Feathers

I've written no blog post in almost a week.

I've had lots to say but not a lot of time. And, more importantly, not a lot of creative courage.

I've lost grandparents, a cousin, and my mother and father-in law but losing a parent is new. I'm comforted by the long life she lived and reminded by all the comments from former students on the positive impact she had in the classroom. "The best teacher I ever had", written over and over in one form or another. She touched so many. "A beautiful person both inside and out" and remembered for her "beautiful Christmas choirs". I'm overwhelmed by all she accomplished in her life. She touched the lives of so many people in ways that would surprise her. Isn't it strange that when one's  life on earth comes to a finish, the expressions of love, admiration, and gratitude flow like a rushing river?


I miss her. I long for her. Sometimes I feel her presence but the feeling is so subtle that I want to doubt its significance. When I'm driving I'll see a brilliant spray of fall color along the roadside or the misty, barely visible partial rainbow after a downpour and my eyes tear up. Uncontrolled. Before I know what is happening, the tears flow.

Where is she?  Where is she?

Probably 5-6 years ago Mom and I had a discussion about death. Like a small child  in need of reassurance and the eternal presence of my mother, I asked her if she would send me a sign, something we agreed upon in this life on earth, that would mean she arrived to wherever she was going and was safe.  Safe has always been an important word in Mom's vocabulary; she never felt quite at ease until she'd hear from us that we were "home safe" or at our destination safely. Our conversation that day was lighthearted. We didn't weep; we just talked. She told me her sign would come in the form of feathers. Feathers. Mom loved birds of all kinds. I thought this was fitting.But, she wasn't specific and that, of course, leaves me wondering. I guess that's the mystery left to explore.

It occurs to me that the metaphor of feathers fits perfectly with her love of the 91st Psalm which my son, Chris read so beautifully at her memorial service. This passage says it all.

"He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; 

his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart." 

Safe. Safety from the storm. 

Mom, I hope you are safe. I'm looking for feathers. 

I haven't seen what I'm looking for yet. Will I? Will I know? The imponderables.

The opposite of life is not death. The opposite of death is birth. Life has no opposite because it is infinite and limitless.

Comfort Food/Comfort Weekend

Ever been to Troutdale, Oregon to experience an enormous, steaming bowl of chicken and dumplings with a side of green beans and bits of ham? Tads has been in business for decades, the chicken 'n dumplins famous since the 1940's. Check out this feast and those who enjoyed the delicious comfort food on a stormy October evening.

Mega Dumplins

Photo taken by Tina

We've had a wonderful weekend at Tina and Wayne's home in Vancouver, joined by Heather and Chris. Despite the intermittent rain, we did make it to the Japanese Gardens in Portland and Multonmah Falls. Thanks to Tina for sharing her photographs with me. My camera was nowhere to be found when I packed for the trip.

Multnomah Falls; Denny and me on bridge to right

A very good day was had by all.

A Week Ago

Mom has been gone for a week. On a morning much like today, bright and sunny with a slight chill in the air, she died at home. "Died at home" is comforting to me; although she never quite considered the adult family home her home-home. She had a lovely bedroom outfitted with some of her favorite things, precious photographs and framed art on the walls but her escalating confusion regarding place and time made accepting her living situation tough.

I wasn't with Mom when she died although I had wanted to be there. I missed her death by minutes having jumped in the car when a beloved caregiver conveyed by telephone that she wasn't "doing well" early on that Tuesday morning. Halfway there I had a call on my cell that she was "gone". Gone. And, my Dad didn't yet know.  I rushed to get there with MM not far behind in her car.

I think we knew that her death was near the night before; we didn't leave the home until 9:30 PM even though Dad had gone to bed several hours earlier. He probably sensed her imminent death as well because unlike the other two nights that MM and I were with him, he decided to sit by her bedside the night before and hold her hand. I remember him asking her if she was cold, did she need another warm blanket and telling her that he loved her. He said, "I'll see you in the morning" and then he went off to his own room to sleep.

When I arrived at the home around 8:10 AM Dad was seated in the family room. He smiled at me as I came in the door and asked, "Are you going to check on Mom"? My heart was breaking. I knew I'd be the one to deliver the news. I told him, "Yes." and headed down the hall to her room. The caregiver gave me a hug. The card table and the puzzle we had worked on the day prior and nearly finished had been taken down, put away, and there was a sheet pulled over my Mom's face.

