Hard to believe that a whole year flew by. Today was a great day, bittersweet with memories. I woke up to a beautiful sunrise:
In one of the last few conversations with Dad I told him to send me some glass calm water. On the day he passed away and the day of his funeral, the water on Christie Lake remained calm all day long. And this week, The water was rough all week long. But today, it was calm all day long.
Later in the morning, a red-winged blackbird landed on the bird feeder:
We ended the day with a trip to the cemetery and each of us shared a favorite memory. We had some good laughs as we recalled our stories. My own favorite memory was of the one and only time that my Dad waterskied around the lake. My kids were surprised, as that was something they never knew about their grandpa.
The tears were streaming down my face when I finally banged the clamp off of the old battery. The boat wouldn’t start and the old battery had somehow overheated last summer and needed to be replaced. I had a feeling that the problem wasn’t the battery– I suspected it was the starter– but I wasn’t sure. And the one person that I always counted on to help me, was no longer here.
The kids looked at me in surprise. “What’s wrong, Mom?”
“I’m just thinking about Dad,” I explained. “Every time there was something wrong with the boat, he was the one to fix it or to tell me what was wrong with it. I’m just missing him.”
This week, there’s been one thing after another wrong with the boat. The battery clamp broke off and I had to run to town to buy a new one. The starter was indeed the problem, and I ended up writing a check to the mechanic for that one. “Oh by the way, Mom, the gas gauge doesn’t work,” David informed me just before pulling me for a run earlier in the week. I fixed that. “Mom, the water pump isn’t working and the boat has some water in it,” he told me tonight after another barefoot run. Joe fixed the broken wire and got the pump running again.
Lately, I’ve been missing Dad a lot. The house seems empty without him. If you recall my earlier post about seeing a red-winged blackbird, then you know the story of that connection with my Dad. Last week Friday, I was doing a clinic up at the Blue Moo Lake and I was feeling a little bit anxious about being able to put together a trick run. I had struggled on the water earlier in the week at Cedar Lake and had not yet even practiced a trick run. I was floating in the water, waiting for the boat to return and a lone bird landed on the bank. I turned to take a closer look and saw that it was a…
It has been a long, cold, drawn-out spring in Chicago, so when a beautiful, warm day arrived, I decided to runwalk on the prairie path in Naperville. I didn’t get very far with running– there was a heaviness inside that I couldn’t shake. I slowed to a walk and soaked in the beauty around me. I tried to figure out why I was feeling so weighed down. I recognized that heaviness– it was the familiar feeling of stress. So many changes had occurred in such a short time. The countless trips to Michigan and the loss of my dad. The change from full time employment to part time. The additional projects I had taken on.
Out of nowhere, I started to cry. At first, I didn’t even know why I was crying. I was thankful for sunglasses and the mostly deserted path. I struggled to sort out the jumble of thoughts that were racing through my mind. The one that stood out was this: I missed my dad. I hadn’t slowed down enough in the last several weeks to allow myself to feel the loss.
A bird landed right in front of the path I was walking. When I saw the bird, I started to laugh. It was a red-winged blackbird. Because you see, up in Michigan, we had a red-winged blackbird that used to dive toward Dad’s head whenever he was out in the yard near the shore. And in all of my years in Illinois, I had never noticed a red-winged blackbird around me.
My brother Kenny spent his last morning with Dad a week ago and he captured this sunrise at the lake and showed it to Dad:
I was fortunate to be able to spend the last two weeks with Dad and grab some precious time. I jokingly asked him to send me some glass calm water this summer so I could barefoot. He laughed. On the morning of his memorial, this is what we woke up to:
Dad’s Memorial service:
After the memorial, we went inside the VFW hall for a luncheon and I shared a few words:
I would like to thank all of you for joining us today. It means a lot to us to have each and every one of you here.
You’ve probably heard the saying it takes a village to raise a child. Well it took a village to get through this cancer journey with my dad. I want to extend a big thank you to everyone who visited and lent a helping hand. We could not have gotten through the last two years without you.
Tom Pursley has been a friend since he built my parent’s home almost twenty years ago. Tom and his crew built a roll in shower and a ramp and this enabled Dad to live his last months at home. Without that, we wouldn’t have been able to have Dad at home. Thank you Tom, for all you’ve done.
Roger and Mabel thank you, for being great neighbors and for all the projects you did around the house, especially the generator. Mom didn’t have to worry about the oxygen machine if the power would have gone out. Thank you for taking care of the house when we were gone. Mabel came down every day at the end and provided great support.
