It’s true. I thought it would happen beginning a couple weeks ago, but I really haven’t been reliving the detailed events of a year ago. Sure. I’ve thought about certain things, but in general, I’m not.
However, one year ago on Saturday, May 7th (it’s a Sunday this year) reality became an unwelcome visitor. We’d been managing Pam’s pain for a couple weeks already, taking turns with a 24/7 rotation of turning her and keeping her comfortable. Hospice caregivers came only once each weekday in the mornings.
During a position change that Saturday, Mary, Pam’s sister-in-law and retired nurse, thought a hip bone might be out of place. So we called Hospice and talked with the nurse on call, who happened to be the lead nurse for Pam’s care. She came to the house within about an hour to examine Pam. It was not a bone issue. It was loss of weight/tissue/muscle. Good news – we hadn’t hurt Pam. Bad news – Pam’s condition was deteriorating.
As she was leaving, I took the nurse aside to mention quietly what Kara, Kelley, Mary, and probably others were noticing. There had been a marked change in Pam. The nurse agreed and told me she was going to start scheduling the case nurse for every day.
I was devastated by this news. Two weeks earlier the Hospice social worker told us that if/when this nursing schedule change is made, it meant that most likely Pam would not live longer than a week. She died five days later.
Equipped with this reality Pam’s brothers rescheduled their return flights home and I cancelled arrangements I’d just completed the day before to have Pam transferred to a care facility. Thus began the final watch.
This was a dreadful experience for us all. And yet there was such, I will use the term, ‘grace’ as we huddled in our small living room, taking turns visiting with Pam privately, and in groups. Family. Love. Sorrow. Pain. I realize now that I was in shock, barely functioning. Fortunately, others took over meals and transport as Kara, Kelley, Mary, and I as much as I could manage, took care of Pam.
Looking back, and in talking with some family members, I realize that we could not have done it much better. Pam had us all around her at the end. We took care of her and each other. Through it all, our bonds of family and friendship were deeply strengthened. Pam’s last loving gift to all of us!
May 12th is the first anniversary of Pam’s death. I hope you won’t mind if I take a week off. I have special activities planned for this coming week that I hope to write about afterward. But I think I need to take this time to concentrate on my grief process and contemplate how much I still love Pam and miss her painfully. My view has not changed one iota. Pam was an amazing individual, full of love and compassion. I was fortunate to have known her, loved her, and been loved by her. I know that those who knew her, especially her children, siblings, and in-laws, all feel the same.
Yes, I’m still counting. Last week I was in the Atlanta area visiting my Mother, sisters, and brother-in-law. It was the fourth visit since Pam died in May of 2022. Each trip has been impactful and in some ways represents the progression of my grieving process.
My first visit last June was just a month after Pam’s passing. It had been 2-1/2 years since my previous visit, a combination of COVID isolation and Pam’s and my challenges here at home. I was a mess. I didn’t really want to go but it was time. It takes me two days to drive there. Not quite short enough to comfortably make it in one, yet a bit too short for two. Which leaves me time in a motel to contemplate – whatever, further exacerbating being alone for hours in the car.
Much of the time that first trip was spent crying and wanting to get back home. Sure. It was good seeing my family, but my raw emotions were almost too much to bear, and obvious to those around me. But I made it through. And somehow I knew that it was part of my process, getting out of the house, seeing family, being alone with my thoughts and sorrows.
Leaving home was not much easier in September. I was still attached to everything Pam, and Pam and me, in the house. I chose different routes to and from Atlanta that trip. Exploring. Hoping for new attractions and distractions along the way. Still a long time to think and feel, wonder and cry.
Still with raw emotion I visited, trying to express my feelings while attempting to engage and empathize with everything going on with those I love. They were great! I began to feel safe in my grief. I was allowed, and allowed myself to just be me, trying to at least see the top of the wide and deep hole, the void created by losing half of myself. But I still found myself longing for home. As if Pam was still there waiting for me, even though I couldn’t call her to tell here of my experiences, couldn’t listen to her voice as she told me what she’d learned of our grandchildren or of news in the neighborhood. We used to talk often and long when we were geographically separated.
