Leaping Lee's Landing

It's now been over a year since I said goodbye to my dad. After several intense months of doctor visits, ER trips and hospitalizations, moves from his home of 38 years to assisted living to "rehab" to a memory care facility ... and then his unexpected death and all of the accompanying plans, tasks, memories and emotions, I jumped back into a life that hadn't had the courtesy to slow down and wait for me to catch my breath. I suppose that's a good thing in many ways - a reminder that life doesn't end with a death.

So in the year that I've had to brew and stew, I've reflected often on the many little bright spots and even humor our family found during what was a really tough time but also an opportunity for joy, celebration and great healing.

On the morning of Dad's funeral, I was enjoying a pleasant conversation and cup of java in the kitchen with Uncle Lee, his brother. I remember thinking how lovely it was to be surrounded by Martins in the Martin House. Especially on this day. I've always adored Uncle Lee and I'd always thought the two siblings were polar opposites. But I was beginning to believe the bond and the similarities they shared were much greater than any of us suspected.

Leaning to look out the kitchen window but not noticing the hidden first step down to the back door and basement (who designed this place?!?), Uncle Lee lost his footing and tumbled down the five stairs to the landing. For about a nanosecond, I stared in horror at the little pile of uncle crumpled there. He'd had a knee replacement a few years back and a hip replacement after a motorcycle accident in France when he was a teenager (many decades ago). And due to a heart condition, he was taking blood thinners. All-around, not a good combination for falling down stairs.

So after a brief freak-out in my head, I yelled for help, we got him off the floor and I remember Sarah shouting "Nancy broke Uncle Lee!" (I think to nurse Betsy in Texas, whom we quickly consulted). Once we determined he could walk and nothing seemed to be broken, there was a collective sigh of relief and we resumed getting ready to go to church for the service. Swelling and internal bleeding were our big concerns, so anti-inflammatories were pushed and he sat on bags of frozen peas and edamame at opportune times throughout the day.

My sister and brother and E and I were all overwhelmed at the outpouring of love from friends and family who came to pay their respects and who surrounded us with their love and care in the weeks prior to and the months following Dad's death. At the funeral, I shared aloud a reflection that I think surprised many people. And I'll never forget the priceless looks on their faces when the Hallelujah Chorus played (Dad would have been so pleased - he requested it).

The day after the funeral, Nicholas and Brandon ripped out the old subfloor under Lee's Landing (not related to the fall - the floor had rotted in places and needed repair even when I bought the house). I was so touched that my nephews would do that for me. And it adds to the specialness of that little 3x3 piece of floor.

One evening during the funeral weekend, E tucked Ashton into bed and then climbed in with him to share Great Grandpa memories, and so Ashton could ask E great theological questions. Like how Great Grandpa fit in that little box he'd built that now held his ashes. (And how he could be there AND up in heaven at the same time.) The wise 3-1/2 year old didn't seem to question the truth of these things, he just wanted an explanation.

Fast forward about six months, I finally finished the new floor of Lee's Landing, and had a sturdy gate and railing installed to facilitate getting up and down the kitchen stairs ... and to help reduce the potential for loved ones young and old leaping unintentionally like Uncle Lee.

Figuring it was an occasion for a party, I held a viewing for the local family members and we christened Lee's Leap and Lee's Landing with cocktails and juice boxes. Molly and Sammy put the gate to the test by standing on and shaking it wildly with their feet wedged between the rungs, while they threw stuff down the stairs.

As I sit here sipping my coffee, I think of all that surrounded the naming of Lee's Landing, the months leading up to Leap Day and all the years before that. I miss my dad more than I'd ever thought I could (especially when I was a teenager and was certain I really didn't need him at all), but I'm preparing myself to leap to the next thing life has in store ... with a few more detours here and there to reflect on all that has helped me land where I am today.

Testing Gravity

One of my favorite Yogi Berra maxims is, "if you come to a fork in the road, take it." I'm a firm believer in taking every fork in the road I can find - especially on vacation. And when there's a law of physics to be tested ... by golly, I'm up for the challenge.

On a trip home from Virginia a few years ago, E and I decided we needed to check out Gravity Hill - one of those tourist attractions you see advertised in the service plazas along the Pennsylvania Turnpike and on road signs. We thought it might possibly rank up there with the Giant Ball of Twine and Man-Eating Clam, but were intrigued nonetheless. Anything to delay our return to the real world.

