This morning I received a message from my mom. My Grandpa Owens died in his sleep early Monday morning.
My grandpa has been dying all summer, it started with a GI bleed (gastrointestinal) that put him in the hospital and headed in a slow decline to Hospice and a bed in the living room, oxygen, a walker and a shell of a really great guy. He was 91 years old, he lived a good life (from my perspective).
I had the opportunity to go see him and my grandma on Saturday. I remember thinking on my way over that I wasn't sure I wanted to see him but I did. And I understood my reservations when I saw him. It wasn't my grandpa anymore though, he was gone already really. The man I hugged and said, "see you" to wasn't the grandpa who told funny "look at my thumb, gee you're dumb" jokes or had a temper that could scare you stiff (we don't call it "pulling a George Owens" for nothing) or the guy who talked about selling my dog to the Chinese restaurant or who always asked about my job and my career. He wasn't the guy who loved me, treated Joc with kindness and respect (regardless of what he believed) and asked about Patrick. That man, my grandpa, hasn't been around since the spring. And I feel okay with how I left him both Saturday and the last time I saw him.
He was at home. My mom was there. His children had all been home and seen him in the last month. He was as ready as he could be.
So long grandpa, thank you for everything you've given me in this life. May you rest in peace always.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Saturday, August 4, 2012
In limbo
I'm sitting in the airport in Chicago, waiting on my connecting flight home to grand rapids. It's been a long day of travel home from Nashville, where I was doing a two day training for work. It was good training but the trip was quick and I miss my family.
At the Nashville airport I was sitting there with my coworker I traveled with and news was on. As the reporter went into this Chic-fil-a (or however you spell that) drama and I watched almost all the people around me gazing up and listening as various people say why or why not they are spending their money at this establishment.
I'm just reminded again of the sadness that my sexuality gets to be so openly discussed and judged by strangers. I felt nervous, as my coworker knows I am gay with a wife and son, and I hate when I'm put in that sort of position. I felt irritated that the news was even reporting on it. And I searched stranger's faces for the judgement I fear they hold without even knowing me.
Why is it okay for people to declare that gay people, or as they love to refer to us, "homosexuals", are aberrant, immoral, among other hurtful words. We are people. Each and every one of us. People with families that love us, or sadly in many cases, hate us. We are not a biblical verse or a despicable human beings. We're walking in front of you and beside you. I'm sitting right next to you, I'm on my phone calling my wife too. I don't feel the need to declare how I disagree with your lifestyle to anyone who will listen. I don't feel the need to post hateful comments on a public forum about your love, that maybe I don't understand but I don't have to because I'm not in the relationship.
I digress. I'm tired.
At the Nashville airport I was sitting there with my coworker I traveled with and news was on. As the reporter went into this Chic-fil-a (or however you spell that) drama and I watched almost all the people around me gazing up and listening as various people say why or why not they are spending their money at this establishment.
I'm just reminded again of the sadness that my sexuality gets to be so openly discussed and judged by strangers. I felt nervous, as my coworker knows I am gay with a wife and son, and I hate when I'm put in that sort of position. I felt irritated that the news was even reporting on it. And I searched stranger's faces for the judgement I fear they hold without even knowing me.
Why is it okay for people to declare that gay people, or as they love to refer to us, "homosexuals", are aberrant, immoral, among other hurtful words. We are people. Each and every one of us. People with families that love us, or sadly in many cases, hate us. We are not a biblical verse or a despicable human beings. We're walking in front of you and beside you. I'm sitting right next to you, I'm on my phone calling my wife too. I don't feel the need to declare how I disagree with your lifestyle to anyone who will listen. I don't feel the need to post hateful comments on a public forum about your love, that maybe I don't understand but I don't have to because I'm not in the relationship.
I digress. I'm tired.
