Father's Day

This is one of those days that is really hard when you have recently lost your Dad. It's been just over three months since my Dad passed away and, yes, it was hard. I have found myself fighting back tears repeatedly today... as I helped my Mom dress for church... As we sang Amazing Grace, which was one of my Dad's favorites... when I took my Mom to see the little memorial Dad for my that has been put up in the Fellowship Hall at their church... when I had to sing my solo.... The wise and wonderful Dorothy gave me a song to sing this week. I wasn't sure I would be able to get through it since it was titled "My Father Watches Over Me." But before I got up to sing, I said my favorite little prayer... "Please, God, don't let me mess this up" and I managed not get all the way through it without bursting into tears - which was my fear. Yeah me. Somehow, Dorothy knew that I would have to pull myself out of the grief I am feeling today and put my best face and voice forward... and I did. So today, while I am missing my Dad so very much, I am also thankful for Dorothy and her wisdom.

Amazing Grace

So a few weeks ago, the amazing Dorothy cornered me during choir practice. "Meg", she said, "I want you to sing a song for me on Sunday". "Yes, Ma'am." "I have a particular song in mind for you...and I want your Mama to hear you sing." It turned out to be a song written to the tune of Oh Danny Boy, which was ironic on several levels.

To make a long story shorter... we went through the song two or three times during choir rehearsal and I was expected to sing it on Sunday to the congregation. Often in this choir someone sings the verse to a song solo and the choir sings the chorus, or some variation on that kind of idea... but this time, I pretty much had to sing the whole song myself, with the choir joining me for one line of the chorus.

Okay, so it had been a while since I had to sing something solo... a very long while....like twenty five years or so... My older brother, Paul usually records the service every Sunday on a little digital recording device, so it can be transcribed. So when he walked over and put the device on the pulpit I didn't think anything of it... and the service went along as usual... then it was time for me to sing. The lyrics of this particular song meant a lot to me because it starts out,"Amazing Grace will always be my song of praise" and Amazing Grace was my Dad's favorite song in church.... As I was singing, I could hear some of the parishioners clapping and calling out encouragement... and when I finished, they stood and applauded as I went back to my seat. Applause is not unusual in this particular church, but standing and clapping...

There is a time during the service each Sunday when the pastor, Alison, walks around the congregation and people can ask for the church to pray for their causes... family members, political issues, environmental issues, etc. When she neared my brother, he stood and asked for "prayers of thanks for my sister and her gifts." I was very moved.

It turns out that even though he has been my brother for 52 years, he had never heard me sing. I think he was shocked. He went home and took the little digital recording device and made CDs of my performance and sent it to my siblings. I have a copy, and to be honest, I think I was a little pitchy. But it made both my Mom and my brother happy... and it was such a simple thing to do. Now I have been assigned the 4th of July, (unofficially 'old white guys' Sunday, this year) wherein I am supposed to sing all of the music for the service. I will do this not only because I love to sing, but because it is something I can do which brings joy to those I love.

Choir practice

It is Wednesday, and that means that I have choir practice tonight. But choir here is unlike any choir that I have ever been involved with, and I have sung with a lot of choirs. For those of you who do not know me well, I have been singing since I was a child - all the time.

It really started the summer after seventh grade when I was sent to the University of Illinois Summer Youth Music program. I did that program for several years, and sang with many other choirs as well. I sang with my family's church choir in the early 1970s. That choir was blessed with one of the professors of vocal music from MSU as it's director, and he gave us Gospel to sing on occasion. My high school choir was pathetic, so I went to the community college and sang with their 'honors' choir - the TOTS. (Tommy O Thompson Singers)

In the mid 1970s I sang in a wide variety of musical groups: rock bands, horn bands, jazz bands, I did country, funk and everything in between! I sang on artist's demo tapes, did background on albums, and sang a variety of jingles. All very interesting and fun, however not particularly lucrative or stable. Later, I sang to my children, like most mothers do. I tried to make sure that they learned to appreciate all kinds of music and encouraged them to sing as well.

Then when my youngest, Nick, was in the 5th grade, he told me to get a life so I went back to college. On a whim I signed up for the choir and rediscovered my love for choral music. Before I knew it I was also singing with their "Chamber Singers", and loving every minute of it. When I finished school, I did a short stint (one season) with the Flint Festival Chorus (the choir that sings with the Flint Symphony). At one point during all this - while Nick was in 7th grade, he was singing with five choirs and I was singing with two - and our rehearsal schedule was brutal. But we did have the opportunity to perform together on several occasions, and those concerts will be with me for ever. (I get kind of teary just remembering them.)

When I was teaching in Istanbul last year I had the opportunity to sing with the Istanbul European Choir - which was a marvelous multi-cultural experience. Singing an Italian Requim in Latin.... in a French Cathedral... to a largely Turkish-speaking, Muslim audience in Istanbul is something I will never forget! Music is the universal language - despite what the mathematicians tell you!