Between September and the end of December the holidays were painful and sad. This was Pam’s favorite season. Decorations, cooking traditional holiday foods, buying and wrapping gifts and, of course, incredible hand-made greeting cards. She would be beaming! But not last year. I managed to bring up the mini Christmas tree with its tiny white lights to put on the window sill. But that was it. No cards, some gift-giving. Visits from our children. Lots of crying – lots!
I left for Atlanta after Christmas and was there with family for New Years Eve and my Mother’s birthday in early January. Once again leaving the house was difficult. While visiting, I sensed change in my emotional stability, not quite as tense, able to engage more “normally.” By then I was no longer counting the weeks since Pam died, just the months. Little changes, but still trying to climb out of the hole.
Last week’s trip had a significantly different feel. I was anxious to go. I even used the excuse of impending severe weather to leave a day early. I enjoyed the drive down and was comfortable with my stay in Clarksville TN, west of Nashville. A side note: this was just days after the shooting and in the midst of the Tennessee legislature debating ousting three Democratic representatives for demonstrating about gun control laws.
Staying with my sister, Mother and brother-in-law was completely relaxed. My other sister visited every day. I played my music several time to this enthusiastic and safe audience. We ate and drank and generally enjoyed each other’s company. Clearly my disposition is changing. I thought of Pam often and missed calling her to tell her about what we were doing. I missed her terribly, but only had one serious bout of uncontrolled sobbing. A clear improvement.
As I drove toward home I realized for the first time that Pam is no longer here (at home). She is with me in my heart. I am trying to go on with life knowing that she is always with me.
Made in the shadeShabby view – NOT
I sat at an outside table at T-Rav restaurant in Jackson MO (near Cape Girardeau). As I waited for my pizza I started writing. I don’t usually share “unfinished” lyrics or those without accompanying music, but I’m making an exception in this case. I wrote them in an app on my phone, from which they are copied here. I’ve named it I Just Might Make It On My Own. Clearly written to Pam in my heart.
I just might make it on my own I didn’t plan it so to be No doubt I didn’t want to Have to live without you
But here I am Venturing out Taking it all in Making it on my own
It was supposed to be us Stepping out together Basking in sunshine Splashing in the rain
But here I am Venturing out Taking it all in Making it on my own
You and me Wandering roads and byways To see the beauty of the world Meeting others who want to see
Now here I am Venturing out Taking it all in Making it on my own
Eleven months since Pam died. I believe she would be happy with my progress. But I almost feel guilty going on without her. I’ll just have to keep her with me. Here in my heart. I know I will, as I make it on my own.
I have plans for a different sort of trip next month on the one-year anniversary of Pam’s passing. But I’ll postpone writing of that until afterward. Meanwhile, I’ll keep trying to make it – though not completely – on my own.
Continuing on a philosophical tangent, this week’s topic examines how I/we derive meaning from the things we say and do when everything has already been said, and nothing is really new.
Everything has been said before. Nothing I say is new. I write about what’s happening in my life. I express my grieving process, my hopes, dreams, and shortcomings. All in hopes that you, my faithful followers, will glean something meaningful from the reading. How I say, what I say, is meaningful only to me, unless someone else relates to the words anew.
Word play is fun. I enjoy finding different ways to express myself; alternative words to convey a message which has been stated by others in different ways. Whether with prose or in lyrics, words are treasures to be unearthed and revealed, mixing and matching in colorful ways, hoping to make you feel empathy, hoping you feel yourself. Nevertheless I write this message, knowing that it’s all been said before in many ways.
All music has been played before. I am further hampered by my limited knowledge of music theory. I recently learned that there are few musical theories throughout the world. The notes of our “Western” scale, along with other less familiar musical methods, all limit the number of combinations that sound good to our ears/minds. Timing and rhythms add complexity to a tune, helping us express our feelings and enhance our words.
What I play and how I play it is sensational only if it sparks familiar feelings in new ways. Can you think of a subject that hasn’t been covered by a musical artist? So many genres. Music has been part of the human experience since, well, since humans have experienced.
The first shirt I choseDefinitely describes meWishful thinking
Additional ways to express myself with words written by others. I’m thinking of wearing these to play gigs – whenever I work up enough courage to do so.