Monday, July 2, 2012
An update on life
Summer is definitely here around these parts. It's been hot! Patrick has a little plastic pool that we pull out most weekends we are at home and after a few hours in the sun, it's warm. On his own time, he likes to crawl in and out of the pool and then over to the sandbox we made for him and gets all sandy. He prefers to toss the sand out of the sandbox and move the toys around... he hasn't quite realized he should be scoping and buiding with the sand. Ah well, that will come.
Patrick continues to get more and more personable. He understands when things are said to him, little things. Like, "where's cooper?" he looks around or goes crawling off laughing to find and womp cooper. Poor dog looks at us daily with the face, "when is this kid leaving? Cuz he keeps pulling my fur, wacking me on the back and touching my feet!" But she is a good dog and puts up with mischief. If she's not in the mood, she takes herself out of the situation. Many evenings, I'll go upstairs after Patch has gone to bed and there's Cooper, laying on his bedroom floor. She loves him, I know it.
We are finishing half our basement this summer with the help of Joc's dad, Mike. He's a contractor and has all these tools and machines and the experience to help us with less cost than hiring someone. Because of that, it will take a couple months to be finished but it's farther than it was last year when it was only a dream. We are planning an additional bedroom with a double bed, and a family room/TV room area. That will free up our current study for when/if we have more kids and need the rooms upstairs (we'd move our room to the study). We've picked most of the materials out and Mike will be here in a couple weekends to put in some egress windows. It's exciting!
As usual, I'm unhappy in my job. It waxes and wanes but lately I've been irritable and tired. I just feel tired. It's a thankless job really, middle management. I'm in flux though. Simulation is my favorite part of the job, but it's not as important to the people in the higher ivory towers as I think it is. Being a simulation coordinator is a full time job in itself and I've been doing it with my other duties. I'm exhausted, mentally. I'm hoping the next week off will help clear my head. I have something on the horizon. I'm not sure what to make of it. For now, I need to apply for it and see what happens. I have a lot of guilt. There is a lot I would leave behind, I'd leave my coworkers in a lurch and there's a lot of time I've invested. But how do you say, "no, I can't do this because I'm considering leaving my position and I don't want to leave you hanging when I'm gone." Ba. It's hard. It's all very hard to swallow.
Patrick continues to get more and more personable. He understands when things are said to him, little things. Like, "where's cooper?" he looks around or goes crawling off laughing to find and womp cooper. Poor dog looks at us daily with the face, "when is this kid leaving? Cuz he keeps pulling my fur, wacking me on the back and touching my feet!" But she is a good dog and puts up with mischief. If she's not in the mood, she takes herself out of the situation. Many evenings, I'll go upstairs after Patch has gone to bed and there's Cooper, laying on his bedroom floor. She loves him, I know it.
We are finishing half our basement this summer with the help of Joc's dad, Mike. He's a contractor and has all these tools and machines and the experience to help us with less cost than hiring someone. Because of that, it will take a couple months to be finished but it's farther than it was last year when it was only a dream. We are planning an additional bedroom with a double bed, and a family room/TV room area. That will free up our current study for when/if we have more kids and need the rooms upstairs (we'd move our room to the study). We've picked most of the materials out and Mike will be here in a couple weekends to put in some egress windows. It's exciting!
As usual, I'm unhappy in my job. It waxes and wanes but lately I've been irritable and tired. I just feel tired. It's a thankless job really, middle management. I'm in flux though. Simulation is my favorite part of the job, but it's not as important to the people in the higher ivory towers as I think it is. Being a simulation coordinator is a full time job in itself and I've been doing it with my other duties. I'm exhausted, mentally. I'm hoping the next week off will help clear my head. I have something on the horizon. I'm not sure what to make of it. For now, I need to apply for it and see what happens. I have a lot of guilt. There is a lot I would leave behind, I'd leave my coworkers in a lurch and there's a lot of time I've invested. But how do you say, "no, I can't do this because I'm considering leaving my position and I don't want to leave you hanging when I'm gone." Ba. It's hard. It's all very hard to swallow.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Taking Chance
Spent about an hour and a half this morning, while Patrick napped, to watch a movie on HBO called Taking Chance. One word: amazing, another: heart wrenching. It's a simple story of a soldier who died in 2004 in Iraq and the journey his body takes on his way home to Wyoming. It's told from the perspective of the marine who escorts the body. Oh man. It was excellent. I think we so easily take for granted, me included, those who fight and die for us. This made me stop and put a story to a name. He was 19. Highly recommend, and bring tissues.
