Aunt Anna

 Almost 50 years ago I met Beverly, the girl who would be my bride. We met on campus at Abilene Christian University and have been together ever since. She was and is and will always be my world. 

Early on in our dating I was taken to Aunt Anna and Uncle Ken's house. It was only a block from the college. Having grown up in Abilene, I had driven past it numerous times without any thought that my life would be included in the lives of the people who lived there. So very early I was introduced to Beverly's  extended clan . 

I had actually met Uncle Ken due to his being the registrar of this small local college. He had advised me on a degree plan (sorry Uncle Ken, it was probably a waste of your time) he should have just given me a handshake and said, "Good luck". Aunt Anna simply drew me in to their world and made me a spot. She would cut my hair, feed us, laugh and tell me stories of the other parts of the family. It was in her presence that we found a safe and warm place. 

For several semesters we would end up over there for a Friday or Saturday night. I was working at a local machine shop from midnight to 7AM, shower and hit the morning classes, study and nap, then as the relationship grew deeper take Beverly out for dinner or more likely to the "Rasco's". More times than not I would snooze on the floor while the Aunt Anna and Beverly would visit and Uncle Ken would sit in his recliner and "do degree plans" until it was time to roust me up and take Beverly to the dorm and I would head to work. There was a lot of laughter, some singing, great food, and advice so subtly dispensed that I did not see it until years later. 

So our marriage had a healthy dose of what it looked like to open a home and hearts to people who were simply wanting a place to rest and visit and have no demands. Aunt Anna made that place happen. 

Over the years I have discovered that we were not unique, but she made us feel that way. It was with a twinge of jealousy that I found others from other years before us and others since from my kids to my grandson after us that she took in. If there is such a thing as a crazy cat lady, Aunt Anna was a crazy people lady. Always gracious, always good humored, always wanting everyone to get along ( a tall task for that side of the family).

The world is a little more empty now with her gone. Someone dimmed the lights just a little. It seems when someone like her passes, we lose more then their company, we lose the impact of their life. She was one of the best of us. It is my hope that, in us, the world can still experience the gift of grace, dignity, humor that she represented. I know I will miss the way at the end of each visit she would hold my face kiss me on the cheek and say, "Oh Don, thank you so much for coming by." I am so grateful that I "came by". 

Godspeed Aunt Anna. I am not sure how this heaven thing works, but I hope you and Uncle Ken can now enjoy the earned right to be together without pain, or suffering, or any indignity. I know we will miss you here. 

Don

Memory Snapshot

 There are moments that come to all of us on this journey where the view and the moment overwhelm, not only in the beauty, but the impact of the moment. It is that understanding that this moment is captured in our minds and hearts and will reside there until the very end. These moments come at us in all phases of life, but as I near my 7th decade they seem to have deeper impact on my emotions and spirit. 

Our son and his family had come to Texas for a summer time visit. The visits over the past few years have been infrequent and tenuous when planned. COVID did a number on travel and consequently emotions. So to have them here, to see the cousins all playing and laughing and swimming together was a moment of pure joy. 

At one point we decided to eat lunch at Tacos4Life. One long table for 16 people, grouped according to age with the adults at one end and all the kids at the other end. My kids were all talking and giving each other a hard time about perceived grievances from childhood. I was catching a fair amount of grief for the cars I obtained for their first cars, and all other forms of unfairness in their eyes. 

It was at this moment that I looked down the table and saw my 3 grandsons all bent over some meme on the eldest one's cell phone, the little girls from 8-10 and my eldest granddaughter chattering away, and our littlest sitting on her mother's lap, but engrossed in all the chaos. At that moment my brain took a snapshot. A memory snapshot. One I will carry forever. Then I looked across the table at my bride and sent her a message via telepathy that old marrieds develop. "We done good, girl"

How many of these are left? I don't know. Two years ago I was afraid we had seen the last one already. The oldest is headed to college in a few weeks. The son and his family have headed back to Denver. Holidays are still a gamble with all the events in the world. Will I ever see them all together again? I don't know. What I do know is that I will pull this snapshot out every once in a while and drink in the joy of that moment. 

My hope is that there will be many more gatherings that the brain's camera can just snap shot after shot. But if not, the  newest one will be put in the album to be viewed whenever I want to see my crowd together.

Godspeed to my little band. They have made this the very best journey a guy could have. 

Don

Last Day

 After 32 years in public education my bride is hanging it up. The past couple of weeks have been a little emotional. When she started she was a PE aide which reflected her interest from her college degree. Our youngest one had just started kindergarten and she was able to find this job in the Red Oak ISD which matched her schedule to theirs. 

Then she was moved to the library. It was in this assignment that she found her passion and her place. For over 20 years she managed the library, through generations of students, with numerous changes in administration, she was able to continue in the role that she embraced with all her heart. 