Just this week I finally heard the song I’ve been searching for since I used some of its chords to form one of my songs, Need to Love You, Instrumental, 12-String. That song is I Love You by The Steve Miller Band. I’m not a huge fan of Steve Miller, but this song, released in 1970 obviously stuck with me, though until now I didn’t remember the source. Another example of Everything’s been played, nothing new. And yet we continue to write words and music to convey our experiences, making them our own. Some, if not all, of us have the need to express ourselves, our inner conflicts, hopes, and dreams with others. Some kind of validation that we are not alone in our existence.
And now I want to write something more. But I’m not sure what. After all, it’s all been said before. How about that I feel humbled by that fact, but also comforted in knowing that I am a part of the human race, knowing I am not alone when I express myself. Maybe you will have similar feelings after reading this.
Speaking of it all being said and sung before: Listen. Read. Something like that.
“Hopes and dreams may vanish. Are they based in man-made lies?”
The leading quote to this post is from Heart of Logic, a song I wrote several years ago after watching the movie, A Beautiful Mind. Though the context is completely different from what I feel as I write, somehow the sentiment is similar, if not the same.
I don’t remember having hopes and dreams when I was young. I had no goals, no plans. As I grew, I hoped for love, but didn’t necessarily dream of wife and kids. Those were different times of supposedly “free love” and “peace” and “be here now.”
But marriage and children did come, though I had no concept of the responsibility or challenges associated with them. I love my children – all of them. Children instill hopes and dreams in parents. I hope they have grown up to have hopes and dreams of their own, and can find and follow them.
Pam and I got together when our children were young adults. We mostly hoped for time. Our dream was of growing old together. As we pondered marriage I joked with her that we would have a 30-year contract and we (she) could renegotiate at that time. That would put us in our 70’s, and at that time it seemed so far away. But those hopes and dreams were dashed by disease and we only made it through 25.
Now I hope for a new life. I dream of meeting people and enriching their lives through interaction with mine. I hope for happiness, not in the same way that Pam and I were happy, or I happy just being with her, but some new kind of happiness that I have yet to perceive or even know how to recognize right now.
One of my dreams has been to play (and continue to write) my music for others. I hope that I can meet interesting people, have new social experiences, and affect people’s lives in a positive way in so doing. New music and new songs are emerging, a gift Pam left me with the raw emotions of losing her and in feeling lost.
I hope that writing these posts adds value to your days and to you lives. I realized recently how much I enjoy the writing. Yes, it is cathartic, but I also hope that I am somehow making a difference. You, the readers, appear to be saying my hopes are being realized and hopefully, my dreams. If so, I invite you to share my Musing of a Wandering Mind with others – and share your hopes and dreams with them as well.
May your hopes and dreams be vibrant and uplifting, and my they all come true for you!
I recorded the song Chameleonfor my first (and so far only) CD several years ago. It is posted on my Songs page and is directly referenced above. I’ve been practicing it, along with many other original works, in preparation for live performances this year, and also to record the new ones to post on this site.
An American Anole and an African Chameleon were among the several exotic animals I had when I was younger. Others included a Ferret, two Cockateels, and a 3-foot long Iguana, who’s abbreviated name was Zeke. I used to take him for walks/runs on a leash. Too much fun!
The American Anole flourishes in the SE part of the states. I once found a dead Anole behind a broken window blind in my parents house. They are typically easy to spot. They move fast, and have limited ability to change colors to match their environment. Anoles are fun to see in the wild, but are not much fun as pets.
American Anole
It should not surprise you that African Chameleons are native to – Africa. There are several species. The pictures below resemble the one I had. Unlike the Anole, Chameleons are slow-moving and methodical in their presence. They have amazing turret eyes that move independently and, when food is spotted, they train both eyes forward before unleashing their 6″ to 8″, sticky tongue to capture their prey. Chameleons display a variety of colors and patterns and, consequently, are much more entertaining as pets.
It is this animal that was my muse for Chameleon, a song written about me. I’ve always felt that changing colors to suit the environment I am in reflects my personality. I suspect, however, that we all have a bit of the chameleon in us, changing colors to fit social situations.
