What Grandkids Can Do

The two "in between" grandkids - Dylan and Jenna - were supposed to come for a week-long visit two weeks ago. That schedule had to be changed as Barry's condition rapidly deteriorated, my uncle passed unexpectedly and the destruction of my aunt's neighborhood in San Bruno.
Once things settled a bit my daughter tweaked the schedule and I was able to have them this past weekend. They arrived last Friday and it was great to see them. Erik arrived home from work early and we took the kids to Sonic for dinner - a treat for them as they don't have a Sonic in their area.
The kids asked if they could eat their meal inside the camper shell of the truck. We gladly complied and had a mini-tailgate in the back of the truck, munching our food and looking out onto Kearney's busiest intersection.
It was a Friday night in a small town. A truck arrived at the watermelon stand, and they were readying the produce for the next day. Kids were horsing around at the U-wash car wash, squirting each other with the hoses. You could hear the band playing and the roar of the crowd at the high school's first football game of the season.
Then I realized I was feeling something I hadn't felt in quite awhile: I was happy.
Thanks to the grandkids, I do believe the healing process is beginning.

Back To It

One week ago today I was catching a very late flight back to Kansas City. The previous Saturday was the memorial service for Barry. I cannot believe so many things happened that last week.
Last Monday I resolved to get "back to normal" and got up at 4:30 a.m., ran a few miles on the treadmill, trained dogs and did all my morning chores. Went to work, came home and collapsed from exhaustion.
It's not physical exhaustion, it's emotional.
And I've discovered there are many levels of grief. At this writing, it's the Dull Ache part of it, where your heart is badly bruised and just wants to rest and heal.
Each day of last week I'd get up resolved to go back to normal, and each day I just couldn't. Fortunately sleep has come easily and I've slept long and deeply. I just seem to need a lot more. When will I feel rested?
Yesterday was the first day I felt normal so did normal Saturday stuff as well as my Welcome Wagon job. I resolved to do home stuff Saturday and devote Sunday to training and grooming the poor dogs, it's been awhile. Then ugly black clouds loomed on the horizon and I headed home early. We got the dogs and ourselves fed and cleaned up before the "fun" started...intense lightning, rain, and at one point the weather radio said to "prepare immediately for golf-ball sized hail, damaging winds in excess of 60 mph and deadly lightning. Take cover in the lowest level of your home and stay away from windows." Luckily for us that nasty storm petered out before reaching our fair town but the weather radio went off quite regularly all night. So, it's Sunday and I'm exhausted. It looks like another pajama day. I'm very fortunate to be able to have pajama days.
Pinch is signed up for the Beginning Obedience class at Renee's and it begins 10/28. Neither Pinch nor Moto has been formally trained for weeks now. I simply don't have the Heart to train. It's that Dull Ache thing getting in the way. Oh, I've done a bit here and there - tricks, the Sit and Down Game, things like that. I've decided to pull Moto from his Open class Wednesday nights and will bring him to Pinch's class. My game plan is to swap out the two dogs and do a lot of backchaining with Moto. He has more issues than I realized and if I ever want to show him, we need to go back to those building blocks to find the weak link. I have a feeling I got greedy and went too far, too fast.
Meantime my family is still trying to wrap its collective arms around all that has happened: so much in too short a time. We put one foot ahead of the other and surround each other with lots of love. Moto is truly in his element as Therapy Dog during this time: I don't know if my scent changes or how he knows, but when The Sadness envelopes me like a dark fog, he quietly makes his way over and leans against me - there if I need to hug him and bury my head in his fur.
So I am grateful that I CAN eventually get back to normal, and that I have my wonderful husband and six loving dogs to help me on my path.

