Newscoma

“It’s so curious: one can resist tears and ‘behave’ very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer… and everything collapses.” –Colette

I’m going to talk about what I want to right now. Look at this picture of an aardvark if you want to walk away because I’m going to talk about death, loss and the holidays.

There is navel gazing in blogging. So I get my turn today because I can.

I miss my mom.

She died 11-years ago and I damn well miss her. It’s the holidays and this is always a messy time for me. I found myself profoundly sad last night about Thanksgiving and the entire Christmas season. Now, no worries, this happens for a lot of people and I believe it’s best to talk/write about it. I think significant events like the holidays bring up certain memories for people who have suffered a loss. Although time heals many things, there are reminders and triggers that bring up that loss, that invisible, gaping hole which nothing can fill.

My mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer one week before Christmas in 1996. We knew something was wrong before we “conned” her into going to the doctor because she hated doctors horribly. By the time we got her there, the tests were pretty conclusive and the doctor told me in the hallway that it was bad.

She lived for 14 more months after that and every day we watched her slowly fade away. The worst part is that she knew she was fading away as well and that is something I wouldn’t want my worst enemy to experience or to see. It’s a little bit like hell on earth watching someone die a little piece at a time.

Fast forward 11 years to now. Traditions have changed in my family. My dad remarried, my sister has two daughters who are enmeshed in their own lives which are filled with school, sports and friends where the holidays send her to visit her husband’s folks away from Hoots and my extended family, although large, never really spent holiday times together. So the smells and tastes of Thanksgiving have changed and I’ve been fortunate enough to have a place to hang my hat on Turkey Day. I do, however, get nostalgic and sentimental though, missing those years of family bonding.

Her turkey and dressing, experimenting with different foods, the fact that my dad doesn’t really like turkey (he’s having Japanese this year for his Thanksgiving dinner which I think is fabulous) or how that we would literally starve on the Wednesday before the big day because my mother always forgot to get any additional things to eat (this was a running joke in my family.)

The year her dog, Girl, ate our dinner. The time we had a huge cactus as a Christmas tree and put little red balls on it to celebrate. The year she planted a Christmas tree in the yard and named it Rufus (I get my weirdness honestly). Staff Christmas dinners at my dad’s old company where we would all dress us and have a great time. My mother laughing at me when I would make dressing sandwiches (carbariffic). How she always burned the rolls (every, single Thanksgiving and Christmas.) How my father wanted (and still does) to go to Wal-Mart if it’s a holiday. The movies we went to on Thanksgiving. How my mother never really recovered from her own mother’s death from breast cancer and where she felt these same things during Christmas, which my grandmother loved more than anything. How she could never smell Chanel No 5 without seeing the bottle that my grandfather gave my grandmother every year without crying. I feel the same way when I smell a hint of Youth Dew, which only my mother could wear successfully (it makes me sneeze when other people wear it these days.)

How she wasn’t afraid to give us a hug and tell us we were her everything. And, you know, she meant it.

I remember the joyful things. And I miss them. I have made new traditions but I still become a nostalgic ball of mush thinking about my mother.

Life, my friends, is not always fair.

Rest well, Toot.

And … Crap, just read this and it will explain.

David’s life support was pulled this morning. One of the boy cousins died about 45 minutes ago. I’ve written about him and his brothers before.

I’m sorry I haven’t been washed up in the fun and frivolity for the past couple of days.

Vacation needed … Bwwahhaahh … cough … sputter.

Send Squirrel Queen some love.  She’s had a rough time.

I have to cover a story, and then head out to SQ’s family home.

This has been a long couple of days.

I am not trying to creep you out. I know I write about emotional issues sometimes and it’s weird and you must say to yourself, “Wow, that Newscoma is a weird, brain eating zombie.”

But, you know, we are human and some weird crap happens sometimes.

Tonight, I’m in a strange space.

A friend is sick. A friend we adore. It’s bad. But the kind of bad that will take months of unpleasantness. Or not.

Who knows? The word is cancer. So, you see your friend of 15 years dealing with cancer and you act cheerful but, you know, you aren’t. And it sounds bad. And it is.

Crap.