African Chameleon
Seems like I often contemplate deeper meanings while looking in the mirror. This week, while gazing at my image and humming the song, I realized that, spending so much time by myself, I have no reason to adjust my colors. Who am I changing them for? I have to recognize who I am – my true colors. I cannot change my innate personality. But self-reflection is not only valuable, these days it’s unavoidable. The song lyrics are as relevant today as they were when I wrote them. But I cannot fool myself. Recognizing and being okay with who I am is the only way I’ll survive this journey of grief, and of life.
A wonderful song came to mind as I was preparing for this post. I’m sure you thought of it too. True Colors, sung by Cyndi Lauper (Songwriters: Billy Steinberg / Tom Kelly), explores different contexts for external and internal human colors. It is an anthem of sorts. Its meaning worth exploring and paying attention to.
Our inside colors, rather than those we project, are real, and the ones that count! Our feelings about ourselves are a different matter. They also count. I still relate to changing colors – kind of like Chameleons.
I began writing this post over a week ago and have read it and tweaked it many times since, trying to decide if I even have the courage and self-confidence to post it. As you can see, I decided to do just that; post the following:
Walking is my current hobby and form of exercise. Previously, I rode a bicycle, then a two-wheel recumbent, then a three-wheel (trike) recumbent. I loved riding for 20 to 40 miles on North Iowa county roads enjoying the views and contemplating life. Sometimes those rides turned into treks of 60 to 80 miles.
Moving to the Iowa City area brought significant riding challenges due to aging joints attempting to scale high rolling hills. So I gave that up. Now I walk, typically four to six miles almost every day. I can stand the heat better than the cold and don’t mind light rain. Walking pace is much slower than riding and somehow gives me more occasion to contemplate what’s going on in my life.Or maybe it’s just this time in life that prompts these contemplations.
Whether I have enough courage and self-confidence to write about subjects that affect family and friends, and how they affect me, is an overriding theme of my thoughts these days. Every time I broach a subject in my mind I think about sharing it here in the public domain, open to interpretation and condemnation. Of course I don’t worry about any praise I might garner from my musings, only about exposing something personal about myself, a loved one, or a friend.
I am reminded of one of my earliest songs, Chameleon, written about myself about 15 years ago. Its verses describe one who changes personality to fit one’s surrounding personal environment. The words are as true today as when I wrote them. Basically I view myself as trying to be all things to all people. I want to be liked. I want to belong. I know, these are common desires, but it took me many youthful and adult years to find myself because I was always trying to be someone I thought others would want me to be. I suppose almost everyone experiences similar struggles.
Even now I find myself testing my thoughts and actions attempting to not “ruffle any feathers.” Thus politics are not allowed. Nor can I share challenges I encounter with family, nor open up about some of my past, present, and probable future. I find it ironic that I started this blog just for those reasons but seem to be relegated to sharing benign experiences such as with corn and storms, afraid of any repercussions.
So for now, I am writing about struggling with what to write. Will I ever be able to share my deeper thoughts and fears? Will you want to read about them, possibly relating to them in your own life? Or should I continue slogging (blogging) along with the, albeit sometimes interesting, general day-to-day experiences that are ultimately of little value other than entertainment?
Not that entertainment writing is bad. It just does not meet my vision for sharing through this site. I do get to share my music and some of my experiencestraveling . But I would like to stimulate my readers with deeper contemplations. Maybe I can still accomplish my goals through the music and other stories. If so, I’d better get to it!
And that’s what I’ll do; hopefully soon and hopefully often. Hopefully you will not only enjoy, but benefit from the experience.
Though I am not religious (as I once was) and I have mixed thoughts and feelings about God and Faith, I still receive a bible reading every day from the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. Today’s verses are Psalm 133 from the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV) of the bible.
Many years ago I put music to the King James Version of the same psalm. I did change one word to be more inclusive and reflective of my perspective of the psalm’s true meaning. Though the words are a bit different, there is no mistaking the message. Unfortunately our country is living a much different reality. I’m guessing that just reading the words brings up contrasting euphemisms for the current state of our society in the USA. I’ll leave that to you.
Here is the NRSV version:
1How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity! 2It is like the precious oil on the head, running down upon the beard, on the beard of Aaron, running down over the collar of his robes. 3It is like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion. For there the LORD ordained his blessing, life forevermore.
