1950...no hair, Mom was horrified I would be bald.
My father carried this picture that Aunt Janet took of me at 3 in his wallet till he died. I was 13 he he was killed. Mom said he so loved the picture that he had the current year's one over it.
By God, I made it. It is a reality that I can say with certainty I am always amazed every time I wake up on this side of the grass. What confuses me is is why. I can not figure out why me. Today I turned 62, but I started out this year with two brothers and before the middle of this month, I had only one. Harold is the only brother left of four, and my sister is also gone. The weirdness of this does befuddle me. Why me? I have been in a morgue, and died on the surgery table 4 times, but I am still here. Have I done something wrong and must pay for it by watching my family die? Or is it as Mom said, "You are the one to tell the truth."
The truth teller. What truth should I tell? Should I tell the whole, real truth about my family, warts and all? Or should I tell the varnished truth, just bits of the story that have been carefully selected?
As I sit here going through old family photos, I wonder why I am doing this anymore. The people in these photos are almost all dead, just one or two left. The grandchildren and great-grandchildren of my parents don't even know who these people are. I have spent over 40 years collecting stories, records and documents to write the story of my family. But which family do I write about? The family that was poor, happy but intact before my dad died?
Mom and Dad 1961
Or the new family that was formed after my father was killed, just Mom and her kids?
Bill, Harold, Bobby, Rose, Sooty and Tiger 1963. My favorite picture of my little brothers and sister.
Dennis and Mom 1963.
Ironically all the people in the above pictures except for Harold, are gone. My heart breaks with sadness at times, but I also cherish all of them forever, even when bad things happened between us.
Or the "UNBLENDED" group that was the result of my mother remarrying a year and a half later.
I was editing some pictures to up load to Ancestry for the family history when I saw a couple of new pictures of my brother Dennis who had just died. I was shocked and appalled at what I saw: I saw an old man. After my initial shock I decided to go through some more of my pictures and some other pictures I came across. What I realized is that Dennis became an old man in front of everyone and maybe no one noticed. I had not seen Dennis in over two years so the decline was dramatic.
I then decided to go through pictures of my Mom who had just died 1 1/2 years ago and the similarity of decline was amazing. Within two years Mom became old before our eyes, and even though I thought I had caught it I did not fully.
Then I pulled out pictures of my sister Rose who had died from a brain tumor, and the difference is there too.
So next I went through some pictures of Al and myself, and was totally blow away, the changes are so noticeable when you look back.
We don't really see ourselves. The people who are closest to us don't notice the changes like someone who had not seen you in a while. I think maybe because you see someone everyday you just become used to the person, I don't think it is because you don't care. I wonder if our brains are wired to ignore the small signs. Does the brain do this to prepare us for the upcoming death? Or is it because we are wired to be afraid of death, and are in denial? I really don't know the why, the realization that it is going on right before our eyes is shocking.
So I have a couple of suggestions:
1. Get pictures taken every year, and at the beginning of the New Year look at lasts years picture to see how you or the family member has changed. Was it a normal aging change? Or is there a look in the eyes or posture that has changed that concerns you? The most important change I now see in Mom's and Dennis's pictures is they lost the sparkle in their eyes, and their smiles did not light up the room. Rose was only 32, but she looked much older and also had lost her smile. These three especially had full faced smiles that could light up a room.
2. If you see a change that is worrying, tell the person and maybe suggest they see a doctor if you think it is medical. If the doctor says it is no big deal, maybe get a second opinion, doctors can be wrong. Trust me doctors can really be wrong, they were for Rose and my Mother. Had to change doctors a couple of times.
3. Do the same thing for yourself, most of us do not look at ourselves, except to see how we are dressed, etc. Be honest with yourself, it has nothing to do with vanity. It could save your life.
As we all know, we can't get out of life alive....death will happen, but maybe, just maybe we can improve the quality of one's life with some foresight....maybe.
As someone who took care of three family members while they were dying, I thought I was pretty informed, but maybe nobody can be fully knowledgeable. As an example, here is an interesting article I found today.....
http://gma.yahoo.com/wife-slips-madness-husband-dies-brain-tumor-170825388--abc-news.html
My hope is that no one has to go through this or other too early deaths. I hope some of these thought will help you.
Christmas Eve is always a bittersweet night for me since 1977.
I used to love Christmas Eve especially after 1960. In 1960 we were waiting for Santa with bated breath. It had gotten dark early that night, and my little brothers and sister were getting excited because Santa was due. He was really coming to our house. We were all a little sad though, because Mommy and Daddy were not there. Mommy had gone to the hospital to have a baby on the 19th. Robert Paul was born, yet back then ( I know, the way back machine, women were allowed to stay in the hospital for about a week after having a baby) Mommy was not going to be home for Christmas... at least that is what I thought.