And, we love him and don’t know what to say or do and … it’s well … damn. And we found out today. I’ll see him tomorrow.

And I will smile. Because he needs that.

Squirrel Queen has a family member who is ill and we talked tonight to 8-year-olds about death because they’ve seen too much of it lately. Yeah, it’s that. You throw a ball with them and let them be a little naughty, and help with homework and it lingers in the air like a rotting fruit.

Because, I ‘m an aunt and I don’t know how to get the stench out of the air. Because it is death. How do you teach two kids about death. And it is bad.

They are harvesting organs of their family member. Those are the words. He won’t make it. Late forties and “cardiac arrest” after a few years of illness after a surprise seizure.

BAM.

Crap.

The word “harvesting” is weirding me out, yet is hopeful. Tonight, I consulted on this. Do you have any idea how bizarre that is? Not a fun time.

Yeah, I’m in an odd place.

Sometimes there isn’t room for the other stuff. It’s just too much, yet you do what you have to do.

Ironically, the career is doing pretty good after months of the yuck

Crap. That doesn’t matter at times like these.

I need a few days off. Good beer with friends. And a few laughs.

Crap.

Wow. This is a cheerful list.

From Discovery Magazine comes a list of things you may or may not have know about death or dying.

Here’s a snippet:

3 No American has died of old age since 1951.

4 That was the year the government eliminated that classification on death certificates.

Well, that explains burning questions I had. I sorta wanted to die of old age. Now it will have a big fancy name of some disease that people will have to Google to find out what it all actually mean.

There’s more if you are into that sort of thing. Obviously, I’m one morbid broad.

Squirrel Queen’s mother, we found out, is having eye surgery on Thursday which means that this weekend, we will be gracing the rolling (wait, it’s flat as a pancake) fields of Harris Station. As you remember, this is where I got scurvy last year because those are some meat-eating folks.

Today is significant. One year ago, in the early morning hours of August 27, SQ’s father passed away.

One year.

It hasn’t seemed that long, but it has been. She has healed as much as you can after a parent dies. You never really get over it. The emotions and feelings evolve into new things, and this has happened for her as well.

There is a void. Make no doubt about it, a void that won’t be refilled.

There is light again in her eyes which I thought might never come back. SQ is a practical person, so she only showed the pain when her body and soul got too full to hold it all in. She is a realist. But death, well, it doesn’t matter how realistic you are about it.

It hurts when you lose a loved one.

Her mother is having cataract surgery on Thursday. The first doctor she went to said he’s never seen such a terrible cataract and sent her to a specialist.

The Specialist said “I haven’t seen a cataract like this since I was on a missionary trip in Honduras.”

He then prayed with her which really freaked SQ’s mother out because she’d never had a doctor praying that he could do a good job before. Talk about it giving someone the wiggums.

Comforting, I’m telling you, although the idea of SQ’s mom having a third-world eyeball like this made all three of us giggle.

Better to laugh than cry, you know.

She hadn’t gone because of the cost. She has been diligently paying off hospital/hospice bills that accompanied the death of her husband. She didn’t want to pay anymore and thought she could live with it.

She couldn’t.

Alas, health doesn’t do things on our schedule.

So, today, we honor Jimmy Dan’s passing, we honor daughters who lose their daddies, we remember small, intimate memories that we hold and cherish because its what we have left and we decide to live each day as well as we can.

And we celebrate SQ’s mother who is the toughest cookie I know.

And we remember that love is hard because it walks hand in hand with the idea of how much we can lose, because that’s the way it is.

And we light a candle and hope for a better day, because this one is all we have guaranteed.

And that is what is on my mind this fine Monday morning.

I always kind of liked Merv Griffin. He was a big part of my childhood because he was on the telly everytime I turned it on at my Grandmother’s house.

Griffin died of prostate cancer, according to a statement from his family that was released by Marcia Newberger, spokeswoman for The Griffin Group/Merv Griffin Entertainment.

From his beginning as a $100-a-week San Francisco, California, radio singer, Griffin moved on as vocalist for Freddy Martin’s band, sometime film actor and TV game and talk show host. His “The Merv Griffin Show” lasted more than 20 years, and Griffin said his capacity to listen contributed to his success.