Regardless of your sociopolitical proclivities, I think we can agree that our lives would be better if we could recognize and accept our differences and live together united in our core humanity.
(For my faithful followers, there’s an update to my corn(y) theme near the end of this post that includes corn-specific storm damage pics from my chosen location.)
Merriam Webster defines “derecho” as “a large fast-moving complex of thunderstorms with powerful straight-line winds that cause widespread destruction.”
Looking West 12:27:20 pm
Same view 12:32:27 pm +00:05:07 minutes later
The storm itself was moving at 70 MPH.Weheaded down stairs just after I took the second photo. Fortunately we had ample warning of its impending arrival. The local TV weather person said “We normally talk about a severe weather threat. This is no longer a threat. We have confirmation of the damage path. You should be taking cover now.” So we already had shoes, coats, flashlights, and id’s in our lower level laundry room, our designated tornado shelter.
We actually“weathered” the storm from our hobby room downstairs where we could watch it through a south-facing window. It was quickly clear that this was different from any storm I’d ever witnessed. Those of you who know me know that I am a weather nut and trained NOAA storm spotter. At first it could be mistaken for a normal straight line wind or even a tornado. But very soon it was obvious that it was another event all together.
What didn’t stop was the wind. It didn’t really howl. It was more like a constant rumble that drowned out the sound of the thunder most of the time. Yes, there was a heavy rain storm. But we ended up with less than a half inch of rain. The rain came and went multiple times throughout the duration. The electricity went out within a couple minutes of the storm’s onset.I do admit to being concerned, and excited, so much so that I did not take any pictures out the window during the storm. Darn!
I witnessed the aftermath of an EF-5 tornado in and around Parkersburg Iowa in 2008. I went to Cedar Falls to pick up a new digital SLR body for my lenses. I was greatly impacted by the devastation I saw that May day, so much so that I wrote a song (Parkersburg) about the experience. (Google Search for Parkersburg Tornado) Though the derecho caused less acute damage, its path was dozens of miles wider and more than a hundred fifty miles longer than the path of the Parkersburg tornado.
Looking back with the advantage of subsequent storm reports, It really did look like hurricane videos I’ve seen. We fully expected our trees to break, but we were lucky! The house behind us did not fare so well.
I watched the branch on the right break off of the Poplar tree. It’s about 30 feet long. Fortunately it missed the fence. We watched the branch in the lower left tumbleweed across our yard and settle in theirs. That branch is actually about 20′ long. The young couple who own the house had moved out the week before and were scheduled to close on the sale of this property two days later. Their brand new house about 1-1/2 miles West received both roof and siding damage. I lent them some saws so they could cut up the debris. They did a great job of getting the yard cleaned up. I hope there were no delays.
It was about 45 minutes before I was comfortable going back upstairs. (Again, those who know me know that I normally experience severe storms from our living room, or even from the garage, or outside.) Still, the winds were gusting between 30 and 45 MPH. Now we could hear the thunder, and light rain continued for a while.
Staying inside for long was not an option for me. But even before that, we could see damage. Our neighbor’s trampoline blew over, crushing their soccer goal rig and plowing into their backyard neighbor’s fence. Most of that fence was down, the West side flattened.
Bouncy, bouncy
North Side – what the trampoline hit. Flattened soccer goal on the left
West side fence – just blew down
Here are some pics from my first, short walk up the street. There was still some iffy weather and I’m glad I came home again before another minor thunderstorm arrived.
Right out of the ground!
Lost about a third of that tree
Side street
Same side street
No protection on this E/W street. This was a nice flowering crab tree
Venturing further on my second reconnaissance attempt I walked to a secondary artery, north/south road with houses on the East side and a bean field to the West. Here was the first extensive roof damage I’d seen. Large patches of shingles were missing from almost every house for a two-block stretch. I continued to walk around. The following pics exemplify the widespread damage in our neighborhood.
Look how the swing ropes are wrapped around each other!
How did the wind blow down a section of fence?! I didn’t see anything had hit it.
Two blocks of houses with shingle damage
Looking South showing the volume of leaves and twigs – the small stuff
This is where I really became sad. 100-year-old trees destroyed
Two trees down in one yard
Half of a very old Willow tree
Twenty-four hours after the storm’s onset our electricity was restored. But our Internet and Cable were still out so we got in the car to see what we could see. We drove through Iowa City from NW to SE. As we entered the older east side of town it looked like a tornado had hit. Every block was piled with branches and full trees broken or taken down at the roots. IC sustained extensive shingle and trim damage throughout. Cleanup efforts were everywhere; chain saws, people hauling cut up tree sections to the curbs. Curbs, blocks long, were lined with debris. Unfortunately I was not comfortable stopping the car to take pictures during this tour.
Yesterday, though, I did take a 5-mile walk around the North section of our town during which I was able to take my time and snap some pics. I walk this route often so I was impressed with the damage I saw. It is the truth that, from the time the storm ended on Monday through yesterday when I took a walk around here, that I could not look even an eighth of a mile (660 feet, two football fields) without seeing significant damage.Here are some examples of the damage.
I used to rest under this 40-50 footer on my walks. There was a tire swing hanging from it
The broken branch is about 15″-18″ diameter
I wonder if they are trying to save this one
The lily made it – the tree did not
All the light posts on our street are leaning to the East
This one bent over at the base!
These last two pics represent a place I often admire along my route. The pine tree on the left is over 30′ high with a trunk diameter of about 2 feet. I love the branch that, many years ago, had to veer to the North and then upward toward the light.
But that tree was hard to see because of the huge Elm (I think) that used to be close to the road. Yes, they cut it off, but look how it twisted open during the storm. And then, to the right of those trees I saw another tree uprooted. Its root ball had grown under a fence. Check out the last pic. That base must be about 15′ in diameter!
That leaves an update on the corn. I had seen damaged corn at other points in my route. But this is the place where I took the pics for my other corn(y) posts. Where there had been beautifully tall, full, dark green, leafy stalks with young growing ears of corn, there are now tattered leaves, broken or leaning stalks and downed corn. The news today indicated there could be ten million acres of damaged corn across the Iowa storm path.
Before the storm
This is the exact location where I’ve taken the previous corn pictures
After the storm
Over 7 foot – July 8th
August 12th
This is the West side of the same corn field
Maybe these will make it. The leaves are tattered
Today, four days after the derecho, electricity was restored to the area of Ankeny where my son lives. I sure hope their frozen food stores are okay!
Clearly clean up and recovery from this derecho will take a long time. My next door neighbor had some minor shingle damage. He was told by the roofing company that they could not even give him an estimate of when they could come look at his roof, let alone get it fixed, partially due to the previous hail storm from a few weeks ago. I saw several roofs with shingles sitting on them waiting to fix the damage from that hail storm.
Cities are providing free curbside debris pick up and are providing locations where citizens can take their debris if they can. Cedar Rapids even has a nightly curfew in effect until further notice. Electricity isn’t expected to be fully restored until next week. Pam and I are very fortunate to have made it through unscathed. We are thankful.
It’s now Friday. The storm occurred on Monday. I walked a different section of our neighborhood today and saw even more extensive roof and tree damage than I previously thought existed. Still, it is clear that Cedar Rapids was hit much harder than our area. Similar to hurricane aftermath, this will be a long term recovery effort. Our news station is reporting 2500 power poles down, 1090 homes with total or partial roof collapse, thousands of customers without power.
Scott Weiss was my friend! I don’t know how many real friends he had, but I didn’t have many growing up – not true friends anyway. I was reminded of Scott while watching TV recently. Here’s how my mind works (Of course, these thoughts surfaced and unfolded in just moments):
Pam and I were watching a fixer upper type program where the design/construction team renovated a house for a couple moving to town. The wife had to look at the properties and choose one with her husband looking at videos from afar. They selected the house without him ever seeing it in person.
This is important because we watched about 50 minutes while the house was renovated before “meeting” the husband. When he showed up for the reveal, he was using what appeared to be a home-made, wooden walking stick, not a cane, to support his walking. I couldn’t tell what medical condition afflicted him. He may have had a stroke.