At one of our stops, we picked up the funky retro brochure, which was one of the most complete - and entertaining - guides to an attraction I've ever seen. Cleverly written and chock-full of helpful hints (including etiquette and safety hints for the Hill and activities to do once you arrive), this was a darned effective bit of literature. The best part is, the experience was even better than the hype.

True to the detailed directions, New Paris (another part of the appeal) is waaaayyy off the beaten path. But what gorgeous, verdant rolling hills - God's country.

When we arrived, we took turns lying down in the road, following all safety precautions, natch. We poured water on the pavement and watched it flow uphill. The car did, too. Really! We followed the directions and went on to find the unmarked gravity hill up the road. Amazing. You have to experience this place to believe it. Or maybe you have to believe it first to experience it. Either way, it's sort of like faith.

This was so much better than the overpriced, disappointing detour to Hershey a few years earlier. With that excursion, we were promised - and fully expected - the aroma of chocolate would greet us as soon as we drove into town. Ha. We hung our heads out the windows in anticipation - only to be smacked in the nostrils by a fragrance we named Eau de petrol et manure. And there's no Charlie and the Chocolate Factory-like tour with chocolate waterfalls. (Too many concerns about terrorists - who knew our chocolate supply was at risk?) We'll never forget being herded (in our unsatisfying and ultimately sobering tour) past the "where cacao comes from" displays. As I recall, the best part of that trip was seeing what I thought looked like marshmallow fields - giant tarp-covered mounds of hay along the highway - all ready to be harvested.

Oooh, that reminds me: We should try rolling marshmallows on our next visit to Gravity Hill.

Sharing Memories

Today is the one-year anniversary of Dad/Grandpa's death. Here are more posts about her grandpa from E's blog.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

My grandpa passed away last Monday. The funeral preparations have been made and done with. Family has arrived and gone. Countless food dishes have come and been eaten. Sympathy cards have piled in. Our answering machine has been full. I feel surrounded by love and support; I really do, and it has been an utterly amazing blessing.

I know he is at peace, but to be honest, I'm still struggling with his death, and think I will be for a while. He was such a large part of our lives, of my life, especially over these past months, and this is the longest I've ever gone without seeing him, talking to him, or writing to him.

I miss his presence. I miss his voice. I miss the twinkle in his eye when he winked. My grandpa was a teacher--by profession as a woodshop teacher, but foremost as one who was always learning and wanted to spread it to everyone around him. Every new thing he learned was something everyone got to hear at least twice. His causes--collecting pop can tabs for the local chapter of American legion, St. Jude's Children's Hospital, Saginaw Valley State University--were dear to his heart and always on the tip of his tongue. His passions for history and other cultures spread too. He got a black belt at age 66. He took physical fitness and computer classes at the local university. His daily question for me was, "What did you learn today?" It didn't matter whether it was a school day or not.

My grandpa was one of the first who taught me to question. I remember once when I asked him why the "p" in raspberry was silent. After looking it up, he decided it wasn't silent after all--we'd all been wrong! He had me tell everyone I knew, and he spread the word too. Eventually, of course, our supposition was proved false, but I will always remember what it felt like one of the first times I felt like I had been part of making a discovery that no one else had made.He was stubborn, but so am I (and at least I know I have a legitimate source for it!) He swore, yelled, lashed out, but taught me patience. I think I will always know that I learned how to nurture from him first.

I'm sure there's more to come..."You are Mine" played with Grandpa's pictures during visitation ... with the pictures of me as a child smiling and laughing with Grandpa. For someone so active before the rapid onset of dementia, these words seem so fitting, "I will call your name/embracing all your pain/stand up, now walk, and live!"

All cliche aside, God has called Harry E. Martin, Jr. back to life.



Aug. 12 2007
Simple Things
My mom and I spent tonight with Sammy & Ashton. It's so much fun to be with them and watch them grow. Ashton baked us pancakes with bugs, or at least started to but got distracted in taking all of "my toys" away. "You can't play with toys before dinner, Zizzie." Oh, that's right, I forgot. *sigh*


Tomorrow we're going to go over and spend some good time with Grandpa. He has, for the most part, been much more peaceful over the past few weeks. I think some of it is resignation. I think some of it is just mellowing out? I think a big part of it is that we've spent more time with him. We've been taking him out for dinner a few times a week or sitting around with him while he eats his at home. Everytime we go anywhere it's the "best he's ever had." (It's great to hear him talk like that.)


