Journal Entry October 1 2014

7120 Fairview Road # 20, Tillamook, OR  97141

Evajean’s journal for

Wednesday October 1 2014

I’ve been in Tillamook for 8 months.  Doesn’t seem that long, but I’ve never been anywhere for 8 months temporarily – well, except college.  Maybe I’m not temporary.  Maybe I’m a short term resident.  The manager of the mobile home park approached me one day at the mail box and asked me how long I was going to be here.  I looked at him, wondering why it mattered to him, and then I shrugged and said, “as long as my dad needs me.”  Vague, but true.  My sister told me later I should have asked him how long HE intends to be here.  LOL. 

When I arrived the end of January I wasn’t thinking about the future.  I was worried about Dad and I just needed to get here and see if he was ok.  The stroke had frightened me to the point of confusion and it was all I could do to get myself packed and get on the road.  It’s still easier, even now, to consider myself temporary than to adjust to the idea that I have actually left Spokane and moved to Oregon, which is silly because for all practical purposes I live here.  But when I think of actually uprooting myself and moving lock, stock and barrel, I sort of freak out.  It’s much more comfortable being temporary.  Then I don’t feel like I have to make any earth shattering decision.

Be careful what you pray for.  Has anyone ever said that to you?  Not to beat a dead horse, but last year at this time I was very unhappy.  I was miserable at work; I felt unsettled and a bit like an intruder in my home situation; I was missing my mom terribly; and I was very tired after Bill’s long illness and I needed some rest.  I had been asking the Lord to do something to help me.  I reminded Him that fixing all the things that were wrong in my life was not going to be easy.  On top of that I had begun to repeat the prayer I had prayed the year before that when I realized my mom was in the last chapter of her life.  I had prayed that somehow I could be with her when she passed away.  I knew it was selfish.  Many people just get that phone call in the middle of the night.  But for some strange reason, I was blessed with the opportunity to be with her that last 3 weeks.  And now a year later I was telling the Lord that I didn’t deserve two in a row, but if He could work it out, I wanted to be with my dad when he steps across to that shore. 

Getting fired and Dad having a stroke was not on my list of suggestions.  God marches to the tune of his own drummer and we can instruct Him until the cows come home, but at some point we all have to wake up and realize He is in charge.  They say God has 4 answers:  Yes, no, maybe and ARE YOU KIDDING?  But when we finally get it, it’s a great stress reliever.  Dad tells me every day how glad he is that I am here.  Every night on his way to bed he thanks me for everything I did for him that day and how thankful he is that he gets to be in his own home “because,” he says, “if you were not here I would have to be in a HOME.” At one point, he had told us that he thought we should go ahead and put him in the HOME because he felt too weak to take care of himself, but, as I have said before, something he said one day was a revelation.  He casually mentioned one day that he had always had Mom with him when they moved to a new town or a new home or a new church.  They were together – a team.  But now, for the first time in his adult life, he was going some place new and he would be all by himself.  It was at that point I said to myself, “Where am I going?  What do I have to do that is more important that my dad?  I’m here.  Why don’t I just stay here so HE can stay right here in his own home?”  I have never thought of my dad as timid.  He has always faced what life handed him and dealt with it.  He had never once said anything negative about his having to move out of his home.  Furthermore, it was he who mentioned it first last fall – way before his stroke.  No, he has never shown fear of the unknown.  Trouble, sadness, death of his firstborn one-day-old son, death of his 2 sons-in-law, heartache, and death of his beloved – he met it all head on.  He’ll tell you that in every assignment of his ministry, he felt like he was in over his head.  I prefer to call it humility.  He says he was always just a naïve farm boy from Tillamook.  Yet, 3 successful building programs in 3 of his pastorates, many life long friends, a reputation for honesty and integrity, and being elected chaplain of the Spokane Transit Authority by the Union – when there had never been one before or since -- may speak otherwise.