The walking stick reminded me of the walking stick I’ve had since high school. I made it from a branch collected from a birch tree while walking in Walnut Woods near Des Moines. I broke off the branch at the suggestion of Scott Weiss (Papa Bear) who suggested it would make a good one. I took it home, stripped it, stained it, and coated it with urethane. I still have it. I even used it on a day hike in Glacier National Park in 2002. The center pic below was taken with a 35mm film camera, before I converted to digital.The lake is Grinnell Lake.Check the link to get a different perspective on where we were.Zoom in to see the path we were on.
That got me thinking of Scott. He died from Pancreatic Cancer in 2010. His passing hit me hard. I knew him as Papa Bear though his obituary just calls him “Bear.” Scott and I spent much time together during our high school years. He was 2 years older and went to a different high school, but we were connected through synagogue and youth group. We were both deep searchers and experimented with various religious doctrines, philosophies, and drugs. I remember reading Be Here Now, my first try with lousy Iowa ditch weed, and staying up nights expanding our minds and contemplating the Universe. We mixed Boone’s Farm Strawberry Wine with McDonald’s Strawberry Shakes, mostly to hide the wine. I could go on with many stories of our escapades. Learn a bit more on this on my SongspagewherePapa Bear – Ode to Scott Weisslyrics are posted.
Our lives crossed at various times after marriage and while rearing our children. Just thinking about this brings back fond and fun memories.
Later in life, after he moved to Louisiana, we got together periodically when he came back to Iowa. Unfortunately, it was typically for someone else’s funeral like his Dad’s, or for our mutual friend, Bill “Grouch” Ohringer. We never lost our connection and enjoyed our time together.Scott’s Mom died while I was away on other adventures so I wasn’t around to mourn her passing with him. So it was not too difficult to write a song in Scott’s honor. But it did take a while and though I have music for the lyrics, the song is challenging for me to play on the guitar and I have not practiced it much nor recorded it. I do have plans to include it on my next album, whenever that happens. Meanwhile, I am posting the lyrics on my Songs page. In my mind It is still a work in progress, but I want to post it while I’m remembering Papa Bear. I still feel his absence whenever I do. Hopefully, you will appreciate its sentiment.
Liz is forty years old today. She was born on April 3, 1980. If I remember correctly it was 2:14 pm. My X and I had been at the hospital since before midnight the night before.
I have not had any interaction with Liz for 19 years, give or take a few days.
So much for statistics. My thoughts and emotions surfaced with increasing frequency and intensity as Liz’s birthday approached. Yet it is difficult to put it all into words.
It happens often. I wrote a song. It was the second song written since my musical awakening (after The Song I Never Wrote for You). It just spilled out. It, too, was intense. The song is intense. It is called Tell Elizabeth I Love Her.
I wanted to name her Beth Ann. I was concerned that someone would start calling her Liz if she was given the more formal Elizabeth. But formality got the win and we called her Beth for her first several years. That is until about 1st or 2nd grade when she decided for herself that she wanted to be called Liz. Damn! So it goes.
Piano, dance, Sunday school. I remember once taking a low-maintenance back road from work, at an unsafe speed, to get home in time to take Liz to a dance lesson. I’m surprised the car didn’t break as it bounced and swerved.
We went camping, saw Yellowstone, the Tetons, Arches, Dinosaur, and Rocky Mountain NP, among other fascinating places. We went to school events. It sure seems like we did all the normal stuff.
But during and after the divorce things never were the same. I moved out of our home on short notice having been given an ultimatum by the X. I tried to explain to the children. But I could never persuade Liz to come for every-other-weekend visits – ever. I made a point to prepare a room for her in my new place. She never saw it.
She kept in contact a few times. She brought her date to see me on her way to a school dance. Once she came to exchange Christmas presents, though I heard she kept the car running while there.
I am keenly aware that her Mother influenced her emotions and often refused to hand Liz the phone when I called. But any semblance of connection ended when Liz went away to college. I went to visit once shortly after she moved into her dorm (we went shopping for pet fish) and again around her 21st Birthday when I asked to bring her a gift. It was an ankle bracelet. I did attend her college graduation. I didn’t think Liz knew I was there, but my son told me later that she did.
“Child’s death, a parent’s nightmare Children’s lives a parent’s dream By her choice, her distant absence I feel the torment in between”