A Few Words About Barry

He was so much more than my brother-in-law. Here's a snapshot of his life, taken from the memorial program:
BARRY PATRICK JOHNSON
October 1, 1956-September 2, 2010
Barry Patrick Johnson was born on October 1, 1956 in Prince George County, VA to Pat and Wayne Johnson. Big sister Gail was anxiously awaiting her new little brother. Barry was premature and was not given much chance to live. In fact, the doctors told his parents to start making funeral arrangements for their little boy. But Barry was a fighter and ne got stronger and stronger, and because his mom asked so many intelligent questions, they thought she was a nurse and let her take him home earlier than they normally would. She was under instructions to feed him every two hours, and sometimes it took him an hour and a half to eat, but his parents were determined and soon Barry began to thrive. However, Barry was then diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy and the doctors told his parents he would most likely spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. Pat and Wayne sought out other opinions and found a doctor who fit little Barry with a leg brace. He struggled with it, hated it, but learned to deal with it and rode a tricycle faster with his one leg than the other kids did with two. He was determined to fit in. Pretty soon, the leg brace came off and Barry walked with a bit of a limp, but that was all.
Barry grew up in the Los Angeles area where Wayne was an engineer for TRW. But soon Wayne had a calling to go into the ministry and that led him and his family to the seminary in San Rafael, California, and then to Palm Desert for his first ministerial position.
Barry graduated from Indio High School in 1974. He went off to UC Davis for his first year of college but he was much more interested in fixing his Volkswagen than studying. Wayne asked Barry to go on a church mission trip to the Hoopa Indian Reservation in the summer of 1975. It was there Barry met his future wife, Jan Howard, whose friend had asked her to come with her on the church mission trip. It was NOT love at first sight! In fact, Jan dated Barry's cousin Dane first. But when Dane had to go back to Los Angeles to go to school, that's when Barry swooped in. He gave Jan a hug after he dropped Dane off at the airport and that hug was the turning point. From then on, Barry and Jan were inseparable and after one year of being together they were engaged.
They were married July 16, 1977 at Church of the Roses, Santa Rosa, with Wayne officiating and Reverend Lester Muhly from St. Mark Lutheran Church officiating as well. The marriage brought Barry and Jan three beautiful little girls, Julie in 1980, Amy in 1984 and Laura in 1986. Barry worked at a number of jobs, including selling cars at Zumwalt Magrini Chrysler Plymouth for years and was blessed to be working with his best buddy from college, Skip. But Barry had always dreamed of owning his own shop and started M.E.M. Auto repair in 1994 (which stood for Mobile Equipped Mechanical since he would come to your place to repair your car. However, they privately called it "Making Ends Meet"). Barry was finally able to open a permanent shop called The Car Doctor which was a dream come true for him. He was able to establish a Christian place of business and treat people the way he wanted them to be treated - with dignity and respect.
Barry struggled with alcohol for years, but finally realized his marriage and family were more important than drinking. He got sober and stayed sober and helped a great many others along that path. He was a well-respected leader in AA.
Barry also had a great love for kids. Barry and Jan started teaching Jr. High Bible class at St. Mark in the early 90's. It was a great source of joy for Barry to teach kids about the Bible and about God's love. Any child who has been to his Jr. High class will remember "the money talk" where he would take out a fistful of bills from his pocket and tell the kids if any one could guess how much money he had in his hand they could keep it. The purpose of the talk was to teach the kids that this was God's money - not his - and if God decided one of the kids needed it more than he, it was theirs as long as they used it for a Godly purpose. Once, just once, a girl won the money and Barry gave that money away joyfully. He also loved taking the Jr. High kids on their annual snow trip in February. He didn't enjoy the cold, but he loved the Bible study at night and talking with the kids.
Barry and Jan enjoyed a truly wonderful marriage. Not perfect, never perfect, but a God-centered marriage that brought them through many trials. At one difficult point, Jan asked Barry why he stayed with her, and he answered simply "because I promised." And he stayed true to that promise, as did Jan. They enjoyed traveling together, eating out, hanging out with friends and just being in each other's company. They were truly each other's best friend.
Now Barry is in his Heavenly mansion with all the hosts of Heaven. He will be dearly missed on this earth for his love, his sense of humor, his love of Jeff Gordon and NASCAR, his generosity with his time and money, his willingness to drop anything to help a friend, and his sweet, gentle ways. May God bless him in his new Heavenly home.