I've never liked the pulled-up-sheet business so the first thing I did was pull back the fabric and kneel down at the side of her bed. I didn't have long because the sound of his walker on the hardwood floors told me Dad was on his way down the hall to her room. I got up and met him just as he appeared in the doorway.

I told him as best I could and brought him into the room, his tears and mine raw edged. "It just happened, Daddy; she just died, just died", I told him. Somehow I wanted him to know that he'd not been kept in the dark. We sat next to her, holding her still warm hand. I held him. I held her. And when MM arrived it was the three of us together.

The events blur. There were phone calls to Houston and to my children. Text messages. The nurse arrived. The sunshine brightened her east facing window. Denny came through the door. Dad sat down in the chair diagonally across from Mom, quiet but watching everything. When Elaine suggested that we take Dad out for awhile, we decided to gather at their former home for lunch and time together. MM left with Dad and I stayed behind to fulfill a promise I made to my Mom many years ago. I waited with her until the last moment, feeling the life slowly recede from her body. Gone. Gone.

Where is she? I want to know and am waiting for the sign she promised to send me. MM says it may not come for some time. The impatient type, my faith stumbles in times like these. But I will open my eyes and ears and heart and wait.

Her Life Remembered

Thanks to my sister who worked tirelessly on the preparation of my Mom's obituary last week.

Doris Bain Thompson died at age 93 on Tuesday, October 12, 2010, in Seattle, WA.  Born in Inkerman, Ontario, Canada on August 10, 1917, she was the youngest of four children and the only daughter of James A. Bain and Della Hawn Bain. She is survived by Dean V. Thompson, her husband of 69 years, three children and their spouses: Mary Margaret Hansen, John and Trish Thompson, Houston TX and Kate and Denny Maher, Seattle WA, seven grandchildren and spouses, Caroline Hansen Kleban and Steven Kleban, Jeanne and Dan McGrady, Seattle WA, Mary Bain Hansen and Queta Gonzalez, Tanner and Greg Page, Carrie Thompson, Christopher and Heather Maher and Laura Maher.  Five great grandchildren survive her: Charlie Bean and Lulu Della Kleban, Kelan Bain and Lauren Grace McGrady and Peyton Carrie Page. 

Doris Bain Thompson graduated from Houghton College in 1938 and received a Master of Science in Music Education from North Texas State Teachers College, Denton, TX.  She was a talented musician and teacher her entire adult life, teaching music in the Bolivar, NY public school system, followed by a choral teaching position at Crane School of Music, Potsdam, NY.

In 1951, she and her husband moved to Seroe Colorado, Aruba, Netherlands Antilles, where Dean, employed by Lago Oil & Transport Co.  (Standard Oil, N.J.), served as Lago Community Schools administrator. Doris developed the Lago Community Choir, and taught American History and English at Seroe Colorado School.

In 1977, after 26 years in Aruba, Doris and Dean retired to Houston, TX where their three children lived. In 1982, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc. published Vocabulary Workshop, a series of textbooks for grades 7 – 12 that she authored using Warriner’s English Grammar and Composition.

In 1992, they began to spend summers in Seattle, WA, living near daughter Kate, becoming members of Seattle First Baptist Church.  In 1999, they moved permanently to Seattle. Doris served for a time on the church’s Music Commission and contributed to the organ fund and to the purchase of new choir robes. Doris’s life long love of animals and birds expanded in Seattle as she tended a menagerie of squirrels, crows, raccoons, gulls, possums and a Steller’s Jay at their home near Discovery Park.

A Memorial Service will be held at Seattle First Baptist Church on Friday, October 15, 2010, 11:00 a.m., followed by a reception at the church. In lieu of flowers, please send donations to the National Audubon Society in memory of Doris Bain Thompson to Audubon Society on line donation or to National Audubon Society, Attn: DMOG, 225 Varick Street, New York, NY 10014.

This is What I Said

My comments at my Mom's Memorial Service 10/15/2010. Words finally came to me.