So now that I am hanging out here in Tucson, my brother has strong-armed me into singing with the choir at Southside Presbyterian Church and it is a unique experience on several levels. First of all there are more men than women in this choir - I have never experienced that before! Second, there is no written music involved here - none. The director, Dorothy, is a sixty-something African-American woman, who teaches us the gospel songs we sing each week through rote memorization. Third, I have to sing in Spanish every week - and I no hablo Espanol! Yikes! While I have sung with multi-cultural groups most of my life, and in all kinds of different languages, this choir and this church have a different kind of multi-culturism and I am being challenged in new ways. I like that. There is a surrealism to singing gospel music with a bunch of stiff white Presbyterians (and a few Hispanics) every Sunday. And I can't help but wonder... what will be next?

What next?

Since my Dad passed away suddenly we, the children, had to figure out what to do about Mom and her care. As I have not been able to find a 'real job' since I returned from Istanbul last summer, we agreed that I would take on the role of primary care giver. We hired a home nursing company to provide nurses for the nights, so I could get some sleep and have my wits about me during the days. There was just one problem to solve. I hated my parents apartment at "The Fountains". It was like a cave and it smelled funky. Their two bedroom apartment had a view of the walls of other apartments and a couple of trees.

Why would you live in Tucson and not live somewhere with some kind of a view. If you look in the homes magazines every house advertised for sale is either "mountain view" or "city view" or "golf view" or some combination of "views". My Mom always wanted me to turn the blinds so she could see out when she went to bed. I couldn't figure it out for the longest time. Then I realized that if the blinds were open and she laid 'just so' she could see a slice of the mountains between the buildings. And what kind of idiot builds a retirement community and does not put exhaust fans in every bathroom! Really? No exhaust fans in a complex of a bajillion tiny apartments filled with old people??? What were they thinking!

So as soon as I could I found a small house and moved into it with my Mom. It was a little scary since I couldn't get in to the house to see it before I leased it, but it is directly across the wash from my brother's house and I knew the neighborhood would be okay for us. The other houses available on a month to month basis were in gated communities and with the stream of people coming and going I wasn't comfortable with that. I hate moving. It is not the actual moving of things that I dislike - it is the sorting and packing and unpacking that I dislike. I feel like I have been doing it my whole life, so I am pretty good at it, but I hate it nonetheless.

The very nice people from Two Men and a Truck did all the lifting and carrying parts. They were great. (Although if you have ever had an e-mail from them it is a bit disconcerting since it looks like it is coming from T women and a truck!) They arrived promptly at 8:15am and four and a half hours later we were all moved in. My brother had taken my Mom out for breakfast and then over to his house while the chaos was taking place and she wanted to come 'home' just after lunch! (I am good, but geez... give me a minute, Ma!) Anyway... it took me about seven hours to get everything moved and her stuff put away enough for her to be comfortable.

This is probably the best decision I have ever made. The view is spectacular. From her bed Mom has an unobstructed view of the Santa Catalina Mountains to the north of Tucson. The same is true from the living room and the dining room - but I am happiest about the view from her bed. She has the ability to actually enjoy the part of the earth where she chose to live her final days. They could have moved anywhere, but she chose to live out her days in Tucson. And now she has space, a fabulous view and Major League Baseball in High Def 24/7.

When she was first put under hospice care last summer I told my husband that I was sure she would wait until the world series was over before she died. 7 months later... and since we have no idea how the cancer is progressing, we have no idea about how much of this season she will be able to enjoy. But she will be able to enjoy every minute of it that she wants.

I had stolen a picture of my Dad from the lobby of the complex where my parents lived. It is a very nice picture - he looks happy. I had set the picture up near my computer but one day Mom found it and started carrying it around the house with her. We took it to a local shop and had copies made. I bought frames and now he is visible from where ever she is in the house. For the most part she has stopped looking for him and is resigned to living with me. It occurred to me one day that maybe the reason that I hadn't been able to find a 'real job' was so I could come and take care of her. I just have to have faith that once she is gone something else will come my way.

Family

Thank God for family... first one would have to understand the connections, so I will explain a bit... My parents met while attending Cornell University (they were married for 65 years). Both of them worked for Michigan State University - my Dad taught there for 56 years! And as we all know, my Dad was a humanitarian of the first order... So.... My cousin George sent this e-mail to my brother Paul, who sent it on to me... Hi Paul, Cornell wins the second of their first tournament game victories, ever, to advance to the Sweet Sixteen; Michigan State hits two go-ahead shots in the final ten seconds, the second as time expires, to also advance; the U.S. House of Reps passes the Health Care Reform bill. Do you think your Dad has already been asked to join the planning committee Upstairs? I think I do. Cuz Geo It is communication like this that makes times like these bearable... Thanks George.