Friday, May 18, 2012
A letter to my father
Dear Dad,
You've been dead for many years. Do you know? What's it like in heaven, away from all those you loved? What's it like to be ripped out of your life and asked to go to heaven? Were you scared when you laid down on the floor in the kitchen, did you know you were breathing your last breaths?
I miss you, it feels like more now than ever before. I think it's Patrick, he's here and he's so special to me and I reflect on you and us kids. I think how much love you must have had in your heart for all of us. I know now how much a heart can be filled with love for a child, my flesh and blood. I wonder what it would be like to lose Patrick as you lost your son.
I've seen you in Patrick lately, he has your round face, the eyes and maybe some red in his hair. I think of you almost every time I look at him, I think of how you would have enjoyed your grand kids. Grandpa Roger.
I wish I could talk to you once more, tell you all this and more. I wish you could see us all grown and living. Alive, all of us so alive.
It's been almost 16 years since you died. That feels like a lifetime. My throat still closes and tears stream down my cheeks when I recall memories. Some have faded. But I want you to know you are not forgotten and you are still loved by your girls.
I'll see you in heaven, someday. You're waiting, I know. It may be a long wait, I'm hoping you don't have a good sense of time there. Maybe you can check in with us occasionally and see what we're doing. Who knows, who really knows what is the afterlife.
These all feel like juvenile requests, things I longed for when you first died. Feelings that repeat for every major and minor life event. The grief is changed now, it's not raw, I don't look for you to walk into a room, don't visit the bakery and hope you're by the oven checking the bread. I know you're gone, that is very clear. I just wish I could know if you're around still.
I tell Patrick who you are, tell him stories of growing up making donuts and working in the bakery. I will tell him who you were and what you meant to me, that is a promise.
Love, your daughter.
You've been dead for many years. Do you know? What's it like in heaven, away from all those you loved? What's it like to be ripped out of your life and asked to go to heaven? Were you scared when you laid down on the floor in the kitchen, did you know you were breathing your last breaths?
I miss you, it feels like more now than ever before. I think it's Patrick, he's here and he's so special to me and I reflect on you and us kids. I think how much love you must have had in your heart for all of us. I know now how much a heart can be filled with love for a child, my flesh and blood. I wonder what it would be like to lose Patrick as you lost your son.
I've seen you in Patrick lately, he has your round face, the eyes and maybe some red in his hair. I think of you almost every time I look at him, I think of how you would have enjoyed your grand kids. Grandpa Roger.
I wish I could talk to you once more, tell you all this and more. I wish you could see us all grown and living. Alive, all of us so alive.
It's been almost 16 years since you died. That feels like a lifetime. My throat still closes and tears stream down my cheeks when I recall memories. Some have faded. But I want you to know you are not forgotten and you are still loved by your girls.
I'll see you in heaven, someday. You're waiting, I know. It may be a long wait, I'm hoping you don't have a good sense of time there. Maybe you can check in with us occasionally and see what we're doing. Who knows, who really knows what is the afterlife.
These all feel like juvenile requests, things I longed for when you first died. Feelings that repeat for every major and minor life event. The grief is changed now, it's not raw, I don't look for you to walk into a room, don't visit the bakery and hope you're by the oven checking the bread. I know you're gone, that is very clear. I just wish I could know if you're around still.
I tell Patrick who you are, tell him stories of growing up making donuts and working in the bakery. I will tell him who you were and what you meant to me, that is a promise.
Love, your daughter.
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