I tell him that he may think that I am doing HIM a favor, but HE is the one handing out the favors.  I needed a change of venue and some rest and that’s just what I have.  Looking after my dad is a piece of cake.  I am blessed.  The most annoying problem I have is planning menus with plenty of variety and keeping the salt intake down.  And, I guess, being so far away from Walmart.  It’s 60 miles to the nearest one.  About the same for Target.  I shop on line a lot.  I wanted to take a trip to Spokane, but it caused so much anxiety for Dad that I decided to bag it.  Dad apologized for being selfish, but he says that if something happened to me, he knows he would have to go to the HOME.  He frets when I talk about going very far.  Even when I am going to the grocery store, he will instruct me to be sure and come back because he needs me.  And when I thought about it, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be totally dependent on someone else – to be at the mercy of that person.  It actually brought tears to my eyes because after his being so self-sufficient all these years and now so helpless must be the ultimate of adjustments. Imagine not being able to make yourself a cup of coffee because you dare not let go of the handles of your walker or you may fall down.

You hear these horror stories about the elderly and how the care-givers neglect them or abuse them.  It reminds me of work-places where you are at the mercy of your boss.  Dance to his tune or lose your job.  If you have a boss that changes his mind according to the way the wind blows, you have a real problem.  If your boss treats you badly, you suffer in silence or you quit.  If your boss humiliates you in front of your co-workers, you have a good cry and suffer in silence because you need this job and you think about the process of quitting this one and pounding the pavement looking for another one and hoping you get one before you run out of money… or maybe you are so strapped for money you can’t afford to quit because every day you aren’t working is a day without pay which puts you more behind…   I could go on talking about humans and the abuse of power..

But, I digress..  I wanted to put Dad’s mind at ease because sometimes he’ll say he hopes I am happy here and that I will stay and not leave.  I told him it’s like I joined the Peace Corps.  I didn’t get drafted like the military.  I volunteered.  It’s a mission with an unknown end date.  When I signed on I didn’t know how long it would be, and I was fine with that.  The plan is:   there is no plan.  I’m just here until the mission is concluded.  That’s all.  He is happy with that.  He surprised me one day a few weeks ago by saying that if I wanted to get a cat it was ok with him.  I had told him that I miss my kitties in Spokane.  You won’t understand that unless you’re a cat person.  Or at least an animal person.  But my kitties in Spokane are set in their ways and it would upset them terribly if I tried to bring one or all of them to Tillamook.  At first Dad said no animals.  I think he was thinking he would have to walk them and feed them, etc.  But I was thrilled when he decided it would be ok for me to have kitties here.  I contacted United Paws of Tillamook and went through the adoption process.  I had to have  references – 3 of them – which they called; and then I met with a lady and did the paperwork.  These rescue animals are really protected!  Then I finally took delivery of 2 little 4-month-old kittens.  Their foster mothers came and brought them to the house.  It turns out they are brother and sister – from the same litter and they are almost identical.  All black with white paws and white collar.  The little boy has a white spot on his face.  And he is a little bit bigger than his sister.  They are hilarious and Dad is hoping they will warm up to him and get on his lap.  I named them Freddie and Flossie – after one of the 2 sets of the Bobbsey Twins.  If you have not heard of the Bobbsey Twins, you are most likely younger than me.  The first book of the 72-book-series was published in 1904. There were 2 sets of twins in the family.  The older twins were Nan and Bert.  I know.  Nothing remotely similar in those names at all. 

But, I digress again…  Back to my cats.  I tell you all this in the midst of a muddle of conflicting emotions.  I feel very guilty because my sister is allergic.  I really feel bad and I’m hoping she will still speak to me after she reads this.  (I am such a chicken I couldn’t even tell her face to face – because hers will probably be a little blotchy…)  But I plan to tuck the kittens in my room, shut the door, dust and vacuum madly just before she comes and get some benedryl to have on hand and hope and pray it doesn’t kill her.  And then, I feel some disloyalty to my kittens in Spokane.  I haven’t told them they have a new sister and brother – would that be half sister and half brother?  I am really so ashamed that I am such a selfish coward.  May God forgive me.  I should have been Jewish.  I carry so much guilt.  Pray for me.  And pray for my poor sister. 