A force of nature

Now I am angry. I am really angry. Apparently it wasn't enough for God to take my Dad and leave my Mom here dying of liver cancer, but God decided to take my Aunt Carole as well. This is just not okay with me, and I am angry. I loved my Aunt Carole. She was a force of nature who was always up for a good debate. She was one of the warmest, most welcoming people you would ever meet. It seemed to me that a smile and a laugh was never far from her lips, and I could count on her to find the proverbial silver lining in any situation. She loved music and played the piano or keyboard. She swam 30 laps in the pool every day. She was the kind of person who, just sitting next to her, made you feel optimistic and like the adventure of life was worth the trouble it caused.

So I am angry that God decided to take her from us. Many years ago when my Dad's mother died, he was overseas. I believe that he was living in Kathmandu at the time, working as the United Nations, Food and Agriculture Representative. However, he had travelled to Pakistan to a conference, and upon my Grandmother's death, it was my job to track him down and deliver the news. When I finally reached him, and told him about her passing he said, "Oh. That explains the bloody nose I had last night." It seems that in the middle of the night he had awoken with a bloody nose, for no apparent reason. He told me that he figured that the bloody nose was my Grandmother stopping by to let him know she was going.

I spoke to my Aunt Carole on the phone the Sunday before my Dad passed. She was, as usual, very encouraging, and made me feel like the decision we had made to put Dad in hospice was absolutely the right thing to have done. She was stricken that night, and was unable to communicate again as she was put onto a respirator. The doctors decided it was Guillain-Barre syndrome which took my Aunt. This is a syndrome which attacks suddenly and severely for no apparent reason, and I am angry.

I don't know if anyone told her that my Dad passed away. Did she too go to be with Dad? I am heartbroken from my cousins. Scott, Pam and Marianne. But I am mostly heartbroken for my Uncle Sid, the oldest of the three Axinn children. To have his younger brother and sister taken within days of each other is completely unfair, so I am angry.

I want the sun to stop shinning brightly in Tucson, it should be raining to reflect my mood. But even more, I want to hang out with my Aunt Carole and my Dad, to revel in their wit and optimism. I want to sit at her breakfast table, once again, and have a debate as I sip my first cup of coffee in the morning. But for now I have to focus on the task at hand. I want my Mom to have peace and beauty in her remaining time. I want her to be surrounded by love and tranquility, not constant reminders of death and sadness. I want her to have her beloved baseball games on the television, whenever she is up to watching, and peaches to be in season, so she can have peach cobbler for breakfast if she so desires. And if God wants me to stop being angry, it will be so.

Passings

Within a short time of posting my last blog on Monday night, my Dad, George H. Axinn, passed away peacefully. The suddenness of his passing took the world by surprise. It has been a rough week to say the least. The loss has been felt profoundly by so many people - dozens of notes of condolence have been received by members of my family. But there are some strange twists to this whole episode as well.
     The first of the bizarre twists was that I learned that my Aunt Carole, my Dad's sister had been struck with a malady that put her in intensive care on the same day that my Dad passed. My cousins rushed to be with her, and she is expected to recover. (Thank the Gods.) But the suddenness and severity of her illness stunned us all. I had just spoken to her the day before, and there was no sign of any problem.
     The next bizarre twist was that I checked in to the local resort since family members were arriving and everyone needed someplace to sleep - especially me. Many of you know that my Mom has terminal liver cancer, and has been under hospice care for some months now. I had been with my Mom 24/7 for a few weeks, and had not had much rest. After ordering a meal and consuming it, I passed out, for what I had hoped would be a good long rest. Unfortunately, about five hours later I woke up violently ill from, apparently, a case of food poisoning. Within 24 hours I was once again able to eat a little and could participate in the arrangements for Dad's memorial service.
     The final bit of bizarreness was that we received word that my Dad's dear friend and assistant from Nepal, Dwarika Shresthra passed away on Thursday. Again, this was a huge shock to us all. My brother, Bill said that he was sure that Dad and Dwarika were together now.
     There was a wonderful memorial service at the Southside Presbyterian Church in Tucson yesterday. It lasted over two hours and was filled with wonderful music, great stories and testimonials by dozens of people - and an enormous chocolate cake - which my Dad would have loved. My sister Cathe spoke, and then my little brother Bill. Bill was eloquent and his talk was deeply moving. I was very proud of my siblings. Both Larry and Nick got up and said a few, well chosen words - again, I was very proud. My brother, Paul created a great slide show of pictures of Dad which was enjoyed by everyone in attendance. The Elders of the Church asked for one of Dad's MSU caps, which I had laid on the alter, and it will now hang in perpetuity in the fellowship hall in his honor. It was a long and exhausting day, so I came back to the hotel and slept long and hard.
     I awoke early this morning. I made myself a cup of joe and went to sit out on the balcony to watch the sunrise over the dessert. A humming bird came over to drink the dew from the tree hanging next to me... so close I could almost touch it. And it occurred to me... Dad and Dwarika have gone on ahead to get things ready for Mom.