Another week of reflection and grief...
On Tuesday I read a message from my friend Michael (not my charming lurker Big Mike*, but another friend from 9th grade ) that his father, Peter, had died Monday. According to Michael, his dad had been having trouble breathing and heart issues for some time. He died just after his 84th birthday.
Michael lives in Raleigh, NC, and his dad had been living in an urgent care facility in Durham.
My sister in Raleigh did some web hunting and found his obituary: http://obit.hallwynne.com/obit-558948
As it turns out, my friend Glee's good friend Sally, who is in Chapel Hill (I think), went to one of the churches Peter served at.
I grew up in Greensboro, NC, where Peter was priest at St. Francis. Because my father was Baptist, we attended Lawndale Baptist. St Francis was, literally, across the street from our church. Mom was never really comfortable with being a Baptist, so she would go across the street to St. Francis sometimes while we kids were at Lawndale on Sundays. And we always went to Christmas Eve Midnight Mass there.
It was an amazing surprise when I met Michael in High School and we discovered his Dad was the priest there. Mom came to feel as though Michael was a son she never had -- Dad even offered to give him the family business when dad retired.
In her last weeks Peter came to the hospital from Goldsboro and was one of the few who could who could make her laugh when she was in a lot of pain. In the days before Mom died there was a horrible snowstorm (maybe as much as 10 inches!) and Michael and I were ferrying nurses who were stuck at home and couldn't get to the hospital -- in his trusty VW bug.
Michael (and Mike, and my other friend, Susan) have been my strong supports when Mom and then Dad died. And every other time I needed a strong set of arms who knew me from childhood. Michael said this week that he always knows he has only to ask and we'll be there.
And one more amusing factoid, Michael's sister Susan was the night editor at the Duke U student paper who put the infamous headline on the front page when Nixon put the price cap on beef: "Nixon Grabs Rising Meat" -- perhaps the only Episcopalian priest's daughter to be quoted in Playboy magazine.
Except for my sisters, there's no-one now that I've know since I was a teenager except these three. We've known each other for over 40 years now. I met Susan in 7th grade, when she was assigned the seat next to mine in some class --homeroom? I don't remember the class, but I do know that from that point on, we've been stuck together. She and I met Mike and Michael in Junior Achievement two years later. She helped me make my first wedding dress and was my maid of honor. And it's been a foursome since, during romances, surgeries, marriages, children, divorces (mine, actually), jobs, unemployment, and distance.
There are people in my life I care for as deeply as these 3, but death touching one of them makes me feel more mortal than death touching any others of my friends. I cried when I heard that Michael's dad died as much for him as for knowing, because of work issues, that I could not get on a plane and go there. Just as when Big Mike the Lurker's Dad died not so long ago, and I was in Texas for a work class and could not justify leaving. I felt so guilty that I wasn't supporting them the way they supported me when both of my parents died. Or was that selfish? "Gosh, she came all the way from California! How good of her!"
Just as before, I find my mind turning to planning my own funeral -- or wake. And where would I want to be in-urned, or scattered? Is there a place that is particularly special? Or are Viking funerals legals anywhere?
And, so, I've done what I can -- made sure my Will is updated, and my Living Will, and have been thinking about what I want people to do afterward. What more can we do?
*Yes, there have always been too many Michaels in my life for anyone but me to keep track of ;-). Since both Michael Robinson and Michael the Lurker are Michael R's, one became Big Mike (he's very tall) and the other was Michael, or Little Mike, or Brother Mike.
Michael lives in Raleigh, NC, and his dad had been living in an urgent care facility in Durham.
My sister in Raleigh did some web hunting and found his obituary: http://obit.hallwynne.com/obit-558948
As it turns out, my friend Glee's good friend Sally, who is in Chapel Hill (I think), went to one of the churches Peter served at.
I grew up in Greensboro, NC, where Peter was priest at St. Francis. Because my father was Baptist, we attended Lawndale Baptist. St Francis was, literally, across the street from our church. Mom was never really comfortable with being a Baptist, so she would go across the street to St. Francis sometimes while we kids were at Lawndale on Sundays. And we always went to Christmas Eve Midnight Mass there.
It was an amazing surprise when I met Michael in High School and we discovered his Dad was the priest there. Mom came to feel as though Michael was a son she never had -- Dad even offered to give him the family business when dad retired.
In her last weeks Peter came to the hospital from Goldsboro and was one of the few who could who could make her laugh when she was in a lot of pain. In the days before Mom died there was a horrible snowstorm (maybe as much as 10 inches!) and Michael and I were ferrying nurses who were stuck at home and couldn't get to the hospital -- in his trusty VW bug.
Michael (and Mike, and my other friend, Susan) have been my strong supports when Mom and then Dad died. And every other time I needed a strong set of arms who knew me from childhood. Michael said this week that he always knows he has only to ask and we'll be there.
And one more amusing factoid, Michael's sister Susan was the night editor at the Duke U student paper who put the infamous headline on the front page when Nixon put the price cap on beef: "Nixon Grabs Rising Meat" -- perhaps the only Episcopalian priest's daughter to be quoted in Playboy magazine.
Except for my sisters, there's no-one now that I've know since I was a teenager except these three. We've known each other for over 40 years now. I met Susan in 7th grade, when she was assigned the seat next to mine in some class --homeroom? I don't remember the class, but I do know that from that point on, we've been stuck together. She and I met Mike and Michael in Junior Achievement two years later. She helped me make my first wedding dress and was my maid of honor. And it's been a foursome since, during romances, surgeries, marriages, children, divorces (mine, actually), jobs, unemployment, and distance.
There are people in my life I care for as deeply as these 3, but death touching one of them makes me feel more mortal than death touching any others of my friends. I cried when I heard that Michael's dad died as much for him as for knowing, because of work issues, that I could not get on a plane and go there. Just as when Big Mike the Lurker's Dad died not so long ago, and I was in Texas for a work class and could not justify leaving. I felt so guilty that I wasn't supporting them the way they supported me when both of my parents died. Or was that selfish? "Gosh, she came all the way from California! How good of her!"
Just as before, I find my mind turning to planning my own funeral -- or wake. And where would I want to be in-urned, or scattered? Is there a place that is particularly special? Or are Viking funerals legals anywhere?
And, so, I've done what I can -- made sure my Will is updated, and my Living Will, and have been thinking about what I want people to do afterward. What more can we do?
*Yes, there have always been too many Michaels in my life for anyone but me to keep track of ;-). Since both Michael Robinson and Michael the Lurker are Michael R's, one became Big Mike (he's very tall) and the other was Michael, or Little Mike, or Brother Mike.