The Truth About Death (My Mom Died–Part 3)
At my mom’s funeral in Riverton, Utah it was storming. Ice cold rain and wind. There were tents and chairs, but I stood in the rain. My wife and kids asked me to come under the canape, but I ignored everyone. I was in shock. The cold water soaking into my suit and rolling over my skin helped my mind to numb.
I remember a lot of people talking, saying things that just didn’t matter. Their opinions, their thoughts on trivial things. Crap, even my grandparents talked about what great missionaries they were, but hardly a word about my own mother, who was sitting there in the casket beside them. The only thing that mattered to me or held my attention was the bringing in of the casket, and my beloved father singing to his sweetheart for one last time.
When it was all over, the crowd rose and started finding members of my family to give their condolences. Kind, heart felt words that didn’t make much sense, but that’s all they knew to give. They would pat me on the shoulder or hug me, with advice like “you’re gonna get through this”, or “It’ll take time, but it’ll get easier”, or “Time will help heal.” The only family that held their tongue was Chad’s, the same family who had lost their little boy. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to.
They knew words would be more for them than for me, so they gave us hugs and moved on with a smile and tear of understanding. I just stood there, silent, my little children wrapped around my soaking legs, hugging me.
The last person there waited until everyone had passed and said their peace, never making a sound or a motion towards me until I was alone. A good friend of mine, Paul, who I hadn’t even noticed was at the funeral in the first place. He walked up slowly and waited for me to look at him. His words were golden to my ears, and they have helped me through the toughest parts of my life after my mom died.
Here’s what he said:
“Jaime, I wanted to wait until we were alone, so we could talk. I know you’re a blunt person, so I want to say something I think you’ll appreciate.
“The closest person to me in this world was my little brother. For the past 8 months, I have cared for him and bathed him and lifted his frail little body into bed each night as cancer ate him away to nothing. My sweet, kind baby brother, who gave no offense to the day I placed his body in the ground.
“People came to the funeral. They gave their condolences and they expressed their sorrows, saying the same things I heard your friends and family tell you today. But I want to give you a sliver of truth here, because you’re my friend and I love you.
“Everything they said to you is complete and total bullshit.
“Your mother was an incredible person. She gave birth to you, she loved you, she cared for you Jaime. The fact is, she owns a part of your heart. It belongs to her,and she’s not here anymore. No one else can fill that hole. It’s not possible. You’ll have that hole for the rest of your life…and it’s not going to be ok. and it’s NOT going to get easier! It hurts. You were robbed of a loved one and it’s perfectly ok to be pissed off, to be angry and to scream and shout.
“It’s going to hurt like hell for some time. Who knows how long. You’ll have good days and you’ll have days that feel like complete shit. But you’ll cope. You’ll find a way to take one day at a time. to breath in and out and put one foot in front of the other. And after a time you’ll manage and move on, not because it doesn’t hurt anymore–but because you understand that the feelings of pain are just a reminder of that hole which can’t be filled.
“It will never get better, Jaime. But you will learn to manage.”
He gave me a strong hug and left me standing there alone, with a truth I have cherished to this day.
Some might not like that type of talk, but Paul knew me and he knew I would fight if I just had a shred of truth to stand my ground. It has never gotten better. I miss my mom every day, and there are times when life gets so hard that I take that ghastly perfume she wore, spray a bit on my pillow and hope I’ll dream of her, walking with me, holding me and having one of the many talks I remember growing up.
But I have learned to manage.
Read MoreThe Perfect Woman
I don’t want to end the day on a down note, and while I was writing Wanted Hero my wife called.
Just hearing her voice still puts butterflies in my stomach and a smile on my face. I hung up with a sigh and started thinking how absolutely lucky I happen to be. Well, blessed–I don’t believe in luck. It got me feeling sorry for the men out there who just don’t get it. You know ladies, the ones that just don’t want to listen, or get to know you. They don’t apparently see the value in winning the heart of a ‘real’ woman. Frankly I would call you “perfect”.
Now, anyone can disagree with me…I can’t fix stupid, but I believe that women are naturally better than men. I know, there are exceptions and even I’ve met a few–but on average, women are so magnificent simply due to their fundamental nature. A natural love and affection for others, and when a woman has intelligence, she truly shines.
Kathilynn is my greatest councilor, helping me to see aspects I would normally miss. To be another set of eyes, a softer heart, the mercy to my rough and harsh justice. Yet the greatest beauty I see in most women I know, my wife and our friends…is the ability to ‘see’ with their hearts.
I asked my sweetheart not long ago why she chose me over all the men who adored her. There was no lack in attention, and I was the one without the job, without the social status, without the money, cars…I just scraped by.
She said she could ‘see’ me. Not who I was then and there, but when we were together, she could see and feel what I would become, and she fell in love with that.
If you’re a male and don’t realize the value in that, God help you.
She kissed me and gave me that amazing smile, then leaned in to whisper: “I not only love you…I like you, and if I had the choice before me, I would do this all over again. Bumps and all.”
