My dearest friend Sharon got the call that no mother EVER wants to get. Her eldest son was killed last week in Iraq. I truly can not imagine what she must be going through. I have not spoken to her yet but can’t imagine how I can help but give her a shoulder to cry on. Anthony was thirty-one and has left five children behind. Forgive my language please, but war sucks! If you are the praying kind please say one for this grieving family. http://planetcapra-tricia.blogspot.com/
I don’t really have time for a deeply thoughtful post but I do want to say that I’ve been thinking of all our soldiers in Iraq and the rest of the world. What a rough situation many of them are in. I especially feel for their families. One friend and neighbor’s husband was killed there two years ago. She was left to raise three kids alone. Another good friend spent Thanksgiving and Christmas last year without her husband who has been in Iraq twice and in almost every other battle in the last twenty years the US has been involved in.
I would love to make some astute political statement but I’m sort of baffled by the whole thing. I hate the idea of killing people and yet I realize that’s a bit simplistic. I have to say that I don’t really see why we are still over there. I haven’t seen any progress except perhaps the removal of Saddam though I think his execution was barbaric, but then I’m just reading the paper each day and not intimately involved. Still I wish they could all come home, but then I’m one of those morons who wishes we could all live in a world of peace where we could see that in actual fact by our very DNA we are one and the same even though we don’t have the same skin color, religion or culture.
I am not giving up on world peace and no matter the situation in the world I’ll continue my dream of living in harmony with others. To be honest though it’s hard enough getting four young girls who are sisters to love and respect each other, never mind complete strangers who hate one another but enough said; I still believe peace is possible. To end my discombobulated rambling I will post some photos of my Dad during his time in basic training and in North Africa during WWII.
Can you believe it our beloved Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin is dead. I’ve been sad all day. I know he’s a famous person that I’ve never met but I sort of feel like I know him because he’s in my house all the time, on the T.V. of course. Animal Planet is the only channel my kids are allowed to watch and my girls loved Steve. I have one daughter that positively adored him. In fact, just this past week she received a reply to a fan letter she sent including info on his Australia Zoo with a bumper sticker we put on our car that says ” crocks rule” and a signed photo of The Crocodile Hunter and his family. I know he had a dangerous job but he just wasn’t supposed to go this way. People like him never seem to die so young but then life is that was isn’t it. God bless his family. I truly wish them the best.
I think he taught us to love all of God’s creatures especially the ones that don’t seem so lovable. They are all part of this miraculous world we live in. They have their purpose and the more we know about them the more we can appreciate just how wonderful they all are and how we should take care of them. He fascinated my kids and I think he made a positive impact on the world during his short 44 years. I don’t think there will be anyone to replace such a colorful character.
I’ve been following all the news reports online today and read a quote from him saying that in Australia he was seen as a bit of an embarrassment for his flamboyant personality but isn’t that what made him so lovable, especially for children. He did what he loved and wasn’t ashamed to show great enthusiasm. Why is it we are so afraid to show enthusiasm? I suppose it does make one look childlike but that isn’t always a bad thing. I would like to be a bit more enthusiastic in the things I do in my life.
Goodbye Steve we WILL miss you!
The Dempseys
My father died in July of 1999 but I still miss him all the time. All kinds of things make me think of him; newly cut grass, watching the birds, cigarette smoke, his old tools in our shed, his purple heart certificate hanging on the wall and a variety of other everyday things. I still have one of his old wallets which I found in his drawer while cleaning out our home, getting it ready to sell when my mother died last year. It still smells of him.
My Father was born July 2, 1912 in Galena, Kansas the youngest of four. 
I do not know very much about his childhood, just snippets I managed to get from him and a couple of conversations from his brother over the phone. His father ran produce import business before the advent of grocery stores,Piggly Wiggly put him out of business and he died in his mid sixties from pneumonia. His mother was a no nonsence kind of woman who took her kids to the Methodist Church each week in a horse drawn wagon.
They were an outdoors family that loved to camp and travel. They traveled all the way to the Washington Monument in an old Model T Ford with my father around age 5 or 6 sitting on an over turned bucket. That must have been quite the long trip. They valued education and worked hard to make sure their children got a good education, even moving the family to Manhattan Kansas so they could go to better schools and eventually college.
It was always hard for me to imagine my father as a boy because I always only knew him as an older father. He was 48 when I was born. I remember my brother telling me when I was ten that my father was 58. At that age it sounded like 158 and I definitely didn’t believe him. When I approached my father and asked how old he was I was horrified that indeed he was 58. In spite of this and the fact that he smoked and drank too much he was a good father. He fixed my bike, took me to all my softball practices, always made sure I had what I needed for school, dragged me out of the woods where I was playing to go to church on Sundays, taught me to drive, let me use his car and taught me how to be a giving person.
