Memories, Memorials, Mementos and A Small Dose of Abject Fear

I wish everyone who loses a loved one could experience the flood of positive emotions I felt over the past week or so in the aftermath of Dad's death. Knowing that the end was near for him, but not knowing when, left me with the uncertainty over how I would react when the end finally came. I addressed the moment and the immediate aftermath in an earlier post. What followed I can only describe as incredible.

Perhaps every family who endures a loved one's long illness and slow slide to death sees the same effect as ours did, but this is the only such experience I've had. After watching for more than a year as Dad's health and will to live deteriorated, I experienced an unexpected relief, a weight off of my shoulders, an inexplicable joy when I received the news that he was gone. Don't get me wrong… I'm not happy to be "rid" of him, but, rather, I'm happy that he doesn't have to suffer any more and that – selfishly, I admit – I don't have to stand helplessly and witness his pain and discomfort and boredom and frustration any more. He was set free, and how can anyone feel bad to see someone who was unfairly imprisoned finally set free?

I recognized this feeling in me on the morning of Dad's wake, as I got myself ready. I caught myself singing in the shower, while I was shaving, as I got dressed… I felt HAPPY! And then I looked back on the days leading up to it and realized that all of my family had all been sharing memories and laughing through most of the time since Dad had died!


Drankin'!
May 31, the Saturday after Dad died, was the 21st birthday of my niece, grandchild number 9 (of 12). In the interest of Dad's wishes that there be laughter after his death, not tears, my sister went ahead with plans to celebrate her daughter's birthday by inviting everyone who was lingering about out to dinner at Buffalo Wild Wings, affectionately known to all (it seemed) but me as "B-Dubs."

Now, it wasn't Number 9's intention to overindulge. On the contrary, she was excited merely to order an alcoholic drink and be carded, only to show her ID and be served the drink she ordered. But her cousin (Number 7) was on hand to make sure that being carded would be but a blur in her memory of the evening. My initial instinct was to be the voice of reason and moderation, but when I realized I wasn't driving, I decided to partake of Number 9's "joy" by matching her, drink for drink. Naturally, she opted for my suggestion as a drink she might like – Long Island Iced Tea. And that's how it all started.

After the second round Number 7 insisted we all do a shot. Everyone 21 or older did a shot of Southern Comfort and lime, except for me. I shot a Grey Goose vodka. After that we were all finished eating… I think… and we headed to my sister's – and Number 9's – house. From there Number 7 and Number 9 went to a liquor store to get some more to drink for when Number 9's friends came over to help her celebrate. Asked if I wanted anything, I opted for a 750ml bottle of Grey Goose.

When they returned I was dismayed to see that they came back with a 375ml bottle, but this turned out to be a good thing as, though I fully intended to share, there were few takers.

Number 9's friends showed up. One of them had been to dinner with us, and the other didn't really know Number 9 all that well. But she did know a good handful of drinking games! We five sat down at the table on the deck in the back yard and began to play. I got hit with one of the first requirements to drink. I did a shot of Grey Goose and knew immediately that such a plan would only end badly, so I switched to a mixed drink – rum and Pepsi.

I'll spare the details…mainly because they're really fuzzy or just plain not there…but, suffice it to say, a good time was had by most. I learned a few things that evening. One, I really, really like playing college drinking games with college girls! Early on, before the alcohol hit, I spoke in an aside to my nephew and admonished him to make sure I didn't hit on either of Number 9's friends. Which brings on another of those things I learned… a man in the throes of a divorce and on the verge of an evening of drinking, who's in close proximity to young, attractive college girls wearing college-girl party attire displaying fair amounts of college-girl cleavage, knows that the likelihood of saying – or worse, doing – something embarrassing is very high. Fortunately for me – and moreso for Number 9 – I didn't hit on, or attempt to grope or fondle either of her friends…at least that's what Number 7 tells me. Another thing I learned that evening: I totally SUCK at college drinking games! And the odd thing? The later it got, the worse I got. Go figure!

Number 9's friends had gone home by 12:30am or so (both left when one's mother came to pick them up, so they were safe about it). Number 7 went and sat in his truck. He knew he was too drunk to drive, but he's allergic to Number 9's cats, so he couldn't stay in the house. I know it wasn't all me – it absolutely could NOT be – but the bottle of Grey Goose was empty. I lay my head down on the table and snoozed – sis says until after 2:00am, but I think it was more like 1:00 or 1:15. Regardless, I got up when I got too cold and I staggered inside, where I promptly crashed on the couch.

Much to my own surprise, and after a brief moment in the morning when I got up to go to the bathroom, where I broke into a cold sweat and thought I was going to make a projectile offering to the porcelain god…but it passed, I did not have a hangover. Okay, maybe a little one, but no headache or prolonged nausea or queasiness. Number 9, on the other hand, did make her first-ever post-binge offering, only hers was to the linoleum god. Maybe she will appease the porcelain god some other time.


Last Wish
One of Dad's last wishes was to – after his death – buy all of his buddies one last round of drinks at their hangout, Tony's Place, which is the bar that was next to Dad's barbershop in the building owned by Tony. Probably more than a year ago he made my sister promise that she would fulfill this wish and use the money left in his checking account to buy the round. Wednesday, after the funeral and the luncheon, we all headed over to Tony's and had that round. As I had suspected, Tony, who was like another son to my father, refused to accept any money. Tony loved my Dad so much that I think he would have willingly drained every keg and every last bottle in his tavern in Dad's memory if there were enough people there to drink it all. Somehow, between the funeral home and the cemetery and the restaurant we had lost most of Dad's friends who had shown up, so that first round was just family. Before we took our leave we left behind a decent sum and got Tony's promise that as all of the regulars, all of Dad's friends, came in, their first drink of the day would be on Dad.