The weather has been beautiful.  It’s been unusually dry with a long stretch between rainy days.  The locals are pleased, but since I live for rain, I’ve been disappointed.  I’ve been hoping for a good rainy fall, but until 2 days ago the sun continued to shine every day.  I know.  Call me crazy.  But there is something so magical about that early morning blanket of mist that envelops us and brooding skies that develop into a nice steady afternoon rainstorm or the patter of steady rain on the roof at night. Monday the 29^th it rained most of the day and I was lucky enough to have errands to run so, of course, I was drenched and I developed what I call “Oregon hair” which is the finger-in-the-light-socket style.  No matter.  Naturally curly hair on the Oregon coast is not for the faint-hearted.  

Sunday April 13 2014

Sunday April 13 2014

I had to go back to the 16^th of February in the little book “Jesus Calling.”  This book has been so precious to me and now to Dad.  I brought it with me to Tillamook and Dad right away made it the focal point of his reading every morning.  He has been so blessed and encouraged by these words of Jesus speaking directly from the page. 

“Thank Me for the conditions that are requiring you to be still.  Do not spoil these quiet hours by wishing them away, waiting impatiently to be active again.  Some of the greatest works in My kingdom have been done from sick beds and prison cells.  Instead of resenting the limitations of a weakened body, search for My way in the midst of these very circumstances.  Limitations can be very liberating when your strongest desire is living close to Me.  Quietness and trust enhance your awareness of My Presence with you. Do not despise these simple ways of serving Me.  Although you feel cut off from the activity of the world, your quiet trust makes a powerful statement in spiritual realms.  My Strength and Power show themselves most effective in weakness.”

Dad has been frustrated by his limitations.  Yesterday morning he prayed that the Lord would deliver him from total incapacity.  I think he is afraid that he is going down hill and that he’s going to be bed ridden and have to be taken care of in a way that will be a burden to others.  He was so earnest in his urging that God would just take him to heaven before it gets to that point.  He has been so active for 86 years – especially at the last of Mom’s life when he was everything to her.  She needed him so much and he arose to the occasion with nothing but fierce love for his dearest companion.  He cooked, kept the house, did the laundry, and tucked her in – several times a day – and got up with her at night.  He never complained.  His total focus was on Mom. 

He has always been proactive about his own health.  The last 21 years of working were in a sedentary job so he tried to get out and walk every day.  He was 87 years old and still walking a daily mile and a half.  He knew Mom was going to need care and he wanted to be up for the task.

Then Mom left this earth and left him alone.  One minute he was busy 24/7 and the next minute he had hours, days, and weeks of silence, a vast desert wasteland of emptiness.  The quiet was oppressive.  Lethargy was his enemy.  Only perky people hop up and attend to the necessary chores with great zest, but he willed himself to keep up with the dishes and laundry.

He talks about how alone he was.  When Marion and Steve and I drove away on the 5^th of January – just 3 days after Mom had passed away, he stood in the kitchen and said, “Jesus, can we do this?”  If I had known what that year would be like for him, I never would have left.  But, of course, as Dad often says, “We didn’t know how to do this.”  Meaning, we have never lost our dearest wife and mother before.  We didn’t know how to act and what to do.  Even when Mom was dying, Dad would say to us, “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?  Do you think there is something we should be doing that we are not?”  And afterwards, “Did I do the right thing?  What did we miss?”   Well, there are no instructions for how to live after you have lost the most precious thing in your life.  We had the “little blue book.”  Hospice brings it to you to help you know the physical signs of end of life.  But what the book doesn’t tell you is how to feel and how to know if you are doing everything you should be doing so that you don’t end up asking if you did the right thing or if you did enough.