Who knows why some people become alcoholics and others do not, neither of his parents drank nor did his brother Mitchell who told me it was his other brother Franklin’s fault. I don’t think anyone really is to blame, it is a terrible illness and it plagued my father until something happened to him and he sobered up. Who knows what the catalyst was for him to stop, he never told us. One day I got a call when I had already left home at 18 that my dad had stopped drinking. I wanted to believe it but was sure that within days, perhaps weeks or maybe even a month or two he would start again. I even thought that if I messed up and did something wrong, I would be the cause of his return to drink. It wasn’t until many years later that I realized I had nothing to do with his drinking or sobriety.
Thank God for AA. One day when my dad was 66 he walked through those doors and he stayed and he never took another drink for the rest of his life. As long as I can remember he would attend a meeting almost every day, even when he was out of town visiting. After many years I asked him, “Daddy, do you ever feel like a drink”? He said, “every day”. He needed the support he got. My dad was a living testimony that it is NEVER too late to do anything in this life. His last 21 years were the best of his life. After his death at his memorial service in Chattanooga, Tennessee his fellow AA members honored him with his 21 year chip.
When you’re a kid or even a young person talk of the war gets old fast. I never paid a bit of attention when my father went on and on about his experiences as a tank commander in North Africa with The First Armored Division. Of course I was fascinated that he tied his tie on a door knob because his thumb was shot off in the war, I did know that. I only came to appreciate my father’s sacrifice years after he died. It started when I picked up Flags of our Fathers by James Bradley. It is an amazing true story of the men who lifted the flag at Iwo Jima, written by one of their sons. It read like a novel and I couldn’t put it down. I then read We Band of Angels, the story of the nurses trapped by the Japanese on Bataan. These stories filled my mind with thoughts and questions, none of which I could speak to my father about. It made me at once proud of him yet sad that I hadn’t listened when I could have. The last war book I read was the true story of some of my fathers friends in the Purple Heart Organization he helped to found. And If I Perish was written from first hand interviews of the women who fought mostly without recognition alongside the men. It has the story of Ruth Balch, my father’s friend who was shipwrecked, not once but twice, the first time having to watch a fellow nurse burn to death and the second time nearly drowning herself. The stories are so unbelievable that I walked around in a daze for days afterwards. Only then was I beginning to understand my father and why he spoke constantly of World War II.
My father was a great grandfather, not just because his grandchildren had grandchildren but because he loved the children.
He would come and visit us and he loved nothing more than going to the zoo with us. He would take my daughter to pre-school and do just about anything anyone needed him to do and he enjoyed it too. In 1996 when I was overwhelmed with three children under the age of five, one being a sick six week old baby my father came and helped me for three weeks. He was already in his 80′s but that didn’t stop him. He was robust and active until just months before his death. I came in the house one day after leaving him and running to the store to find him with my two year old on a chair making bread.
We have many funny memories of Daddy too. He always came bearing gifts, toilet paper and toothpaste, useful to say the least! He would drive all over town to save fifty cents on an item he regularly used but would also stock up for everyone else as well. The best gift he gave me was my life, of course, but beyond that it was desire to help others. My father was never still, he was constantly helping others. He did volunteer work all over town and was truly a generous person. I hope to pass this trait on to my children. If there were more people in the world like my father it wouldn’t be such a bad place after all.
On July 21, 1999 my father died of lung cancer. At the time it was a relief as his body was a useless shell causing him constant discomfort by that time. Just one or two days before he died he told my sister who was caring for him, “I want to die”. It was his time and God took him while all his children were surrounding him and laughing. It may sound strange but at the moment of his passing we were recalling a funny memory. We all said goodbye that day as he left us. Though he hasn’t been with us in body since that day, he has been with me. I still feel the love we shared and still have the memories and hopefully the good qualities I learned from his example. I look forward to the day when I will see him again.
I’ve been doing lots of mental gymnastics lately and can’t seem to keep my thoughts in a row in order to write something coherent. I’ve been thinking about civility and how many rude people I seem to meet all over but I’d rather not write about that. I’ve also been thinking lots about freedom and what it is and what it means but I can’t seem to get that out either, it’s still a bit muddled in my brain. I do want to write something so I’m going to write about my favorite book, Because of Winn Dixie.
Sometimes I feel a bit hesitant to reveal this because, well, it’s a children’s book and at 45 I suppose I should have graduated to John Grisham or maybe even Charles Dickens by now. I have read Dickens and Grisham but I love Winn Dixie because I connect deeply with the story line and I love the colorful characters portrayed in the story.
I have read the book at least two times, listened to it on tape and watched the movie. Although the movie is wonderful, as usual I liked the book much better. My younger girls requested I read it aloud to them again and that is why I’m thinking again about the story.
Sometimes I think what makes a story so special is even beyond the author. They write a story that is good or even very good but what makes it really enduring is when they can hook into something universally true. I think they tap into something that links us all together beyond our differences. We all need love, to give it and receive it, we need shelter and we need to feel safe. I think this sort of universal link goes even beyond that.
