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Hugging my F-List
Monday, May 21st, 2007 05:30 pmThe Husbandly One and I want to thank you all for your kind words and sympathy. Pop was a character, and he will be sorely missed. His death wasn't unexpected, but you know, even if you are expecting it, it still comes as a surprise and a shock when it actually happens. I know the Husbandly One wasn't quite ready to lose his father, but he's also glad to know he's no longer suffering. That Pop was ready to go, and he went quietly and peacefully.
His mother has been surrounded by family, and is finally getting some rest. These last few months have been hard on her, as she has been his primary care-giver, and that is so stressful, and hard, no matter how much help you have. Mostly, what we can do now is listen, and just be there for her.
As for the Husbandly One, he is sad, and stressed, but he's handling it well. When my turn comes, and yes, I can see it coming, if I handle it even half as well as THO is, I'll be a pretty together person.
I loved Pop, and I'll miss him something terrible. He was cantakerous, stubborn, irascable, eccentric, and as full of mischief as a wilderness of monkeys. He loved to hunt, and to fish, and was one of those guys who used every single bit of what he took. I'd never had venison spaghetti until I met the Husbandly One. It was an odd experience, and of course, they didn't tell me until afterwards. I thought it was just an unusual bunch of spices they were using, but it didn't really taste all that different.
He was loud, had a tendency to shout and be sometimes belligerent, but it was affectionate and teasing most of the time. Every time we visited, he'd start complaining the second I walked in the door if I didn't hug him right away. This was an unusual experience for me, because Pop was shorter than me, and he would peer up at me and say, "Still married to him, eh? Must be worth sticking to, I guess."
"Yeah, well, you raised him, Pop, you oughta know," I'd say, trying not to laugh.
"That's why I can't believe you married him!" he'd shout, and start laughing.
He liked to yell at the politicians and the newscasters on the television, and would shout to Ma to tell her what was going on, even though the TV was turned up full blast so that even the neighbors five miles down the road could hear it, so there was no possible way she could have missed it. "Hey, Ma!" he'd bellow, "them crazy politicians in Ar-kan-saw are at it again!"
And she'd pretend she'd missed hearing it so he could bellow it all to her from where he was sitting.
I think a story I told quite some time ago rather sums up Ma and Pop's relationship nicely. In fact, it spawned a saying that we still use, and it's just so ... appropriate.
From my journal posted June 8, 2006...
My mother-in-law woke her husband up one night, shaking him frantically, and he jumped awake, thinking she had had a nightmare, or she'd heard something outside. "What? What is it?" he asked, trying to kick-start his brain into alertness.
"Al!" she said intently.
"What?"
"Al!" she said, gripping his shoulders as she stared deeply into his eyes, her expression nearly frantic.
"What?"
"Al!" she said, trembling as she bit her lip, trying to make him understand.
"What??" he nearly shrieked.
She blinked, and stared at him, then moved closer until they were practically nose to nose, and then she said, "It will all... come up... in the toaster." Then she turned around, pulled the covers up and went straight back to sleep.
"What... the hell??" he said weakly, staring at her, and couldn't get back to sleep. Every time Al tells that story, I laugh so hard no one lets me have a drink any more, because it will surely end up splattered everywhere.
And he always told that story with great relish. So, here's to you, Pop, and remember... it will all come up in the toaster!
His mother has been surrounded by family, and is finally getting some rest. These last few months have been hard on her, as she has been his primary care-giver, and that is so stressful, and hard, no matter how much help you have. Mostly, what we can do now is listen, and just be there for her.
As for the Husbandly One, he is sad, and stressed, but he's handling it well. When my turn comes, and yes, I can see it coming, if I handle it even half as well as THO is, I'll be a pretty together person.
I loved Pop, and I'll miss him something terrible. He was cantakerous, stubborn, irascable, eccentric, and as full of mischief as a wilderness of monkeys. He loved to hunt, and to fish, and was one of those guys who used every single bit of what he took. I'd never had venison spaghetti until I met the Husbandly One. It was an odd experience, and of course, they didn't tell me until afterwards. I thought it was just an unusual bunch of spices they were using, but it didn't really taste all that different.
He was loud, had a tendency to shout and be sometimes belligerent, but it was affectionate and teasing most of the time. Every time we visited, he'd start complaining the second I walked in the door if I didn't hug him right away. This was an unusual experience for me, because Pop was shorter than me, and he would peer up at me and say, "Still married to him, eh? Must be worth sticking to, I guess."
"Yeah, well, you raised him, Pop, you oughta know," I'd say, trying not to laugh.
"That's why I can't believe you married him!" he'd shout, and start laughing.
He liked to yell at the politicians and the newscasters on the television, and would shout to Ma to tell her what was going on, even though the TV was turned up full blast so that even the neighbors five miles down the road could hear it, so there was no possible way she could have missed it. "Hey, Ma!" he'd bellow, "them crazy politicians in Ar-kan-saw are at it again!"
And she'd pretend she'd missed hearing it so he could bellow it all to her from where he was sitting.
I think a story I told quite some time ago rather sums up Ma and Pop's relationship nicely. In fact, it spawned a saying that we still use, and it's just so ... appropriate.
From my journal posted June 8, 2006...
My mother-in-law woke her husband up one night, shaking him frantically, and he jumped awake, thinking she had had a nightmare, or she'd heard something outside. "What? What is it?" he asked, trying to kick-start his brain into alertness.
"Al!" she said intently.
"What?"
"Al!" she said, gripping his shoulders as she stared deeply into his eyes, her expression nearly frantic.
"What?"
"Al!" she said, trembling as she bit her lip, trying to make him understand.
"What??" he nearly shrieked.
She blinked, and stared at him, then moved closer until they were practically nose to nose, and then she said, "It will all... come up... in the toaster." Then she turned around, pulled the covers up and went straight back to sleep.
"What... the hell??" he said weakly, staring at her, and couldn't get back to sleep. Every time Al tells that story, I laugh so hard no one lets me have a drink any more, because it will surely end up splattered everywhere.
And he always told that story with great relish. So, here's to you, Pop, and remember... it will all come up in the toaster!