There probably are millions of books out there about what others did after a great loss.  But when you are in the throes of deep sorrow, you don’t say to yourself, “I must get in the shower and get dressed and make myself presentable and go to the library and find a book on how to help myself.”  We are often not interested in reading a book.  People mourn in a multitude of different ways.  Dad has always loved TV.  He has had his favorite shows:  Andy Griffith, Matlock, Everybody Loves Raymond, Rockford Files, Hogan’s Heroes…  just to name a few.  But, in those first days he was consumed with grief and he couldn’t sit still for very long.  His body felt like a load of cement, his attention span was short, his mind a whirling dervish.  He stopped caring about TV and for anyone who knew him, that was proof of the depth of his misery.  I am learning some things just now that make me extremely grateful that God had His Great Hand on Dad.  He’s been telling us that he would get in the car and drive aimlessly.  One time he got into some snow in a place where he could not turn around and he was praying that the Lord would save him from getting stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no cell phone.  He made it back to civilization but it was a close call.  After that he just stuck to driving down town and finding a parking place on the street.  Then he’d just sit in the car and read his newspaper.  He said it was his way of being around people without being a burden to anyone.  This was a great shock to me. 

What is so amazing to me is that in this town, his hometown, where he has tons of family and many friends, he was alone for days at a time.  Two very delightful couples, long time friends of Dad’s from church dropped in occasionally and brought food.  Once or twice another lady in the church sent food to him.  His 90-year old brother called him on the phone on occasion, but he and his wife are not the visiting type.  They have 53 great-grandchildren and their house is like Grand Central Station.  They have suffered the loss of 2 of their sons to cancer at young ages so they are no strangers to the business of mourning. They grieve still, even though one son has been gone 11 years.

I would never be so arrogant as to discount loss of any kind.  Loss of a child or a sibling is horrific.  Loss of a parent is a certainty that we dread like a surgery we know we must have, but we don’t want to have it.  We know it will be painful, and the recovery time long.  It is an unavoidable fact of life that we all will have to face the loss of a parent.  When you lose a parent or a child or a sibling, the sorrow is deep and the recovery is painful, but if you are fortunate enough to have a mate, a life partner with whom you have a loving bond, you can see this thing through together. You are a unit.  You have each other to comfort and sustain as you face the loss.  You can cuddle up at night and the very act of touching bodies in a warm cocoon can go a long way to rejuvenate and heal.  There have been times in my life when I was facing great difficulty, but I was sustained by the fact that I had a husband that loved me and at the end of the day we would be together and he would be there to hold me and comfort me.  Of course, make no mistake.  Unresolved grief can rip a family apart.  Never assume that just because you have a partner, everything will be just fine.  Grief needs time and understanding.  Grief needs resolution.  Not for it to disappear, but to deal with it and come to grips with the reality of it. 

So there it is.  It is my opinon that grief is many things to many people, but it is so unique when it’s your mate, your lover, your comforter, your rock, your best friend in the world, your other half of the unit that God ordained and promised that no man could put asunder.   A part of you has been removed.  You’ve been ripped apart.  And until you have experienced that, you can never truly understand how it feels.  The Bible says a man shall leave his mother and cleave to his wife.  The marriage bond is sacred and should be revered.  All the more reason why the loss of a life partner is so heinous.

As I have said before, when you are in the midst of excessive sorrow, your mind becomes a little skewed as it struggles to come to grips with this horrendous, life-changing event that has robbed you of your security.  It’s for very good reason that they tell you not to make any monumental decisions the first year.  You should never sign your name on any dotted lines, and by all means do not make any major changes to your present personal or financial situation. We all deal with grief in our own unique way.  Many can look back and say they cannot believe they did a certain thing and my dad has laughed and said, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

When I arrived at the end of January, Dad had been alone for 13 months.  He was very glad to see me.  Looking back at what I have learned since I arrived, I wish I would have just stayed and had never gone back to Spokane.  I wish it hadn’t been because of the stroke that last Sunday in January.  But realistically, I had a job and I had bills to pay and it’s a good thing I went back because I was there in Spokane when Bill had his total collapse.  I was there to make phone calls and write letters and send faxes to the Department of Social and Health Services and to his Primary Care Provider trying to get him some medical coverage so he could go to the doctor and trying to get his provider’s office to believe me that he needed help and that he was so bad that he couldn’t get off the bed let alone hop in the car and trundle on over to the clinic to see what was wrong with him.  It was like running in treacle trying to get people to help him.  There was so much apathy it was frightening. 

