ate dinner, or slept much last night. We were missing our bed buddy. When I went downstairs this morning, the first thing I did was check to see if Kirby's water bowl was filled. The pill bottles lined up on the counter made me cry. I woke up my computer only to see the website of the emergency clinic staring me in the eyes. The first email I read was from Merial, reminding me to apply Kirby's flea treatment.

Since I was bawling anyway, I went ahead and packed up all of his toys, leashes, food, etc. I discarded what needed to be thrown away, and hope to donate a couple of unused leashes and poop bags to someone who can use them. I also have an unopened box of flea treatment and sealed Heart Guard pills that I am hoping a shelter can use. We'll see...I can't deal with that yet, but at least it is all out of site. None of it will be out of mind, however.

On Death and Dying

When I was in high school I read the book On Death and Dying, written by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in 1969. I may still have my copy packed away with my old books. I used to fantasize that we were related to her since my maiden name is Kubler. But my dad said our family was from Germany and she was from Switzerland, so it was unlikely. (I have since learned that our family came from Busserach, Switzerland so I continue my quest to see if we share some branches on the family tree.) At any rate, I found Kubler-Ross' theory about the five stages of grief to be fascinating. I later wrote some papers about death and dying in college as I worked on my Family Services degree.

Someone close to me died last week. Her spouse is not telling too many people, and does not want any discussions about the death despite the fact that it was unexpected. The body was cremated and there will be no funeral. While I respect the wishes of the spouse, I think this approach is very hard on those left behind. Many of us communicate through social media avenues, letting our family and friends know of milestones, successes and yes, deaths. And funerals are for the living, not for the deceased. They are a way to share our memories of a loved one, and to share our grief as well. There will be no closure for the remaining family and friends in this case. I feel bad for all of those who knew and loved this woman who will not be made aware of her passing.

Everyone grieves in their own way - I understand that. But it doesn't make it any easier to try to come to terms with this loss. In recent years I have written poems when a loved one dies. So I will write one for the woman I loved, even though I won't be able to share it here. Heaven has another angel...