It’s Wednesday of my off week. Last Wednesday I was at Swedish Hospital, Seattle and next Wednesday I will be there again. It’s been a long slog as time goes on. It turns into an endurance race once the novelty wears off. It takes an effort to make the hospital visits something other than fearful drudgery. Who wants to go through all that trouble to go that far to be poisoned? Just leave me alone, right?
But somewhere along the line I got the idea that I should be appreciative toward the doctors and nurses, the folks that I come in contact with anyway. So, I take them little things, treats. I’ve settled on healthy stuff like blueberries or those bite sized tomatoes or sometimes animal crackers. Just something, it’s the thought really. So I get something out of that that helps me as I look forward to seeing those folks.
Then I try really hard to remember everyone’s name and I ask if I forg
et. Forging these relationships as changed the whole experience for me. Then lately having someone to travel with and share these odd excursions has been another upgrade. Another reason to look forward to going just to be a part of that. Like on the Camino we share the walk and are the better for it in the end. Thanks Jennifer.
Off to check on the corn and water a few rows. Summertime loves, Felipe.
Going to change things up a little and call you Former Marine Phil this time. It’ll make my message a little more relative.
Tough duty for PFJ since last Saturday. Received a call from my very distraught 94 year old mother informing me of the death of her closest neighbor and a same-age friend of mine since I was old enough to walk. He had just taken his own life, in sight of Mom’s house (less than a hundred yards). Her home is about a 100 miles from my home. My 20 year old nephew was working in the yard and heard the gunshot and saw John fall. He raced across the road to John and saw the massive amount of blood. Calling 911 on the run back to Mom’s house for something to staunch the blood, and then racing back to give what aid he could. It was a large caliber round through the heart, and nothing Donnie, or anyone else could do would save him. He breathed his last breath while
Donnie was cradling him in his arms. John had dropped the pistol but his Irish Rosary was still wrapped tightly around his left hand. He was lying at the foot of his revered flagstaff that flew the Stars and Stripes and Irish National Flag everyday.
John and I had ridden the same school bus together for 13 years. He was my earliest childhood playmate. The first time I served as altar boy on the altar at old St. Patrick’s, John was kneeling on the side opposite me. We recited the Latin responses by rote, and he appreciated me being his partner because I knew them a little better and it made both of us sound good. By the time we entered high school, our little town of Melrose finally gave up its battle to keep its own high school and we bussed 20 miles to Albia as “outsiders”. We played on the intramural basketball team together as that was the only sport that Melrose had. Too small to field a football or baseball team, but usually a “powerhouse” in our small school basketball league. We won the tournament as the Melrose Shamrocks, though we preferred to call ourselves the “Would Have Beens”.
After high school, I went off to college and John went to work in the big city. He voluntarily joined the Army in ’67, following in the footsteps of his WW2 veteran dad. He served his 13 month tour in Nam and was wounded three times and earned the Bronze Star. That’s why I changed your title today, because I know that Former Marine Phil knows what it does to you to get shot and then patched up and then get shot again and patched up again and then get shot and patched up again for the third time. One of the wounds involved head trauma, with some extra “hardware” embedded during the patching process. He served his full tour and was honorably discharged. He worked for John Deere and the Iowa Dept of Transportation for the next 30 years and after retirement, moved back to the “homeplace” across from Mom. He worked on it tirelessly and it was a local “showplace” for neatness. He took over as commander of the local American Legion and brought it back to a fully functioning and award winning unit. He personally started and completed a local “Veterans Memorial” in Melrose and tirelessly searched out veterans names from all wars and services back through the Civil War. The occasional times we would get to talk were usually associated with this project or something the Legion was working on. He had shared with me the fact that he never really got to the “pain free” stage regarding his injuries and spent lots of time at the VA.
His funeral was yesterday. While reading his obituary, I noticed there were no musicians listed for the funeral Mass. The parish is so small and doesn’t have the people that would be comfortable singing the songs his surviving brothers wanted for the Mass. Your recent “The small things” post jumped to mind and I knew that here was a small thing that I could do for my lost friend. I called John’s brothers and asked for permission to sing those songs for John at the Mass. The brothers graciously agreed, and I, along with my very talented and wonderful youngest daughter, performed those songs. They were a gift from the heart, from a very grieving heart.
A long post, yes, but I think you need to know that some real good is coming from your messages to your Caminoheads crew.
Semper Fi Marine,
FMPJF
My Dear PFJ ~ thank you for relaying that heart breaking story to us. It’s too bad that such a sterling individual as your old friend felt he needed to go down that road, but really anyone for that matter. And I am honored that you recieved some inspiration here from your Camino friends. My Rebecca is in tears. Be strong my friend, PFF.
I wonder if it is okay to leave a comment for PFJ, and even as I think that I can hear our dear Felipe saying “Of course, go ahead, yes! Yes!” So here goes.
PFJ,
Your words touched my heart. There are so many mysteries in life, and while they are mysteries for us, I do believe they are not to the One who made us. That One is the One who loves us no matter what, who knows us through and through, who cheers us on, and who lifts us when we fall and forgives us our transgressions. That One is who your friend is with now, wholly and completely, with joy and compassion and love as the order of the day. How beautiful that he could be held by your loving nephew as he said good bye to this world and entered the next. That was a beautiful gift your nephew gave him, of that I am sure. The gift that you gave him, singing at his service, well I just know that that made him smile, that touched his heart in a very healing way. All we have is each other, isn’t it? Whatever we can give one another, whatever we can do for one another, well, that is huge. Reading your posts, and feeling your exuberant love of life that comes through loud and clear, I feel like I know you a little bit. Maybe a lot! Maybe we know each other more than we allow ourselves. At the fundraiser in Breckenridge I felt moved to greet everyone with a hug, saying that I knew we would get to that point eventually, so why not. Then that morphed into saying “I love you”. Again, figuring we would get there eventually, so why not just skip ahead. You had a lifetime with your friend. I know that he not only knew your love, he felt your love. I hope that gives you comfort. His life sounds like a wonderful life: a life of service. I wish I knew what to say to bring you peace, but mostly I am just full of tears. The memories you shared are beautiful. I hope that they may bring you a peace that passes human understanding. You and your friend are in my prayers. I love you. -Annie
Oh Annie, thank you, thank you, thank you for this lovely piece. I am sure that John will take your words to heart. Yes, the peace that surpasses all human understanding, thank you for reminding us. You are precious, Felipe.
I just now found your reply, Annie, and sure enough, I love you too. I am an unrepentant, uninhibited, unstoppable “hugger”, so brace yourself at our eventual meeting. Forewarned is forearmed, right?
Thank you so much for the words of consolation. St. Paul is by far my favorite gospel guy. When things looked the darkest, I always find that corner post of his that has the sign written bold on it: “love never fails”. Felipe can tell you about the “corner posts” if that’s too vague a reference for you.
How’s the movie coming along? Can’t wait to drag all my friends along and tell them, “This woman said she loves me!”
Keep Calm and Hug On
PFJ
PF Juan ~ isn’t she the best! We all need to meet sometime before the big tractor pull in the sky, that’s what I’m thinking. Corner post, corner post; I’m thinking on that one too. Hugs, Felipe.