May he rest in peace. 

The only karaoke I could sing somewhat successfully has to be attribued to this man.

And, it was all feminist and groovy and bohemian and wonderful.

May he rest in peace because, quite frankly, he made me happy with this ditty.

And he produced Gram Parsons.

And Duane Eddy.

Too cool.

When I was a kid, I asked my mother one Tuesday (why do I remember that it was a Tuesday, well, you will find out) about this word I kept hearing. I was in third grade.

We were a family that watched a lot of television. Big Daddy was, and still is, a fanatic about news. My mother liked situation comedies, variety shows and the like in the early 70’s. Yeah, I watched The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family and a whole lot of stuff that was probably considered racy in its day.

So, it was either a rerun of Laugh-In or Maude, if memory serves me right that had me thinking about this word I kept hearing.

A couple of weeks after I had heard it more than once, I was sitting on our black vinyl (Woot) furniture this fine day and I blurted to my mother this very sentence, “Momma, what is this sex thing I keep hearing about on television?”

She took a deep breath. If I remember, she took another.

And then, we sat for hours and I was so utterly and terribly appalled about this “sex thing” I wanted to scream. I think I interrupted her more than once thinking she was pulling the wool over my eyes.

Finally, after I had exhausted my poor 8-year-old cranium, totally freaked out, and quite frankly, disgusted about how babies were made, that you only do it “with someone you love” (a point she said over and over again) and sorta tried to block out that weird feeling that was lurking in the pit of my stomach that I remember having each time I learned more and more about the adult world, I looked at the television. (At this point my mother had a glass of wine in her hands and the ashtray was overflowing from her Salem cigarette butts. I think this was as hard on her as it was on me.)

Tom Snyder was on. It was that late because his show “Tomorrow” was glaring back at me on the screen. Snyder died yesterday at the age of 71 and I must say that all of these memories of me learning about sex came flying back in.

Tom Snyder. Yeah, I know. This is very odd.

So, my entire life, in learning the world of sex, I always have a smoking, stuttering Tom Snyder image in my head.

No wonder I’m demented.

Thanks Tom. Or not.

Anyway, I thought you were pretty groovy although I do need to wash my brain out with whiskey.

Ahhhh, memories.

May she rest in peace.

Tammy Faye Messner.

And I’m not surprised.

Although, I am surprised, I must say, that she died two one day after being on Larry King.

This world, so odd.

Don’t let fear rule your life … TFM

Ginger has an insightful post this morning about Tammy Faye Bakker Messner.

I started hearing stories of the beloved icon she became within the gay community. Sure, her outrageous makeup, hair, and personality were the perfect draw. But more than that, it was because she never judged them for living their lives differently than what she thought they should.

Let me say this, I did what Ginger said she did. When I was a kid and television channels were a bit different than they are today, I would watch the PTL Club and shudder with what I perceived as hypocrisy. Amusement Parks, diamond rings, blatant using of money that, in my mind at least and I think I’m right here, from people that wasn’t using the tithes for helping people, but to endorse just a few people into a “rock and roll” sort of lifestyle, all in the name of the Lord.

Can I get an Amen?

Anyway, after Jim Bakkers’ fall from grace and making monkey noises in the courtroom before going to jail, I tended to be amused more than anything else. But I remembered another show Tammy Faye had called House Party with Tammy Faye. I watched it (remember, not as many channels on the tube) and it was a hoot.

Later on, after Jim Bakker and the Jessica Hahn thing happened, I was a bit self-righteous about it all and said to myself “Well, this is no surprise.”

But, watching Tammy Faye on Surreal Life having actual real-life conversations with porn star Ron Jeremy without judgement (she didn’t approve, but she didn’t judge), being nice to people, being very human and non-judgmental got me to thinking.

Maybe she was a nice person? Maybe I had misjudged her. She didn’t take part in the random antics and stupidity that some of the other houseguests did, but she didn’t throw things at them either. She signed a copy of her book on the show and gave a testimonial, and people from all walks of life came to get her to sign it. I watched, quite honestly, with interest.