I talk to him at least three times a day. The first call is usually to see if he's taken his pills for the day, the other two or three or four usually because he forgets we've already talked. But sometimes it's nice to talk, and it's nice to hear that he's happy. As of the last doctor's visit, the doctor still didn't have a firm diagnosis. The only firm thing is that he can't drive although we're hoping to make that more official through Secretary of State. He's on two pills right now. One is for his thyroid and the other Aricept, is used for Alzheimers patients. We know he has some type of dementia, but sometimes it would be nice to have a firmer diagnosis. It seems like things would have a clearer path then, but I guess there really never is a clearer path with this. The family goes through a parallel struggle with the family member--a struggle to accept the person as they are now, not before, to be patient, to care even the twentieth time a story is told, to provide the absolute best that can be given.


We pray and we wait. We pray and we wait and we love.

Sunday, August 19, 2007
We got home from church today to find my grandpa's pajama pants and bathrobe on a chair by the stairs to my room and him curled up in my mom's bed sound asleep.


He's home now, at least for a day or two.

Monday, August 20, 2007

My grandpa's tucking in at our house tonight in preparation for a 5-6 hour session at Covenant tomorrow and the next few days also. The procedure is meant to measure fluid levels in his brain, which if at a certain level may be adding to his memory loss. If they do detect raised levels, a surgery can put in a stent that will keep them closer to desired levels. I'm hoping it goes well. It's just another step along the way I suppose. We're doing our best to keep him at comfort though.

Aug. 26, 2007
My grandpa has completely shut down this past week. He won't do anything unless someone does it for him, and he's been so resistant and bitter. He's a new man everytime I see him, mostly sleeping away the day to avoid his own head. I don't always know what to say or do. Sometimes I wish I could just hold him in my arms and hug him to somehow make it all go away.

Remove the Sage to Reveal All the Pine

(Sing to the tune of Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme)

I bought a 101-year-old house a few years ago. The old oak woodwork in the front of the house is beautiful, but almost every bit of wood trim - and the doors - in the rest of the house is covered with sage green paint. I think the previous owners got a deal in the '70s. So the summer after we moved in, I was determined to strip all that green away, down to the Southern Yellow Pine. I began with the downstairs bathroom door. (And to be perfectly clear: We ripped out the lovely green carpeting shown in the photos above before we moved in.)

E figured I spent at least 20 hours refinishing that door. Removing all the hardware (but leaving in the lock mechanism) was one of the most time-consuming parts of the job, but I wanted to clean off decades of gunk. As I so often do, I procrastinated finishing the job and rehanging the door until it was absolutely necessary. I tried convincing E that we could tell the Japanese student who was soon to arrive and spend the school year with us that in America we don't have bathroom doors. Since our future guest had been in Seattle a few weeks and was pretty savvy in general, we decided that wouldn't work.

So before E was to be picked up for a babysitting job, we set about the rehanging project. To save time, I didn't put the doorknob back in. I figured I could do that after the door was in place. E helped balance the heavy door while I aligned the hinges and dropped in the pins. The door shut neatly, and just as we were giving each other high-fives, we realized our boo-boo and screamed, "Noooooooo!" Armed with a screw driver and ball-peen hammer, we tried to nudge the pins back out. I poked and prodded the lock mechanism to no avail. The only opening to the outside world was the 3-inch hole for the doorknob and the tiny little vent in the shower.

Our only hope for rescue was the babysitting gig. We'd left the back door unlocked, so figured my sister would come let us out when E didn't respond to her honking the horn in the driveway. Only moments after we had comforted one another with that thought, the phone rang. Plans changed: no need for a sitter.

Ruh roh.

It was a steamy 98 degree day, and that windowless room was beyond tropical, so we stretched out on the floor to allow our melting brains to think.

After more than an hour, I realized our only viable escape plan was for me to knock out the thin, lower panel on the door. With the ball-peen hammer. We crawled out and I ran to get the doorknob assembly, which I promptly reinstalled and then opened the door properly. Since the door panel broke out in long pieces, I was able to fit it all back together later like a puzzle. In retrospect, I wish I'd thought to put a towel over the hammer to reduce the number of ding marks on the door. And I should have used glue, since the "puzzle" fell apart once in the winter when the wood had dried out. Our exchange student helped me glue it back together. (By that time, she'd heard the story plus experienced a few of her own so the little craft project didn't phase her in the least.)

Removing the (rest of) the sage to reveal all the pine is taking a little longer than I'd hoped.

Where Love Stares Us in the Face and Begs a Response

I asked the Amazing E if I could post some of her entries on grandpa/dad from her blog. It's interesting to see how her entries fill in the gaps in my own memory.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

We spent the evening over at my grandpa's house again. Sometimes even the better part of me wonders what we're doing over there as we've been spending more and more time over there to keep things going. We tidy things up and he gets upset. We tidy things up and he forgets and puts things back where they were in the first place. Paid bills get reopened. Clean clothes are a non-issue to him.

He often brings up the past as in to shove it in others' faces. Even simple misunderstandings make him lash out. He's stinky, irritable, revengeful, forgetful, confused, stuck in the past, and difficult most of the time. So why? He's a part of the family - yes. Someone has to look out for him - yes. We care about him -yes. But why?

Maybe because this is what love really is. Because really when we think about love we think about the sacrificial parent pacing the floor late at night, rocking a baby on half the necessary sleep, nurturing a child. On the way we think a dedicated family at a grandparent's hospital bed side with the grandma/grandpa softly speaking words of love and encouragement.

We think about the success stories. About teachers transforming classrooms. About 75-year anniversaries. About 1 Corinthians 13--a love never impatient, unkind, jealous, boastful, proud, ill-mannered, selfish, irritable, revengeful, dishonest. And yes,of course this is love. This is love in abundance. But what is love the rest of the time when it's not quite saintly enough for us to take notice? Where do those stinky and easily resisted pleas for attention and care reside in our lives?

I think sometimes we, or at least I, get too busy to stop and wait. We like helping people, but we're helping them in the rush to get to the next thing, even when that next thing is often helping someone else. We don't think we'd ever follow a request to help an elderly citizen across the road by rushing them through traffic so fast that they collapse on approaching the curb and then rush on to hand a few dollars to a bewildered man standing outside the gas station asking for money and then run back to the car to rush home to make dinner. Of course not. But love is not neat, and love takes a lot of time. With my grandpa, much of the irritation comes in thinking people are in too much of a rush to take notice, much of the hurt, past and present, and thus the hurt he passes on are an effort at healing from feeling left out of the loop too long.

He's forgetful,and we rarely take the time to remind him. He doesn't change or clean because there isn't always someone coming, or somewhere to go, and he doesn't want to bother taking the time for just himself. Once in a while I realize what I'm missing with him. Tonight we brought dinner--McDonalds, no less,but sustenance all the same. I finished my food, opened up the newspaper to read bits to him until it ran dry, and then I just sat. For once, I didn't rush him through his story or make sure he kept eating. I stopped myself from moving to the next thing. I stopped myself from running, and I listened for over an hour as he talked about growing up and his family and a pet horse named Esquire and kids at school. I listened as he forgot his story and started from the beginning, and I smiled and asked questions anyway. He forgot he had food in front of him, got up and left, came back was surprised at the food, started his story again,and I listened anyway.

I moved him to the kitchen and started to clean off the table so we could begin on transferring his scrapbook to new pages when I get back from North Carolina. I found layer upon layer of lottery tickets and intricate prediction charts and decades of brochures but underneath,there were older planner pages where his patient lettering taught mine, calendar pages he made out for me to cross off the days until holidays and summer vacations, menus I had made him for breakfast and lunch on those vacation days--And somehow, tonight was one of those nights when I really saw him. This is a man who has shown his family a lot of hurt,and they, for the most part, have tried to look past it to help the man he is now but with a slanted glance and a bit of a rush to get by with the help without any extra hurt.

I'm certainly younger. I've received a much lighter load.I've fought a less uphill fight. I've known the hard man, but I've also known the soft. But I still bear a good deal of the rush, and I need to make a greater effort to try. He needs attention. He needs love. He needs to feel worthwhile. I need to give him that chance.

Memories of Dad

We're nearing the one-year anniversary of Dad's death, February 18, so he's been in my thoughts lately. Here's the reflection I shared at his funeral almost one year ago.

I’m the youngest – or as Dad called me most often – “his little girl.” Jay was “my son, of whom I’m so proud” and Sharon … “the little mother” (or, most recently, “big mama”). You’ll have to ask her about that later.

I think my earliest memory of Dad was running to the door when he came home from work when I was a little girl. Some of you may be surprised to know I wasn’t always a charming, innocent, well-behaved little girl. And Mom frequently had to use the phrase “just you wait until your father gets home” because Dad was the disciplinarian. So I’m not sure how often I ran to the door … I just remember that I did. He reminded me of that many times when I was a teenager and we didn’t always see eye to eye.

I remember when Dad planed wood and made “curlies” – I loved those shavings. I put them in my hair and pretended I had blond curls. I also loved that smell of fresh sawdust and wood shavings. That and Aqua Velva make up the “Dad” smell I’ll remember.

I remember:

• Learning to swim in the bathtub – bathing suit, snorkel, flippers and all
• Dad as the sea monster at Green Lake with his creepy Darth Vader mask and snorkel
• After our mom died 31 years ago, he was “Dr. Daddy” when I was sick. Much later, when I was at MSU and had my wisdom teeth out, he came down to Lansing, took me for the extraction and stayed with me afterward and brought me milkshakes. I know my daughter, Lizz, has lots of “Dr. Grandpa” memories. Most recently, when Dad/Grandpa was at Shattuck Manor (last fall), Lizz had a headache when we went to visit one day. He had her lie down on his sofa with a cool washcloth on her head. He was so happy to help her feel better and even remarked on that later.
• When I finally bought a house at age 39, Dad was so happy to be able to “help” me and share his vast knowledge of home repair. Oh boy. We can tell stories about pulling up tack strips and “fixing” toilet seats.

Since Dad was a teacher, I think he’d want to know that I learned some things from him. He never stopped being a teacher.

I learned the importance of:

• Asking questions – at work, I’m still known as “the questionator.” When I was little, I asked him what the greatest number was. Also, I always had to visually show him how much I loved him, sort of like “the fish is this big” with my hands so far apart. When he told me the biggest number was infinity I opened my arms … and connected my hands at the back to show him “I love you infinity.”
• Education
• Naps
• A good book
• Laughter
• Prayer
• Being honest about your feelings
• Staying young at heart
• Patience
• Slowing down
• Paying attention to the details
• Forgiveness

(By the way, I have not mastered all of these things, but I have learned of their importance.)

I also learned:

• How frost forms – apparently, I left our big basement chest freezer open one too many times as a kid and it got kind of frosty. So one day, he dropped me off at Hoyt Library for a few hours to research how frost formed. I had to write a paper, with references. I was always much more careful after that.
• I learned the importance of finding just the right word
• And that there’s no such thing as “good enough”

I learned the importance of:

• Sharing memories so others can help you when you can’t remember anymore
• Spending time with someone even if they’re grouchy, a little annoying and maybe a little smelly
• Not wasting food
• Forming relationships
• Counting your blessings
• Making time for what’s important … Dad never said “I don’t have time” – he might have said “that’s not a priority” but he said you always make time for the important things
  
  These last months have been a whirlwind. We always thought Dad would out-live all of us because he was so healthy, so into physical fitness. When Dad was at Transitional Care in December, he got very emotional one day when we were visiting and wanted Sharon and me to tell his kids, grandkids, nieces and nephews how very, very proud he was of all of them and how much he loved them. Sharon and I just told him: tell them yourself!
  
  I’m sad to see you leave us so soon, Dad, but I hope you’re having fun with Mom, Grams, Gramps, Paul Lance, Great Great Grandmother Julia and other loved ones who have left us. And while “God bereft us” for a little while, you will be remembered and will continue to be part of our lives.
  
  Dad, I love you infinity.
  
  Postscript: Dad left a list of the hymns he wanted played at his funeral. We were able to find a spot for almost every one, including the Hallelujah Chorus and Christ the Lord is Risen Today. Not only was the funeral during Lent, but those just aren't tunes one often hears at funerals! I'm sure Dad had a chuckle at the turned heads and shocked looks on people's faces.

Every Buddy Needs a Burner

Sharon was rattling off old stories the other day. For over an hour. I think it was therapeutic for both of us. Most of the events in the stories happened way before I was born (I'm the baby after all). So hearing them helps connect me to my brother and sister - and to the mother who left us all far too soon.

So, as Sharon recalled ...

When I was in Girl Scouts, I learned to make a Buddy Burner. Oh, it was just the coolest thing! You take a large coffee can, flip it upside down and cut a trap door. Then you insert a tuna can.

(Can you picture this?)

Next, you make a cardboard wick for the tuna can and pour in paraffin. This becomes the heat source.

So you can fry an egg or hamburger or whatever on the top (which used to be the bottom) surface of the coffee can.

I just loved it. I made a hamburger on it and was looking forward to making something else during spring break.

Did I tell you how cool this thing was?

That year, our spring break was really rainy. It just rained and rained for days. There were worms everywhere and they just smelled horrible. Well, you won't believe this. One day, I caught Jay and a friend frying worms on my Buddy Burner.

Ugh. Bleaggh. It was so gross. I'm not sure what they did with the worms, but that just wrecked the Buddy Burner for me.