" To be honest, standing up here to speak about my Mom in the context of her Memorial Service was never something I thought much about, even during the months of her declining health. I’ve struggled to find the theme that felt right for today. After a few false starts yesterday, it was at dawn today on this lovely fall morning that I found my stride.   

There are so many ways to remember my Mom, Doris Evelyn Bain Thompson. What I’ve chosen to focus on today was likely the greatest love of her life; HER FAMILY. None of us in this room who knew my Mom could ever deny how much she loved and cared for her children, grandchildren, and now great grandchildren. And, as a testament to their reciprocal love for her, her entire family with their spouses and partners are gathered here today to honor her life and legacy.

Gathered here are three generations of her family; three children, seven grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. We fifteen persons share a common genetic lineage which would not exist precisely as it does were it not for the union of Doris Bain and Dean Thompson nearly 70 years ago. And so we honor not only Doris Bain but also Dean whose love and devotion to my Mom is obvious to everyone present here today.

At Doris and Dean’s 69^th wedding anniversary this past April, we celebrated with a party to honor their years together. I have many memories and photographs from that day. I know she enjoyed the celebration as did my Dad who still comments about the three piece band that played swing music.  We are blessed to have witnessed and to have learned from their lives together. Mom once told me that LAUGHTER was the key. In later years, Mom said many, many times; “Your father and I have such a good time together; just laughing”. I believe she’s right. Laughter with the one you love is a balm that smoothes out the rough edges. 

Mom not only loved her family; she was proud of her family. She expected the best from us and encouraged us to be who we were meant to be; whatever path that might take. She was an amazing writer of letters; her own special form of communication, her own special way of expressing love, concern and support for us. She was also the consummate teacher; whether it was instructing us in the making of traditional Christmas pudding or correcting our grammar when writing or speaking. We were to be the best we could be. Always. She reveled in our successes and offered words of encouragement for our struggles be they trivial day to day tribulations or the bigger issues of life. 

Mom did so much to support me when times were rough. A few examples come to mind. When one of our cats died, she wrote a special eulogy.  She sat with me and held my hand as I wailed at the injustices of the world when neighbors decided to cut down a beloved bank of trees between our properties. She stood up for me when I felt downtrodden, weary, and sad. She’d say, even if all I can do is just SIT with you, I want to do it. Such was her love.

Mom’s greatest fear was that she might lose a child or grandchild or great grandchild during her life. I know she prayed daily for our safety and asked the Lord to protect us as we journeyed to and from. I’m thankful she never had to suffer what she would have considered her greatest loss. 

In her last days, Mom asked to “go home”. I knew she was finally ready. To Mom, HOME was a powerful word, a metaphor for a safe haven, a place of peace, a place of beauty where sadness and struggle is no more. May God bless you and keep you, Mom. May the Lord shine his face upon you and give you peace.  I love you always."

What Do I Say?

Tomorrow morning we celebrate the life of my Mom at her Memorial Service. I never imagined this day although I should have, witnessing first hand the slow but steady deterioration in her health over the last years. I could envision her death; how I might feel and react. But the service? I've had no particular thoughts. I've surrendered most of the details related to her service to others. Grateful for the steady, devoted work of my sister and her daughters to move this special day forward, I feel I've done little. I've made lots of phone calls, sent many emails, advising friends of her passing and the date/time of her service.I've spent time with my Dad. I've cried a few times; been irritable, sad, exhausted, wistful, but  firmly in the moment.

But I'm Thinking. Thinking in between living, eating, cleaning, falling asleep, and putting together pieces of a puzzle that we started the day before she died. Disorganized and primitive these thoughts. I'm hoping to get some grip on a theme, some way I can organize my jumbled thoughts into flowing words that have special meaning for me. I;m searching for words that I might speak at her service tomorrow. Easier said than done.

Reflections on her Last Day

It's hard for me to write. MM has been writing much more on her blog. Having just read through her posts from the day before Mom's death, I thought links to her posts would say more than I've the energy to write myself. She and I spent almost every moment together on Monday.

1. Standing By

2. Day in Pictures

3. Vigil

I find myself overcome with emotion at odd moments. Today I saw a cluster of trees caught in a ray of sunshine, their golden leaves shimmering. The sadness bubbled up from my heart; "Mom will not see these leaves". She loved the fall colors.