When Dad first began treatments two years ago, Mom was worried about keeping up with the yard at the house and the shed. Dick jumped right in and said, don’t worry about it– I will take care of it. And he did. Dick and Lorraine, thank you for all the help you have given us.
We could have done it without all if you who pitched in and supported us. Thank you.
Thw first night that Dad was gone, my sisters and I sat with Mom and we started sharing some memories about Dad. Soon we found ourselves laughing, because my Dad had a wry sense of humor. So I wanted to share some of that with you today.
Every now and then, Dad liked to play with the telemarketers that called in the evenings. After a long day at work, the phone would ring and it would be someone trying to sell something. On one particular call, a guy tried to sell him some siding. Dad listened to his sales pitch and asked him questions… What color … payment plans and so on. Just as the guy thought he had a sale, Dad said, “I’d really like to buy what you’re selling, but I don’t own this house. I’m just renting.” And then he’d hang up.
Another story involves Mike Radtkovich who owned the cottage that the Bires now own. Mike was an insurance agent. The first time Dad called him, he didn’t recognize his voice. He wanted to insure a hang glider, for towing behind a boat. Mike explained that he couldn’t draw up a policy just for a hang glider. How about the boat– Mike tried to sell him a policy for the boat. “Oh, I don’t have insurance on the boat,” Dad told him. “I just want insurance on the hang glider.” On and on they went. Mike wanted to hang up on this difficult customer who just wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Mike, this is Norm,” said Dad. “You know sure as hell that I don’t own a hang glider!”
My cousin Marilyn received a call one day out of the blue. It was the electric company, threatening to shut off the electric because they were behind on payments. Marilyn insisted that she paid her bill, and they went back and forth. She had two days to pay her entire bill or they would shut off the electric. “How could this happen?” Marilyn wanted to know– and then she heard, “This is Norrrrrm!” Marilyn fell for it again, in another call, where Dad attempted to sell her new windows. But she quickly turned the tables and said that she had new windows put in. Before she could hang up, she heard it again, “This is Norrrrm!”
Marilyn finally got new windows… A few years ago.
For the last two years, cancer took away the one thing that my dad loved, and that’s food. During the first visit to the doctor, he was asked what he hoped to achieve from treatment. Dad said, “Well, my wife is a good cook. I just want to be able to enjoy her food again.” Mom nearly fell off the chair, as dad mostly took her cooking for granted all these years!
Well, after two years of being on the feeding tube, a miracle occured for a few weeks. Dad could eat again. And I mean, he could eat! So whatever he asked for, Mom cooked it or baked it. Pies, cakes, cookies, fish, you name it.
A month ago, Dad joined us at the table for what would be one of his last full meals with us. Lauren, my daughter, suggested that we say grace. We all began to join hands and Dad gruffly declined to join us. None of that touchy-feely stuff for this tough Marine. In the middle of grace, I felt a hand reach for mine. In the corner of my eye, I saw him reach for mom’s hand , and Dad joined us for the rest of the grace.
Thank you Dad. I will always cherish that memory.
Please join me in saying grace.
After the memorial, we went back to the house and everyone remarked at what a beautiful day it was and how rare for the lake to be so calm the entire day. All I could think was, “Gee, thanks, Dad. I meant ‘glass calm water’ when I have a boat to ski behind, not today.” Gotta laugh at Dad, the joker:
To finish off the day, Jen and I went for a walk and came across one of the most brilliant sunsets that I can ever remember seeing in all the years of being up in Michigan:
On my Facebook page, Claude St. Onge shared this thought, a fitting end to this post:
Dear Karen, You are so lucky, lucky to have an Angel of light that was with you to touch on this earth plane. Now you still have his Angelic memoires to hold you over till you meet again. Release comes when the heart opens. The word heart is really HE ART. He is. You Dad still is. Remember this always. Love CSTO
“Eighty-six years… that’s a good, long life,” a friend remarked. Indeed, it is, yet it still feels too short. Dad’s cancer journey came to an end this morning. If there’s one thing that I’m thankful for, is that cancer gave us time to say goodbye.
But goodbyes are never easy. How fitting though, that the post that I wrote for the Chicago Tribune TribLocal was printed in today’s edition: It’s Not Easy to Say Goodbye.
We are gathering for the burial and memorial of Norman J. (That’s J as in Jesus, as he always said) Griffard this Saturday at one p.m. at the VFW Hall, 560 N. Phelps Street, Decatur, Michigan. There will be a memorial luncheon following the military salute service.
In lieu of flowers, donations would be greatly appreciated for the two organizations that have given selfless service:
