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.