We have stacks of children's books in our house. She would bring them home, read them, remember them, and realize their worth. Many times over the years I would take her lunch and we would sit in the corner and chat and eat. Without fail a student or a teacher would come in looking for a specific book or topic and she would hop up and find it for them offering her opinion on the book and the merits for that child or teacher. She never once acted like it was an inconvenience. I would sit there and marvel at her knowledge and enthusiasm. 

Every year I would participate in the book fairs as the cashier. PTA book fairs were a huge event. On Sunday before that week we would spend a couple of hours setting up the book cases, the tables and the displays, hanging the posters and banners. It was a special sort of moment for me to work with her in a large quiet school building anticipating the sales event. Then on the night of open house I would cash out the ones buying books while she worked the floor. And it was with the same delight in the event that she would help the kids and parents find the just the right book. 

For generations she found the right book for the right child at the right moment. It did not matter the reading level of the child, it did not matter the subject matter, she would ask questions and find just the right fit. Can you imagine the amount of joy in reading that she fostered in those years? A joy that opened eyes and expanded horizons for young minds. She was a wonder worker for all those generations. 

There is a quote I found recently that stated, "The greatest asset in any library goes home at night" It was my greatest blessing that I got to share that home. She was and always will be a librarian. 

But alas, bureaucracies seem unable to let people of passion and dedication stay in the spot where they can fully embrace what they were intended to be. So a decision a couple of years ago was made to "reassign" her. She was heartbroken.  And she was assigned one of the hardest areas to work. Young special needs kids, some not verbal, some not potty-trained, some of them almost her size. In the first semester she would come home with bite marks and scratches and once with a dislocated shoulder. I wanted to find that bureaucrat and have a quiet conversation out behind the gym about the decision. I encouraged her to quit then.

 But if you know my bride you will know that she is strong willed and refused to let them win. She dug in and with the same grace and dedication as she exhibited in the library she made it work. It is this integrity that I find so awe inspiring. She proved to be better than the system that took her away from her passion. 

This is the person they are losing and the person that will have more time to bless the lives of my kids, our grandkids, and me. Children's books will still be stacked up in our house until we are both gone, just in case that one child needs to be handed that one book at just the right moment. 

Godspeed to the love of my life, Beverly Jean Lindsey Jolly. I have always loved you and always will. That is only gotten better because of how intensely proud of you I am. 

"Mimi" Margaret

 In the last 15 months Bev and I have lost her mom, my dad, and now to finish the journey, my step-mom. They were all in their 90's and it is easy and right to say they lived and  loved a long time. From each of them I learned a lot about life and more importantly the end of life. 

Mimi came to us after my mother died in 1982, she married my dad in 1983. It was a whirlwind romance and an intimidating task of melding two families. The kids were all grown and there was already a healthy start of grandkids on both sides. I have no idea what her dreams were for this large and expanding family. I'm sure she had visions of holidays and birthdays and family reunions being this Hallmark moment to be repeated over and over again. 

There had to be sobering moment when she realized there were stubborn and opinionated kids on both sides. My mother had only been gone for a few months and there was still grief and loneliness that only death can provide. The Ware boys were having to learn to share their mom. It was an explosive mixture. 

After a few attempts to persuade the kids to gather in person and gather in mind she came to the conclusion that these kids (particularly the stubborn group she inherited) would have to be dealt with differently than she imagined. 

So here is where the lesson kicked in. I listened yesterday to the recounting of stories, memories, sayings, by the mixed group of these stubborn kids from years ago. And she taught me again that the way to get these people to come together was actually pretty simple and ingenious at the same time. 

She decided to love all the grandkids as they were her very own. It is really difficult to find a picture of her over the past 38 years that do not have grandkids draped all over her. It mattered little if they were Wares or Jollys, it didn't matter if they were boys or girls. She would play dress up, wade in the creek and get muddy, she would cook and mend and hug and kiss and pray. She loved them into us loving her. How do you push back against someone loving on your kids with such abandon?

And all the while she loved my dad. As you know from other blogs he was the guiding moral compass in my life. He was not a philosopher or a complicated person. He simply treated people right, he never lied, and he loved his wife with all his heart. Their lives were complicated at the end. Physical capabilities diminished almost daily. But at the end she would comfort and with no reservation left in her, tell me exactly what I needed to be doing to help him. Even as her health failed she fought for him. So my lesson is that I will fight for my bride as long as I have breath. I will try to accomplish what she needs done. Lesson well taught, Mimi. 

The last one. It is hard not to feel a little abandoned. I hope I can remember all they have taught me. It is hard to discern who taught me what. It is hard to tell a story about one and not include the other. They taught me that when the marriage is strong and committed, it becomes a story of two. 

