Springtime skies clouds passing

Yesterday on my hour walk in the sunshine and icy wind, I watched the clouds form, move and pause. Often our skies are clear and cloudless but after an icy, wet, greary (my word for grey+ dreary) weekend the sunshine was welcome.    The waiting is over, Florence passed on Saturday April 13,afternoon about an hour after we left the nursing home.   Relief now because hers was the most miserable death I have ever witnessed although I know others depart worse off.  Jerry, while relieved too, deals with grief in his own way, he, the ever dutiful son  has done above and beyond and yet for some reason that it is finally over with Florence, his mother, circulates through his mind with odd reactions at times. Grief effects everyone differently,  I observe, listen say what I think prudent and let the rest go on by like the clouds in the skies.  

I wrote what I could for her obituary but could not bring myself to add flowery gushy sentiments that would not fit, so it  is simple, as are her arrangements, she will be cremated and ashes shipped to California where she will be buried in Riverside with  her 2nd husband, Lyman, father of the Larsons.  Ironically Lyman asked for cremation and she did not honor his wishes, sticking him in  a box in a grave then  being across the country she ends up cremated.  We could have arranged committal here in the cemetery where her sisters and parents reside, but she had reportedly made her wishes known to her daughter who agreed she would handle it after Jerry reminded her.  That was Florence's way tell someone but not everyone nor the one who had the task.  Make it a bit twisted.  

Jerry now has decided he will fly to California  for the committal service while I choose to not.  I feel a freedom that I have not had for so many years and will not allow disruption of my peace.  If I went to California all I would want to do is visit long time few friends who are there, and would not participate in the charades of fools.    I am done as only I can be done, fully, peacefully and completely.  Words from Joni Mitchell's song, "I've looked at clouds from both sides now......" seem appropriate.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcrEqIpi6sg

 As a child I'd lay on the ground and watch the clouds in the sky, my granpap Teofil said "clouds don't have to tell you where they are going but sometimes they get loud and shake the skies..."  I memorized The Cloud written in 1820 by Percy Shelley (1792-1822) long  ago, in school days.  Today it fits  as an epitaph for Florence.   I share the first verse and a few lines from Shelley's poetic metaphor for the unending cycle of nature and shudder at the line, "I arise and unbuild it again."   We are released from her unbuilding things including her unbuilding of any semblance of family relationship.  She did not encourage togetherness amongst her children, preferring instead to be the one central hub and thereby  the three remaining are only children.  Everything was her secret to twist or gnaw on as she would, a rather desperate selfishness, no sharing communication, the few mutual celebrations were her 80th and 90th birthday parties that we planned and hosted and her younger son's wedding.  Unable to name her grandchildren and their descendants to the  great greats, because we do not know all their whereabouts nor last names, unwilling to delay this for tenable responses, I chose the adjective "numerous" and considered "scattered" for the obituary describing her survivors.    How different from my considerate relatives who had helped write their own obituaies years before they passed and who explicitly planned and specified their  funerals.  Not so with her, as Jerry said,  "nothing easy about her....."

Here it is  the first verse  from Shelley,  "The Cloud"  available on You tube for listening

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0fsRyQQjeVg

" I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;

I bear light shade for the leaves when laid

In their noonday dreams.

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken

The sweet buds every one,

When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,

As she dances about the sun.

I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

And whiten the green plains under,

And then again I dissolve it in rain,

And laugh as I pass in thunder."

  And  from the  2nd verse describing  the weather we endured this weekend along with her passing...       I sift the snow on the mountains below,   And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast.......

I slightly ponder how this will perceive back over years.  But for now, forward, onward in life.  Whatever. 

Obituaries, "But wait what lurks there?"

Deserted bluebird box  along
backside of garden  

I have a habit of reading the obituaries, in the paper each day, not as necessary here where we do not know near the  people as when we lived in CA  for more than 40 years, but the  habit stuck.  The only reason we still subscribe to the daily newspaper is because Jerry reads it cover to cover with his pot of morning coffee.  I often do not read it until later in the day  or maybe even the next day or not at all.  But yesterday, as usual on a Sunday, I set with the local rag and the St Paul Pioneer Press which I pick up each week for more state level news and the reviews of plays, books, theater.. 

My friends father joked that he checked the obituaries first  thing each morning and if he did not see his name, he knew it was a good day to get on with the daily drill.  So yesterday afternoon after laundry, church, brunch and a nice walk in the cold outdoors, I was astounded when on the obituary page I  saw  my name, Patricia L Morrison!    I said to Jerry,  "Good Lord, I died!" and while he was tuned to football on the TV he said, "what?"  Well the woman  was older than me and lived  across the river in Wisconsin and in FL,  but sure enough there it was.  A very odd feeling, especially because it was a tiny paragraph, promising more later.  And then I said, "hey no body called to see if I'm here!"  Well  they'd seen me at church and after all the people who know me here know where I live and  my age, so the vitals did not match.  Still, don't you think someone might have commented?  A few week ago another Pat Morrison submitted a recipe for a Twinkies cake and several people commented on that, no it wasn't me.  But the obituary?  Not a word, today I laugh.
 

I understand that in in 1888, Alfred B. Nobel, inventor of dynamite, awoke to read his own obituary in the newspaper, a careless error made by  a reporter.  His brother had died, the death of the wrong brother was documented.  Nobel was shocked by reading his obituary that described him as “the dynamite king, the industrialist who became rich from explosives.” This  was his call to action, and he 

 resolved to change the course of his life, and to do something positive for society. He left his entire fortune to be awarded to individuals who have done the most for the benefit of humanity. The result was the Nobel Prize – five prizes awarded each year, the most notable of which is the Peace Prize.

I doubt I can top that, but it is an off putting feeling, ala Scrooge looking at the ghost of Christmas yet to be..  I had a doctor's appointment today and all is well, a simple  check up.  I forgot to mention to my  doc that I was reported dead but all evidence indicates every sign of life here.  We are packing up to head south in the motor  home and this will be a dandy story to share with friends along the way.