All the time we were here with Mom, we were all busy.  Marion was cooking and I was doing the amateur nursing and Dad was doing the laundry and keeping the house up.  I was the designated night nurse but we really didn’t sleep all that much.  Dad was sleeping more since I had arrived, but more is relative.  He hadn’t slept much at all during the 2 or 3 previous months because he would not let Mom out of his sight.  When she got up in the night, so did he.  But when she slept during the day, he did dishes and laundry.  So, when I walked in the house on December 19, he was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. I sent him to bed that first night and I think that’s the first 8 hours he’d had in a very long time.  He probably slept all night for about 3 nights in a row.  He was exhausted.  But after that and for the rest of the time, I often would be drifting in and out of sleep and about 2:00 AM I would open my eyes and there he would be, bundled up in one of the wingback chairs pulled close to Mom’s hospital bed, his feet on the foot stool, hat protecting his bald head from the cool night air. 

When we left Dad on that Saturday, January 5^th, 2013 after Mom went to Heaven, he was numb.  It hadn’t really hit him, but he was mobile and purposeful.  When I arrived on Tuesday, January 28, 2014, things had changed drastically.  His speech was already beginning to improve, but his legs had stopped working.  He said he had no pain, but they just did not move.  His right leg was affected by the stroke but I really couldn’t see any major difference between the 2 legs.  It was as if his pant legs were filled with cement.  He never let go of the walker.  It went wherever he went – mainly because he couldn’t go unless he had the walker to clutch with a death grip.  I looked at him moving at a snail’s pace and thought to myself, “Holy Cats!  He’s Tim Conway – the doddering old man!”

I thank God every day for Adrienne.   Adrienne is 35 years old.  She is married to Brian and has 2 children, Brenton and Emily.   Brenton is the little angel that started the whole friendship.  Mom was still here and he was about 6 years old when he stopped by my dad’s shed one day.  Dad had the doors open and Brenton was awed over how much stuff you can cram into a little building like that!  He was more impressed with Dad’s license plate collection.  Dad gave him one to put on his tricycle and another one to hang on the back end of his wagon, which seemed to always be attached to the trike.  He needed that wagon to take the garbage to the dumpster for his mom and other important errands.  He and Dad talked that day and after that, Brenton would stop by every day and pick up Dad’s garbage and he’d get the key and get their mail and he asked to water Mom’s flowers.  Every day after school he’d stop in and if there were no errands, he’d sit and visit for awhile and then he’d be off to play with his friends. 

He is going to be 9 in June.  He’s hilarious.  Very creative and funny and some days I think he has A.D.D.  When I’m in the room, he acts like a nut, rolling around on the floor and talking loud. But if it’s just him and Dad, he sits at the kitchen table (which doubles as my dad’s office) and visits like an adult.  It wasn’t long after Dad and Brenton became friends that Adrienne started sending cookies and cake and homemade strawberry jam and homemade applesauce and stuff over with Brenton. She finally started coming over with him and bringing baby Emily – a month older than Brycen.  Adrienne is shy and Brian is more shy, but one day Dad’s toilet broke and Brian came over and fixed it for him.  How handy to have a plumber at your beck and call??  Brian is a hunter so we often get the results of his most excellent culinary talents from the barbecue.