Godspeed, Mimi. You will be missed. Kiss dad for me. 

Don

A Long Journey's End

 The theme of this blog for the years I have been creating it has been the events and the considerations that come from this journey we call life. The posts have been about the twists and turns, the moments of joy and the moments of tragedy, the successes and the set backs. Rarely has this blog dealt with the end of the journey. 

But September 5, 2020 my dad, my mentor, my hero ended his journey of 98 years. With a body worn down by age and complications from hearing loss and dementia, he finally set his pack down and rested. We had all six sons (technically 3 were step-sons, but in this moment it was diffused distinction) each had a few moments to remember dad. The constant theme was that he was a simple, gracious, humorous, hard working man. He loved us all and embraced us all. Just the family he loved was over 80 people and every single one of them lovingly called him Grandfather. Each has a different memory of this man, each special in their own way. 

So we spent the week thinking about him, remembering all the funny and poignant things he said and did. He loved puns and quirky little sayings. The last couple of years he would greet everyone with "I'm looking better!" Then explaining he could still see and was proud of that. With his memory issues, he would repeat this every time he saw someone, even if it was just a few moments before. And the graciousness of people who knew him would laugh each time and he would grin about his clever approach to old age. I never tired of seeing how much he enjoyed these word games.  

His body had begun to wear down over the last several years. His memory was short cycled questions over and over again. He went through a time where he knew he was forgetting and it frustrated him. It was a blessing when he would forget, but not realize he had forgotten. It eased my heart to know he was not angry with himself over his memory. He was not as mobile as before and refused to use a walker, but as time went on even he had to concede that he needed assistance. 

But in spite of all that was failing him, his memory, his hearing, his body, he remained  sweet, gracious, humorous and faithful. Faithful to his God, faithful to his wife, faithful to all us. When it would have been easy to be bitter or mean, he remained who he truly had always been. Perhaps as we age and we begin to lose the independence, perhaps we reveal who we always were. And to me he revealed his greatness in his last moments by showing that the man he was years ago is still the same man today. 

Godspeed to dad, Grady B. Jolly. You were truly one of a kind. And if I haven't said it enough, I love you and I will miss you. 

Don 

COVID, Stroke, Hospice

Sunday afternoon in the midst of getting our Sunday agenda completed, I received a call out of the blue saying Dad had a stroke and was in the ER. After a moment of panic and fear we moved into our emergency mode, making calls, informing. My panic was slowly morphing to dread as the day wore on and the reports continued. Due to COVID I could not visit in the ER, so we continued to parse every word and every nuance from the nurse to the doctor and back again. "Lost use of his left side and his speech is slurred." stuck in my mind and settled on my heart. A man known for his energy, though diminished in years, was now lying alone in an ER trying to hear what was said and wondering what was wrong. If nothing else, this COVID scare has separated us and those we love. I detested it before, I hate it now. 

Through a restless night and impatient waiting and asking for results from C-scan and other tests, they decided to admit him into the hospital. The first tiny bit of good news was that this particular hospital would allow 1 specified visitor a day from 11AM to 6PM. I was there at 10:30am eyeing the people already there who I calculated I could beat to front of the line. Fortunately I did not have to body block anyone and we all got in pretty quickly after the standard questions. They gave me new mask, a wrist band that said "VISITOR" and a sticker to wear in case anyone missed the wrist band. I was logged in, banded, stickered, and approved. Then I raced to the elevators and impatiently rode up to Dad's floor, signed in at the nursing station and got directions to his room...

I had not seen Dad since April. The COVID lockdown was severe at the memory assisted facility. He had fallen in March and April and I had picked him up from the ER both times at the curb and delivered him to the memory care facility to the curb, but I had seen him twice. Both times he had hit his head and had bruising so he looked like the loser in a prize fight. Both times it made me sad, but it was still him with his questions and good humor. (I told him the second time that I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, he said go ahead and laugh, he would do the crying). This time I was not ready. He was shrunken and misshapened from the stroke. I bent over him and he seemed bewildered by who I was. Fortunately the nurse left the room at that moment and I yanked off my mask so he could see my face. He tried to smile and garbled out "..on" Yes, its me.."on" 

The next few days brought MRI tests, swallow tests, physical therapy, oral therapy and very few positive results. At 98 a stroke had leveled a sweet, gentle man of integrity. As the next few days slipped by filled with decisions and reporting my siblings, it became clear that this event had done more to end his time than anything in the last 10 years. In a fraction of a second, a tiny artery in his head had undone all the vitality, the memories, the good works, the essence of the one I call "Dad". And as the days continued it occurred to me that this was not going to change. This stroke had done the damage that even anti-aircraft fire in the second World War could not do. 

