A Ghost of Daisies

Amanda, Jr., Sherry, Jerry, Grandma, and Grandpa in 1986

I got the call last night that my Grandpa isn’t expected to live more than a few hours—no more than a week–longer. This is my maternal Grandpa John born December 4, 1937. He was raised by his maternal grandparents, Daniel and Alice. At twenty-five, he married my fifteen year old Grandma, Shirley. This is 1962. He fought in the Korean War but a fire in Kentucky robbed him of his VA dues for his old age. Over the next 19 years he and Grandma would have four girls—two whom died shortly after birth–and two sons. They named their children Clara (my mom), Johnny, Jerry, Shirley (dead), Sherry, and Rebecca (dead and my namesake). They have thirteen grandchildren with an age range of twenty-one years.

Jr., Grandpa, Amanda in 1989
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He’s someone I don’t know very well. But he’s my grandpa and I absolutely hate that he no longer knows anyone is beside him. Aunt Sherry said Grandma is sitting next to his bed, holding his hand, and neither does she acknowledge the world. She stares at him, waiting and watching. This is their 47th year of life together and soon it will end.

The waiting is terrible.

Vice President Joe Biden’s mother passed away today. In reading the story at abcnews, I came across the following quote:

“My mom taught her children, all the children who flocked to our house, that you’re defined by your sense of honor and you’re redeemed by your loyalty,” he said. “Failure at some point in your life is inevitable, but giving up is unforgivable.”

The story made me cry. I remember seeing his tiny little mother on stage on Election Night and I knew she was so proud of her son. I only wish Obama’s grandmother would have seen him too. Either ways, I believe in many ways, a man’s relationship with his mother showcases his true character (aside from if the mother is completely-off-her-rocker). Mrs. Biden taught her children well.

I’ll end this with my two favorite Joe Biden videos.

God speed, madam. God speed.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

~Dylan Thomas, 1951

For Ted Kennedy’s burial today. God bless and God speed, good sir.

Today was the third anniversary of my friend’s death (fell 50-100 ft from a waterfall) and I left work early to go be with him at the cemetery for awhile. I wore the black dress I wore to the funeral but this time flip flops. I was chased by honeybees awawy from his grave and then stood in a sudden, heavy rain. It was raining when we said our goodbyes. I was soak to mid-thigh, ran out by the rain, so I went to my friend’s house and took her grocery shopping.

I’m moving in a few weeks, my first time out on my own. The days when I could visit the cemetery, take a friend shopping, anything will be done soon. I’m scared but thankful that I know the end of this way of life is approaching. I don’t want it cut off short. So I’m hoping that on future anniversaries of his death (he was 20), I will be strong enough to do something besides sit at the cemetery and whisper my thoughts and prayers.

Millvina Dean, the last survivor of the Titanic passed away today.

She had an auction last month of her remaining keepsakes from the ship so she could stay in her nursing home. The auction did not bring in enough money so some celebrities kicked in some extra dough. And now she’s passed on. I don’t know how I feel about this. Maybe sad, remorseful that she did not live to see the 100th anniversary? The end of the movie was kinda cheesy but its nice to think that she’s joined all those who went on before her. Those who quietly abandoned their lives because they knew there was no hope. My grandparents would not be born for another thirty to forty years after the ship sank so these last tendrils that touch that era slip further away from us every day.

God speed, Ms. Dean.