Wow. A perfect woman gentlemen, is one that can look us up and down, clearly see the baggage we carry…and choose to love us to a higher existence. It doesn’t get better than that.
Let’s live up to the blessings we already have.
Read MoreMy Mom Died–Part Two
I learned that people go literally crazy when someone they know dies. I have always avoided funerals. My close friend died when we were teenagers–he flipped his dad’s boat and truck near our favorite lake, rolling the truck and throwing him from the cab. I refused to go to his funeral. My parents didn’t make me go, and his parents were so concerned they sent his older sister (who I had been sweet on for 6 years) to come talk to me.
The first funeral I went to was after I was a father. A dear friend, Chad had lost his eight year old boy. Smothered himself in his sleep in a bunkbed. My heart almost beat out of my chest seeing that miniature coffin sitting there on the table. I just grabbed Chad and we wept. Just couldn’t imagine the pain of losing one of my boys, and was damned if I’d let Chad suffer alone.
But both those families shifted. Something snapped. Some have weathered the challenges, tried to make the most of their circumstances and grow, while other family members completely gave up and went off the deep end. My family was no exception, and those who have dealt with death in the family, and have substantially sized families, know where I’m about to go.
Courtesy, common sense and natural family protocol go right out the window.
Example: Mom is married to my father. Young sweethearts my parents were–adored each other. Now, when my mom died, my mind said ‘I need to look out for dad’. Yet the consensus with all but one or two of my siblings (there are 10 of us) was “what do I get now that mom’s dead?”
I’m talking about sisters going through my mothers belongings unbeknown to my father, scavenging what they could, then petitioning my father for my mothers priceless engagement ring! Verbal fights about who has a “right” to this and that, who “deserves” this and that… EXCUSE ME!?? While I watched a mourning father who lost the love of his life, weeping.
Rights?! Deserves?!! DID DAD JUST DIE TOO? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SELFISH VOMIT BAGS THINKING!???
Am I crazy here…or wouldn’t everything my mother possessed belong to my father, especially when they had acquired it together over their marriage? Did the will and feelings of my father no longer matter? Well, I hate to say this, but the fights and selfishness grew.
Some came to their senses after a substantial yelling from myself (the oldest and by far the meanest, black and white thinker of the bunch) and from my wonderful sister Cory (who was IN the accident…and lost one of her baby twins in the same accident). But the family broke apart with that event. It’s still broken. When everyone got an open, uncensored look into the hearts of their siblings. To see the true values. Motivations.
I wanted to vomit. I kept myself, Kathi and the kids as far from the chaos as I could, and just tried, with uncle Bob and Dad, to be the support and peacemakers. Well, I carried a bat.
In the end, dad showed up at my house late one evening. It had been a few months since the accident and the funueral. He pulled me aside and asked me what I wanted of moms. I told him nothing. It was his and I would never presume to take something that didn’t belong to me.
“You never asked for anything, Jaime.” he said with a tear filled smile. “Not once.”
“It’s ok dad.”
He shook his head. “No, it isn’t. I want you to have something. Anything. Name one thing and it’s yours.”
I just cried, because I always wished I could have one simple thing, but had refused to ask. It was silly anyway.
My dad watched me closely, and smiled, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder. “What can I give you?”
“I sure would love a bottle of that ghastly perfume mom wore. One she was using. One she touched, so I can put some on my pillow at night when I miss her too much.”
My father pulled mom’s half-used bottle of perfume from his pocket andf handed it to me.
“I thought you might.”
He kissed me on the forehead like a little child and left.
Read MoreMy Mom Died–Part One
On April 25th, 2004, I received a phone call from my father at 4:14 am (time is a bit fuzzy), waking me from sleep. It was a choking, sobbing voice, and I clicked on the light to look at the caller ID on the nightstand. The first words I heard were:
“Mom’s dead.”
I remember my heart breaking and becoming angry at my father for the sick joke. It wasn’t. My mother–one of Gods greatest creations, was dead in a rollover that made national news outside Reno Nevada. She had been traveling all night and flipped the car with her, my sister and my two baby twin nieces (one week from their 1st birthday).
That was the day my family as I knew it ended.
I bring this up, because we are still dealing with family issues that affect everyone around them, and after an argument five minutes ago, there are things I need off my chest. There are things I have learned in the last five years that have helped me to become happier than I have ever been in my life, and though I miss my mom late at night, or on mothers day–and especially at Christmas…I would not change the events of time. Yes my children, even if I were Doctor Who.
Hopefully some of my friends and siblings out there will read this (eventually) and either be able to heal…or pull their heads out of their asses and stop being cruel to one another.
(sorry for the language mom)
Read MoreGood News on Baby #11
Just got the call from Kathi as she left the Hospital from her check up with the new Doctor. We had to find a new Doctor with moving so far away after losing the house. Not long ago (about 6 weeks) Kathi had emergency surgery and was rushed to the new Riverton Hospital (IHC) here in the Utah Valley and I have to say it was the most peaceful, amazing experience I have had in any hospital. I’ll make some posts about this, cause it’s a heck of a story.