It also seems that in many stories, especially about children, they are missing a parent. Why, I’m not sure but it seems to be a common theme. Maybe we all feel a little lost sometimes and reading about how others deal with their misfortune helps us too. I think this is one of the biggest reasons Harry Potter is so wildly popular is that it empowers people to feel some control over their circumstances. Again, Harry is an orphan. At least India Opal has “the preacher”, even though he does stick his head inside his shell like a turtle when things get rough.
Last year just after my mother’s death I had to go to my childhood home in Tennessee and clean it all out and sell the home. I had my four girls with me for about two weeks. We had bought the DVD Because of Winn Dixie but I hadn’t sat down to watch it as I was rather busy. One night I sat down and watched it alone. I sobbed through the whole thing. I wept my heart out not because it was that sad but because it hit a nerve. I felt like India Opal, for the first time in my life I too had no mother.
I have gone through periods where I felt like I didn’t really have a friend in the world only to find as Opal does that when I open my eyes and change my attitude I actually have friends all around me, they’ve been there the whole time I was just a bit too self absorbed. To me Winn Dixie the dog is like God who is the one who sort of wanders in unannounced and follows us wherever we go. He is the one who helps introduce Opal to all the wonderful characters in her life. He loves her unconditionally and helps bring out the best in all the not so perfect people in her life.
I had the great opportunity to meet Kate DiCamillo who wrote Winn Dixie, hear her speak and get her to autograph our book. It was obvious to see why she was able to write such a sweet story. She is a wonderfully talented woman and very funny. She had us all roaring with laughter, frankly I think she could have been a stand up comedian but I’m sure glad she became an author instead. If you haven’t read this one you should be able to finish it in a couple hours. It’s a real treat.
Happy reading!
Mimi
Today as in many days since this past June I wanted to talk to my mother. I wanted to tell her what a great deal I got on a table I had been wanting for months. I wanted to tell her that I managed to find the solid oak table for $129.50. I knew she would have been so pleased and part of of the reason is that I learned my fine sense of bargain hunting from her. She appreciated the qualities she passed down to us and loved to brag to anyone who would listen about how beautiful, talented and otherwise wonderful we all were. My mother passed away just three days shy of her 81st birthday on June 14 this past summer.
My mother had terminal lung cancer and had been in bad health off and on for at least two years. My brother, sisters and I shared her care and she spent some time living in my house. I am so grateful now for that time even though it was very difficult as my children really got to know her well and even my youngest will never forget Grammy.
As difficult as she could be at times and we all had our fill of difficult times she made us laugh on a regular basis. My kids and I often say, “I feel a Grammy moment coming on”. We can predict what she would have said or done and we are often reduced to laughter sometimes to tears. I am so happy we can remember her in such a way.
One would think that having reached the ripe old age of 81 and having left a prolific and successful line of offspring (five children, sixteen grandchildren, and seven great grandchildren) we would feel contented at her passing. This might be true and certainly her time had come but it doesn’t make me miss her any less. I didn’t realize it would be so often either. I want so badly to pick up the phone and tell her about the mundane and simple things I’m doing and ask her,” what did you have for dinner tonight? How’s so and so”? These moments seem to come most often when I’m alone in the kitchen cooking dinner because for years after my dad died in 1999 I would call her almost every night to have a chat at that time.
I tell my girls when I miss her and we all sigh and miss her together. I wonder if I’ll always miss her. I know I’ll never forget her, who can forget their own mother. I do feel her with me at times and at these times I usually feel like laughing because she was such a character. At her memorial service someone said and it was so true, she never knew a stranger and once you met her you would never forget her. I know I am somewhat like her only a little less bombastic due to having had a reserved Father.
Having her come to live with me the two weeks prior to her death was scary for me first of all because she could really be difficult to deal with and secondly because I wasn’t sure I was capable of giving her the care she needed. In those last weeks though she had really become a different person and was as kind and caring as I ever remember her. She told me that I was a good mother, a good housekeeper and a good cook and she thanked me for all the care I gave her. I bathed her daily, did her hair and tucked her in my bed (Tony and I slept downstairs because she couldn’t do the stairs anymore). She was nothing but compliments. It was so healing to end that way as it had been mostly the opposite for my life before.
Watching her die was ironicly one of those hidden blessings one never expects to be a blessing. She died holding our hands and in my bed with no fear and no pain. She was surrounded by her children and grandchildren and though we cried we were there to bid her farewell. She taught my children that dying is a natural process that we all will go through. Though we knew her illness was terminal we didn’t expect she would go as quickly as she did. She was chipper and chatty right up til the very end, even joking with us. I asked her if she was afraid and she said no she wasn’t . She told me she felt like a butterfly and was just going to fly away and frankly I think that’s exactly what she did.