So my days were filled with making decisions based on lousy choices. The tension between quality of life and hope for recovery was infused into every decision I made. After a late night conference with my siblings we all agreed that quality was paramount. But I agonized in private about the consequences of those decisions. Until today. 

They delivered him back to the memory care facility after I had gotten him signed up for Hospice care. The first night was rough. He was restless and wanted to get up. Margaret was trying to make him rest. The Hospice nurse called me 3 times to say he can't stay in the bed that he and Margaret had shared for almost 40 years. I was exasperated that I couldn't help due to the lockdown. In frustration I asked the nurse, "What do you want me to do?!?" She realized then that I was blocked and she would have to handle. So at midnight they found a solution (an aide sitting by the bed). They delivered a hospital bed for my dad and twin bed for Margaret the next day. Not the ideal solution, but those are all gone anyway.

Then this morning I called the attendant in the facility and asked how they were doing. The attendant giggled a little and said they found Margaret getting into his hospital bed. He was very sad and she wanted to comfort him. And all those decisions about rehab hospitals and feeding tubes and hospice care all fell into place. He is with the one he needs the most, and she is with the one she fears won't be here with her. It was a sweet, sad, and somehow affirming moment for me. To know that his life partner, however longer that is, will do what she needs to comfort them both. Can any of us ask for more? 

So, Godspeed to all out there who have lived this same week at one time or another. I come through it exhausted, emotional, and grateful. I guess that is the best we can do at the moment.

Don

Pride and Prejudice

This post has been brewing for a while. Not because I didn't have opinions, or because I was afraid of the backlash, or even because I am lazy (well, I'm a little lazy). This post was delayed for a vary simple reason. I am a white, mature (read older) adult male. And apparently it is my voice that has not been strident enough or loud enough or condescending enough to make the change in our culture that everyone is crying for. Several Facebook posts have claimed that only my voice can change the situation. Sort of a "you caused this mess, now you clean it up." So the voice you hear may be a bit confused, a bit hesitant, but it will also be honest.

White privilege keeps getting applied to my life in ways that are both apparent and covert. I understand the application and I understand the ways that simply being white and middle-class clears so many hurdles for me. Until recently prejudice was something that I observed, but never felt. But two things have happened that have stirred a bit of awareness in my world.

First of all I have gotten to the age in life and stage in career where my age is a primary factor in job opportunities. Several times over the past couple of years job opportunities came to me and I was not even considered. "You are too valuable where you are..", "we are looking for someone outside this industry.." Legally they can't say, "you are too old and we want someone younger". It took some time to figure out that they didn't look at my years of experience, dedication to the job, expertise, skill, previous victories. But instead looked at my birth date and disqualified me. There are only two areas where white men feel the frustration of prejudice; age and obesity. Outside of that we never have a moment of fear or frustration or humiliation.

Second event was the adoption of our youngest granddaughter who is a mixed race child. She has captured us completely with her spirit, her busyness, her hugs, and all the other little joys she brings to us. And as every grandparent will tell you the concern is not once removed.  I spend a huge part of my spiritual disciplines on behalf of my eight grand children. But little Miss Ruby, our little brown girl, brings a different focus to my prayers and thoughts and contemplation. My heart aches and my hands curl into fists to think she will be mistreated or abused  because she is brown. It is no longer a fight against the prejudice in the world, but now a personal fight against anyone who would harm this bright, little girl who adopted us.

So what does this mean? My bride and I were discussing all the ways this current state of affairs has changed our American world. My point was that no one can speak without being condemned by someone else. If I quit my job and become a full time advocate for minority rights, I will be skewered because I came down from my mountain and deigned to share my privilege. And these attitudes towards me will come from all parties, from all sides. On the other hand, if I stay silent I am the problem (silence is affirmation, etc).

My bride (who is far more insightful than I am) took her poke at the world in this way. She ordered some female apparel and the color designation was "skin tone", read white skin tone. When asked by the manufacturer if she would recommend this product she told them, "I don't think I can until you change the color designation to beige or tan or something like that. This is not skin tone, there are multitudes of skin tones." The message was so subtle in the marketing of the product that I missed it entirely. My bride did not. The subtle message was that "skin tone" is white and the other skin tones don't count. And she knows if it affects sales, they will change it.

I'm not sure but what the changes that need to be made won't be the small subtle changes in everyday life. We can all rage and rally when the obvious injustice is done, but the event won't help the victim. We must find ways to make the changes so the victims have a voice after the event. Then find a way to stop the events of racial prejudice. The only way to do this is to treat everyone with the same compassion, fairness, and integrity as we do our sweet Ruby and the other 7.

Godspeed to those who have felt this more strongly and more intimately than I have for much longer than I have. I'm sorry my voice has been so long silent, but it will be no more.
Don