So, naturally we decided to investigate the OBGYN‘s at that facility. Kathi is fine, for those who are wondering (or have been worried) and thus far, she’s doing OK, as is the baby. There are many test whch have to be done on February 1st, and the Doctor brought up the possibility of a Down Syndrome child, due to Kathi’s age. The amazin thing about my wife is–she just loves our children and counts it a blessing to have them. We will adress that if it comes up and move forward with love and excitment.
The OBGYN Doctor turned out to be a woman. Oh I would have loved to be there for that conversation! LOL. Kathi said there was a minor war of wills between them: the doctor being a mother and professional, while Kathi has delivered 8 children at home (my beautiful mamma veteran) without so much as an aspirin and knows her body and how it functions. We only decided to go to a doctor because we could not find any Midwives we had confidence in within our new area. Aparently they exchanged desires of how this birth will happen in the Hospital, and according to Kathi’s version it sounded like a bartering match at a flea market!
When it was over, aparently Kathi got the attention of the staff, because she had the doctor agreeing to many terms of how she would be free to wander, no IV, etc., and left with a huge smile on her face.
Did I mention how much I like my wife?
Children are their oppressors.
A strange title for a post, but a good one after what I witnessed today. Kathilynn had the same experience, but gratefully, we saw seperate sides of the same situation.
We are camping at the moment. It’s our family reunion. The same place, every year, at the same time…and we all love this week more than Christmas. Well, as I was sitting out in the 98 degree sun, by the pool, watching my 10 children playing in the water, a lone child, between 7 and 9 years of age, came to join us. Hey, the more the merrier. My daughters said ‘hi’ and asked if she’d like to join their game of marco polo. She declined. That’s perfectly normal, we’re strangers to her…so good for her as far as I’m concerned.
The odd part came out when her father showed up.
Here’s a kind tempered man, who walks with a hunch, looks to be in his early fifties and worn to the bone. He comes to make sure his daughter has what she needs: her goggles, floating raft, towel, sun screen. What a great dad. Life resumes for a time, and then she starts to complain. It’s too hot, the waters too cold and she’s hungry. She doesn’t do anything about it–but rather sits on the floating device which her father just spent 15 minutes blowing up by mouth and yells for her father. He takes the childs order for food and rushes off. About 20 minutes later, he’s returned with the lunch, almost the way she likes it, but not quite. She makes sure her father, and the rest of us, know she is not pleased.
He says he wants to go do something while she’s in the pool, it’s important, but she screams at him to stay. He asks, always so kindly and attentive, what she needs and she, of course, tells him. She wants him to sit and watch…until she’s done. So he pulls up a chair and sits there waiting, as she swims. Ok, I can swallow it up to this point as a father–he seems to be a decent fellow, but in my own mind, this child doesn’t have a clue of where her place is, or any idea of how the world will put her in it eventually. But here comes the doosey:
A cell phone rings.
Not the dads. Hers. She’s a little child, and she has a phone. Ok, I see plenty of them around…but the father now rushes to answer it, fumbling through her towel and clicks it on. He panics and comes to the side of the pool and apologizes profusely to this child, for not answering it fast enough, and let’s her know it’s ‘Tony’. She gets out of the pool, runs over to grab the phone from her fathers hand and starts dialing, dripping over the phone and turning her back on her father with the snap of:
“Dad, you need to answer quicker next time–Tony is my boyfriend!”
The next 30 minutes was watching this kid walking around the pool, talking on the phone, dropping the call, calling back, mocking other children and telling Tony how dumb her dad is. My kids are in the pool, half of them want to vomit, but my 7 year old asks me frankly:
“Dad, why is she so mean to her own dad?”
I sat there in shock and disgust for may reasons, but I want to stay on point here in reflection of what my wife felt. My view ends quite abruptly with a swat on the butt and a list of chores. She was looking to the father, and how his kindness and love was unappreciated, unnoticed and that he was not receiving any respect due to him, should he have done nothing more than provide food and shelter. I agree with her. She watched the child and noticed the sad look on her fathers face, sitting there, obviously understanding that the world does not revolve around such personalities or demands, and that his lack of fundamental teaching wasn’t helping either of them.
Sure, if she gets into trouble, daddy can rescue her…for now. Yet how many of us fold on correct principles because it’s convenient? It’s only a couple dollars to get this, give that,…I’m so tired, etc. Yet compromising our principles are what cause so many problems in our own lives, our own families, communities and this country. As parents, I want to stress that you don’t have to settle. Being the strong, firm role allows for overall development not only for your child, but for yourself. This is NOT the environment where you can leave a child to their own design…because that design will turn out to be destruction.
It is my own personal belief that those parents who are worth even half their weight in salt, are those who seek to raise a better generation of children than the one they came from.
Sadly, I saw the fulfillment of scripture today in Isiah 3:12 12 ¶ As for my people, children are their oppressors, and women rule over them.
Jaime Buckley can be contacted at jaimebuckley@gmail.com
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