Dad says Adrienne saved his life.  After Mom passed away, Adrienne and Emily popped in at least once a day – sometimes more.  She sat and listened to Dad tell stories or just talk about Mom and how much he missed her.  It didn’t seem to matter that he told the same stories over again.  She knew that it’s cathartic to talk.  How did she know that?  My dad looks back and is constantly amazed at Adrienne’s insight and her infinite patience.  She was just what the doctor ordered.  Someone who just listened.  She didn’t hand out advice or try to fill in the gaps with platitudes.  Baby Emily was there to contribute the comic relief.  She is a cutie.  Adrienne dresses her in the most amazing outfits and they come over and Emily models for Dad and he always has to see what she’s wearing on her feet.  She has more shoes and boots than Imelda Marcos!  Bright colored rubber boots and cowboy boots and every kind of shoe you can imagine.  She gets piles of hand-me-downs.  When she’s finished modeling her outfit for Dad she goes in his laundry room and takes off all her clothes and comes running out wearing nothing except a big grin and her diaper.  Adrienne and I wish we could do that too.  My dad’s house is a toasty 75 degrees – day and night. 

Dad has said that he doesn’t understand what has happened to the church.  The year following my mom’s death was for my dad bleak and desolate.  He had very few visitors.  He is surrounded by friends and family.  He lives in his home town.  But, he was alone many days and nights.  Adrienne, the person he calls his “angel of mercy” doesn’t know Jesus.  She and her husband were not brought up in the church.  They did not own a bible.  There was not a bible in their house. Some of us cannot conceive of a home without a bible.  By the time I was in Junior High I probably owned 5 Bibles and several New Testaments. 

I grew up in the church.  I was fortunate that my dad was my pastor in my growing up years.  I thought all pastors were like him.  I have since learned that some there are all kinds of clergy people. Some are ministers – which to me means managers and orators -- some are pastors – people like my dad. 

Dad has told me lately that in every pastorate, he felt like he was over his head.  The only thing he ever knew for sure was the God had called him to the ministry.  He knew that he was where the Lord wanted him to be.  But, he says he was so very naïve when he went to his first assignment and thereafter, he always felt inadequate.  He prayed daily that the Lord would use him and give him wisdom and strength to do his very best.  He and my mom made lifelong friends everywhere they went but there were always a few in each congregation who were determined to make life miserable for the parsonage. 

My parents were careful never to talk about the bad stuff in front of us.  I learned after I was grown up and married about some of the heartache my parents endured.  In one particular church, there were a few ladies who would laugh and giggle through his entire sermon. Now that I am grown up and have taken my turn on the platform over the years, I know what it feels like when people in the audience are visiting and laughing.  You always wonder if you have spinach in your teeth or your dress is unbuttoned or your slip is showing.  When Dad arrived on the platform, he always looked over at Mom sitting at the piano.  If she didn’t look horrified, he trusted that he was buttoned and zipped and he felt he could go ahead with his work.  Dad always wondered why these ladies were so blatantly rude, but he tried very hard to ignore them and concentrate on his sermon, trusting God to get him through. 

He occasionally got nasty notes stuck on his windshield.  Years later he got a letter from a guy who confessed to breaking his headlights. The guy had actually included money to pay for a new headlight. I know it did my dad’s heart good.  Incidentally, he sent the money back with a note of thanks.  

During those years he dealt with several cases of immorality and when he tried to spare people embarrassment, they turned around and talked terrible about him.  That was the only pastorate where my dad came home from church every Sunday noon –even in the dead of winter --and hung his suit jacket around the back of a kitchen chair, lifting the sleeves back up over the top of the chair to dry the underarms, and then began Sunday dinner with an appetizer of Alka Seltzer.

It’s interesting to me that in spite of incidents of sadness and hurt, my dad somehow ended up in what turned out to be a successful major building program every church he pastored except the last one.  When we drove out of town on to the next assignment, we left behind a beautiful new place of worship dedicated to the kingdom of God. 

Dad has always been a people person.  He was a great believer in “going calling.”  It’s a lost art.  It’s where the pastor calls on people in their homes and has a cup of tea or coffee and visits for a short time.  He doesn’t stay long, but he has said for years that you cannot possibly get to know your congregation by shaking hands with them on the way out of church on Sunday morning.