There was a knock on the door, and when my brother opened it up, we had the delight of our lives. In walked Santa! But the biggest surprise was when Santa walked over to me and handed me my Christmas present first. Wrapped up in a Christmas stocking with a little cap was a beautiful doll, or so I thought at first. It sure was a doll, a living doll, because Santa gave me a real baby, Robert Paul by name. I looked into that beautiful face and fell madly in love ... and stayed that way forever. I ran into my bedroom with him in my arms, and got out my doll crib to see if he would fit. He did. Well I figured my Christmas was as perfect as it could be. But it wasn't over yet.
Santa was being jolly and giving out presents to my other little brothers and sister, when there was another knock on the door. The kids were so excited they fell over themselves to get to the door and were screaming with delight because in walked Mommy and Daddy. As far as we were concerned we were in nirvana. After we hugged and kissed them, Mommy asked where the baby was, and I asked her what baby? She said the baby, Robert Paul, that Santa had brought in to surprise us with. I said you mean the beautiful living doll that was given to me for Christmas? She said yes. I told her I had put him down in my doll crib to nap while all the excitement was going on. Mommy looked rather shocked and looked at Daddy who broke out in hysterical laughter. Santa was cracking up too. The little kids had no idea what was going on, just that everyone was happy. Daddy asked if he could see my new doll and I told him if he was quiet he could see him. He went to the bedroom and cracked up, Robert Paul was sound asleep in my doll crib (which was a handmade wooden crib that my grandfather had made me the year before, it was built like a rock). Daddy asked if he could pick the "doll" up and I told how to do it safely, (support the head and put him in the "roock" of your arm). My father had a wonderful sense of humor and humored me and walked into the living room with my "doll".
My father walked into the living room and started to give the baby to my mother, but stopped short and asked me if it was okay for Mommy to hold my "doll". I told daddy "Don't be silly Daddy, Mommy made him for me." I am not sure who laughed the hardest, Santa or my parents. After some questioning my parents realized that I *believed* Santa when he said that the baby was my Christmas present. After this realization they had to have Santa find my "real" gift, which was a baton, which I had wanted, *BEFORE* Santa gave me my "living doll". I relented and let Mommy have the baby, on the condition she would share him, which she did till 1977.
Bobby 1966
Christmas 1966
On Nov. 2, 1977, my living doll, Bobby was killed in a car accident on the way home from school......I will never stop loving him and seem to always shed some tears on Christmas Eve for him, My Mother told me that each Christmas Eve she would remember the lovely story of how Bobby came home. She told me before she died, it was one of the most cherished moments in her life, because after all I was only 10 and trusted Santa and my parents, so believed anything they told me. Mother said that the man who played Santa was a member of our American Legion and would tell the story for years afterwards.
Bobby loved his first Christmas story ....and so do I, even if it is bittersweet. Bobby would curl up in the rocker with me and ask me to tell him the story every year...it was our special story.
I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas Eve story for themselves.
Rose Marie is my only sister and she died today in 1989.........it is shocking to see how much time has gone by......
When she was born I was the happiest kid in the world, I finally got a sister...I already had three brothers and felt it was time.
Rose was born July 2nd and as a result for years thought the fireworks going during the 4th was for her..........especially after she was 3 and her big brother took her downtown to see the fireworks at the Detroit river.
Rose was a talented artist, accomplished horsewoman and loved living outdoors and experiencing the wild. She lived for years in Alaska and raised some of her own food. She also worked on fishing ships and hunted. All in all she was a "Renaissance Woman".
My mother told me she did not know how she ended up with such daughters. Mom said her daughters had "more balls" then her sons.
I do not know why my sister and I had such hard lives and why I did not have the gift of growing older with her. When she was dying she told me that she wanted me to be her power of attorney and to fight her fights for her because she knew I would not fail her. It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. Because of our Mother being married to someone Rose did not trust, she did not want Mom to be put in a difficult place. Like she told me, Mom would not be able to help her without backlash from her husband. When I had to corner the doctor to tell us the truth, how long did she have.....would she live long enough for her brother's birthday on the 4th, the doctor did not want to tell me the truth. Rose was in a coma at this time and both her brothers made it back home in time to say good by. Her older brother's birthday was on the 4th of Oct, she died at 12:02am on the 5th of Oct., she hung in long enough so she would not die on her brother's birthday. I guess Mom is right, Rose really had some balls.
I miss my little sister, I loved her with my whole heart and think about how lucky I was to have her for 32 years. As I sit here crying because of how much I miss you Rose, I also have joy in my heart because I did what you asked me to do Rose and that is fight for your dignity.
So my little Rosey Posey Pudding and Pie, Thank You for being part of my heart and having blessed me for the years I had with you.
Mom and Dad 1958