Memorial Bowl
If there was a constant in Dad's social life, it was bowling. He was a blue-collar guy in a blue-collar town, and the ultimate blue-collar pastime is bowling. He was all about the fundamentals, so it was natural that he taught or gave advice to just about everybody he ever encountered in a bowling alley…whether they wanted it or not! He gave me my first lessons, as he did for all of my siblings before me. If he was ever outstanding in his bowling, it was in his consistency. He was rarely bad, occasionally great, but always reliable and a contributor to his teams.

So naturally, after we left Tony's Place, we all unwound a little, changed clothes, and hit the local lanes to throw a few games in Dad's memory! I never did a head-count, but we covered four lanes, so I estimate there were 16 of us bowling, plus another four to six "kibitzing," another of Dad's favorite pastimes! Number 9 made quite an astute observation early on in the bowling. As nearly every one of us there had been taught by the same teacher, nearly every one of us there had near-identical throwing styles. It was quite an amazing thing to see!

Aside from possibly doing permanent damage to my left knee because I'm terribly out of shape and I hadn't bowled in several years, I had a fabulous time. And I think I can speak for the others and say they did, too.


Twister, Anyone?
Anyone who paid attention this past weekend to the weather news may remember hearing about the tornado(es) that ripped through northeastern Illinois on Saturday. The town names may have seemed unremarkable to you – Wilmington, Monee, Richton Park, Matteson – but to me they were too close to "home." One could say that some of those areas are my old "stomping grounds," whereas, only three days earlier, I was in one of those communities!

I was at my sister's house in Highland, Indiana, once again enjoying the company of my family. Number 7 saw the "Tornado Warning" graphic on the screen as he watched TV, so he went to the computer and brought up The Weather Channel online. He clicked on the Tornado Warning report and began reading aloud, with increasing agitation: "A tornado is on the ground between Wilmington and University Park and is heading toward Monee…!" The report gave time estimates for arrival at various towns in the tornado's southwest-to-northeast path, and my nephew read out, "…will reach Dyer, Indiana, by 2:37pm, Munster, Indiana, by 2:44pm, and will reach Hammond, Indiana, by 2:50pm."

My sister said with remarkable calm, "It's heading right for us."

HOLY CRAP!

My other sister and her husband, in whose home we had all been sitting around and chatting, began directing their children, Number 9 and Number 10, into the central hallway…not into the basement – they don't have one.

It was at this moment that I realized being in a single-story ranch-style house on a concrete slab is not where I want to be when a tornado comes waltzing through the neighborhood!

The stress and fear got to Number 10, age 17, and she began to cry as she sat on the floor and prepared to huddle against the wall in the hallway.

I, on the other hand, chose to wait to huddle until I saw the funnel cloud with my own two eyes. I stood in the front lawn and kept my eyes on the southwestern skies, keen to the ever-darker clouds moving in. My other sister there reminded me of the words of my mother, who as a little girl had witnessed a tornado zip across her grandparents' farm field: "It sounds like a diesel train." Of little use when you live in an industrial area surrounded by railroad yards….

The wind intermittently whipped up and went calm. Near the darkest parts of the clouds angry streaks of lightning lashed out at the earth, all thankfully several miles away, yet.

And then I heard a familiar sound. I waved my hands at the sister who had reminded me of my mother's words. "SHHH! There it is! Do you hear that?"

"What?" she replied, somewhat spooked.

"It sounds like a train, right?" I asked, my voice tinged with excitement.

"Yes." Her ears scanned the air apprehensively.

And right on cue, with timing that couldn't have been better executed in a movie or a sitcom, that familiar sound came again – the horn blew on a train coasting through a rail yard several hundred yards away! I pointed in the direction from which the sound had come.

Joke on sister pulled off successfully, laughter achieved, the tension eased considerably. The darkest center of the clouds was now due west of us, which meant that, as a tornado always tracks from the southwest to the northeast, if anything was even on the ground at that moment, it would pass us by to our northwest. Or so I believed. Despite hearing several surrounding communities' tornado warning sirens, Highland's was not activated.

For a brief time, the fear had been real. I do not recall the last time I ever felt a total, mind-clearing fear such as that. For all intents and purposes, we were truly in the path of that storm. When I had looked to the southwest I couldn't help but feel helpless and infinitesimal as I imagined that tornado bearing down on us. My initial urge was to get in my car and head southEAST, but I couldn't abandon my family. I had to force myself to prepare to throw my body over one of my nieces, or over my sister, or even my brother-in-law, should that tornado come, in order that my nieces would have a chance to live on with one or both parents. And besides, my car was blocked in the driveway, and I couldn't get out.

But the tornado veered away, or it weakened, or whatever happens that stops a tornado, and we were spared any terror outside our own minds. It made quite a mess in the communities that lie to the west of our old hometown, but as far as I'm aware, no one was hurt, and – most importantly – no one was killed.

When the storm was safely off to the north, phone calls were made. We called another of my four sisters, the one who lives in University Park, to see if she was okay. She was untouched by the storm, but her power was out.

My best friend, who was visiting me as well as my sisters, called his parents, who still live in the town where we grew up. They were fine, but a tree was blown down onto their car. The extent of the damage was not known at that moment, but I would assume it was total.

And that brought to an end one hell of a week! All the better for great stories down the line!