See, and this is a rare post of this nature from me, maybe, just maybe later in her life, she practiced what she preached. Maybe, she accepted everyone. And maybe she did take the good book to heart.

Maybe she always did, I don’t know. It’s not for me to judge either.

My mother died of cancer, I’ve written about that many times, I’ve seen my mother look like Tammy Faye looked last night. There wasn’t any fear, just exhaustion. There was hope and optimism in the face of death. She seemed at peace.

She looks awful. Doesn’t look like she’s long for this world, but I respond so much more to people who see faith as love and acceptance and not as a weapon. And I think Tammy Faye is just about dang inspirational.

So, Mrs. Tammy Faye Messner, you take care. You got me thinking about the big picture and you are going through the final stages of your life with grace, dignity and love.

And, that my friends, is a good thing.

Two things yesterday happened with such grand significance, one reaching upward and the other, well, the other was a funeral visitation for a friend and mentor. I will talk about the good thing later. Now we honor my friend.
Today, I have a funeral to go to.

Two deputies flanked my friend’s casket and I stood in line for about 45 minutes. I’m not fond of the ritual of viewing the body. Just a few weeks ago, my friend who will will call David because that was his name, and I had a long conversation about politics, death and purpose.

It was one of those conversations where were sparred on politics (he was pretty conservative, I’m not), death (he had endured heart surgery recently) and purpose (he told me he had a lot to do and it frightened him he would be around to raise his adoptive children.

He died Saturday night in his sleep. He had serious heart problems, but this time the ticker was just ready to stop. We all knew this could happen, and unfortunately, it did sooner than anyone of us would have liked.

So, I’ll tell you about David.

He was a cop. And a pretty darned good one if you knew him. Very old school.

He was a black and white sort of man, not a lot of gray. I used to call him ‘Dirty David’ in homage to Clint Eastwood’s ‘Harry’ movies. I worked with him quite a bit in my younger days when I covered court a bit more than I do now. Most recently, he was the lead investigator for our local judicial district’s Attorney General and he would fill me in on information that sometimes I didn’t know about. He was the go-to-guy when I didn’t understand something one of the judges had ordered or if the DA was not up for talking. He let me know the “inside” story. He was a behind the scenes guy. He didn’t want his name in the newspaper. When I met Squirrel Queen, it came to my attention that they were cousins. So I developed two relationships with him, one professional, one personal.

He was shot once but he never really talked about it. The story is pretty incredible. The Sheriff (at the time) was shot by a crazy guy in a negotiation stand-off. David ran out to get his fallen body and got him.

The guy shot at David and got him in the hand. When asked why in the hell he did this, he just said “Someone had to go get him.” As I said, there was no gray to David. He just did what he thought he should do, and didn’t really think about it.

He also was the lead investigator in several high-powered murder cases in the area. He had seen things that would make your skin crawl. A couple of time he let me see things. Things I didn’t, and shouldn’t, forget.

This was before my time. He did get a bit protective of me when I was covering stories at the courthouse and prisoners liked to taunt me, angry because I had put their pictures on the front page of the newspaper. Man, he would go off on them. I really didn’t take it that seriously, but he did. And if ever told them once to lay off of me, they usually did. As I said, he had a bit of ‘Dirty Harry’ swagger about him.

But he was more than just a hard-boiled cop. He worked with sports teams, taping basketball and football games for Obion County Central High School. He coached basketball at the local park. He had three children, but he recently adopted two brothers. A friend of mine told me yesterday that the youngest boy would just hold on to David’s pantsleg.

Apparently there was safety there. David said “You do what you should do, not what you want to. He needs me.”

That just about sums up my friend David.

As I said, he was flanked by two deputies as he lie in his final resting place before the funeral and he will be laid in his little plot of land that will always be his. He didn’t look like himself lying in the casket. His wife has been my friend for more than two decades as well. She was holding up pretty well, but I think most of it was shock. If you are having to greet more than a thousand people, something within you just goes into overdrive.

So today, we mourn. And the thing is, last night I found myself holding my breath as I walked to the casket.

Goodbye David. Thanks for all you did for me.

You will be missed.