Leaving Uplifted

This was the weekend I've dreaded since my brother-in-law, Barry, had announced that he had Stage 4 melanoma. At age 53 we had the committal ceremony graveside and the following day, his memorial.
My sister had an extremely difficult morning, not wanting to get up and begin the day. And yet, there were some amazing twists and turns to be had.
I received a phone call from Janet, my cousin by marriage. We'd just lost my uncle the previous weekend, and now she had more awful news: her mother lives in the San Bruno neighborhood where the gas explosion had happened. She'd escaped with her life thank God, and they were making their way back to Janet's childhood home to see if there was anything left. Depending on what they found, they may or may not be attending Barry's memorial.
It was a beautiful day in California and the committal ceremony was fine. My sister's grandson Aiden crawled onto her lap and hugged her. She rocked him as he wrapped his arms around her neck. How touching it was to see Barry's legacy - his beautiful grand-children - providing comfort to Janice.
On our way to the reception some good news and a miracle: While the entire row of homes were burned to the ground, Marilyn's home was the first one on the street that was completely standing. They would come to the memorial.
Saturday, the church was packed. It was standing room only as Barry's father, sister and one daughter spoke of their remembrances of Barry. Most touching was an "adopted son" named Ryan whom Barry had taken under his wing and mentored as a young teenager into manhood. He closed his talk by saying Barry lived his life paying it forward, and we should all do the same as a tribute to him. The music and songs were simply amazing, sung by a full choir and many musical instruments.
Then, one of those moments that when it occurs, you know it's something you'll remember the rest of your life: pastor was closing the service. My sister approached the pulpit and said she'd like to speak for a few minutes. She turned and faced the hundreds packed into the church. First, she said she wanted to look out on all who came and thank them for all they had done for her and Barry. Then, she lifted her hands into the air and began singing a song of praise.
My sister has a beautiful voice. Years ago she'd been asked to sing backup for Melissa Manchester. It's a soprano voice, clear and her pitch is always perfect.
She sang the first few lines alone as we sat mesmerized. Then a few voices added theirs to hers. Soon the entire congregation joined in. My sister stood there, arms raised and eyes closed, her voice strong and true. When it was over, Janice said "you know you're in a Lutheran church when you hear 4-part harmony!" to which everyone clapped and cheered.
Everyone went to the reception with a smile on their face.
I am in such awe of my sister.
In spite of her terrible loss, she did what Ryan had requested of us by paying it forward. She gave us joy in the face of incredible sadness. Instead of taking home images of tears and people breaking down, I will forever remember my sister at the pulpit, arms uplifted, leading us all in song.
Sister, you are a miracle. What you did is the most amazing and inspiring thing I've yet to witness.

Damnit

My sister couldn't have said it better.
Life took a sad an unexpected twist since my last post. Shortly after finishing that blog entry I received the call to fly to California as quickly as possible. While frantically looking for flights, I received another phone call - this time from my cousin - to say my uncle had suffered a massive stroke and it didn't look good.
My desperation to reach California ASAP was agonizing. I finally made it there last Wednesday morning. Barry was indeed at the close of his life. I volunteered to stand the night vigil to allow my sister some sleep. Barry made it through the night but by morning had ceased recognizing people and moving around. I walked to my mother's house (she lives just down the street from my sister) for a quick nap and a bite of food. That afternoon my cell phone rang. It was my sister who said I better come fast. Tearing out of the house at full speed I ran down the street and realized I should have kept up my exercising as my feet weren't carrying me as fast as I'd like. Al, my step-father drove up alongside me and we tore the rest of the way to my sister's house. Barry's parents, sister, children and my sister were there as he took his final breaths. It was over and it was peaceful.
My sister checked for a pulse and said he was gone. Then, the rise of emotion: she yelled out "DAMNIT!" and collapsed.
The rest of the time was a blur of hospice, paperwork, final details being carried out and grief.
I found out hospice had been called for my uncle. Unbelievably, my sister wanted to make the drive with me to San Jose to say our good-byes. Sadly he passed Saturday morning. We were to see him that afternoon. We still made the drive, this time to console and grieve with my aunt, my cousins, neices and nephews.
It's been a rough week. I'm home for a few days to tend to work and home details and will go back to CA for services and memorials. My wonderful husband and dogs have been a great source of comfort. Truly, Therapy Dog is Moto's calling. Never have I seen a dog who knows just how to "be": he's not too clingy or too withdrawn. He's just perfect. And that big fuzzy body is so huggable.
In spite of these losses that have rocked our family, I know that this fragile life is indeed a blessed one.