Sixth Sense

On Janet's birthday. Momma called me and said she was "ready for the funeral". I tried to press her to explain to whose funeral we were to go.? She said, "I don't know. I've got on the black dress." She didn't have any inkling as to the significance of the day, but on some level (sub-subconsciously), I think she related Janet's birthday to her the fact that she had died.

We don't often speak of her, but I always wonder, do I tell her again that Janet died if she asks? I hate having to break bad news to her over and over again. I sometimes think that the one blessing of this disease is that she can't remember that.

One day in particular, she was talking only about family that were gone. I came into the apartment, and she was so relieved to see me. "I've been trying to find Daddy's number at the Base, so he can meet all of us for supper." The book in her hand was not her address/phone book, but Portals of Prayer. I thought to myself, well she'll have better luck with that book. I answered her, "I think he'll be hard to reach."

She was determined that we were going to eat at IHop with Aunt Jessie and Uncle Max, and a big crowd of family. She kept insisting that they were going to be there. I told her they were still in Michigan. "Well, they're going to be late."

The entire time I was washing and drying her hair, she kept asking about Daddy, Jessie and Max. Even when I mentioned that Daddy had died, she continued to ask about him. She even put on perfume for the occasion. Though it was a Friday, I took her to lunch at IHop, as she was so determined to go. She didn't seem too disappointed that no one else showed up... maybe she had already forgotten it.

Later that same day, after we returned from eating, she said, "Now, my father is... gone?" Yes, I told her. Well, maybe she knows that, I thought. "Good, he'd be cold here." Maybe, not s0 much.

After a little bit, she said, "Where's Janet?" While I mulled over my answer, does she really want to know? She answered herself, "Oh, probably with the Hughes." Yes, I answered honestly... thinking, at least with Addie B.

She then began to talk about moving soon. She said that when she moved to another place, she would need to take Daddy's flag and "I think his ashes are in that urn".

When Linda came to see her the next day, she said to her that she needed to take those ashes with her when she moved. Linda said "Yes, when the time comes, you were going to have his ashes buried with you." Mommy said, "Oh, I don't know... He's still smoking. I don't know if I want to be smelling that cigar smoke."

*John was relating all of this to me when I returned from Matt's marching competition. I said, "Well, he is still smoking." Of course he looked at me, quizzically. "I haven't told you, because I didn't want you to think I was crazy, but for years since he died, I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder what woke me... I smell cigar smoke. I look around for a cause, even turn on the porch light to see if anyone is outside smoking. Nothing. It's not fireplaces, it is distinctively cigar smoke. After a while, I just figure Daddy was here... maybe to thank John for the yard work, or more recently, to get me to check on Mommy."

John looks at me a little strangely, and says, "I've smelled it too. I always check on the air conditioner, cause I think maybe it's mold, but there is nothing in the a/c closet. Finally, I realize that it's cigar smoke I'm smelling."

We have a video monitor in mommy's apartment, so I can check on her without disturbing her. Whenever I wake up, for whatever reason, I go and take a look at it, to check on her. One time, I looked and saw for a brief moment, Daddy standing by her bed. He was illuminated enough for me to clearly see it was him - and to recognize that it wasn't him at the age he was when he died, but a younger version of him - but then in the next moment, a literal "blink of an eye", he was gone. When I went to get Shadow for his morning walk, Mommy said, "I had a terrible nightmare. Did Daddy die?"

I know it sounds crazy, and maybe you will think that the stress of caring for her is getting to me, or I was dreaming it, but I really believe that Daddy is here visiting her, reassuring and calming her in the night... letting me know when she needs me (I just seem to "know" when she needs me)... whatever...

I mean, we profess to believe in life beyond death, for me this is proof - proof I never asked for, but nonetheless...

"I see"... hear... smell (at least his cigar)... "dead people".

Trick-or-Treat! Smell my feet! Give me something good to eat!

As a child, I remember, we had some fun Halloweens.

It was just one day back then, not the month-long, elaborately decorated, merchandising extravaganza it is now. Our costumes were not store-bought, pre-packaged costumes, but were put together out of what we had and then made into costumes. I can barely remember some of them; a witch (I had a lot of trouble with the hat), an Indian, a hobo, a ghost/banshee (a sheet costume with baby powder in my hair and on my face, and lots of green eye shadow around my eyes), a princess/ballerina with a lovely dress (that unfortunately had to be covered with a coat as it turned cold that night, much to my dismay).

We went Trick-or-Treating together, we little kids, our older siblings, and neighbors of every age. They had to take care of us, and we gave them the perfect excuse to continue trick-or-treating after they had reached the ripe old age beyond which one was considered "too old" for it. Of course, we first went down our own street, Laguna Lane, where the neighbors who knew us exclaimed over our costumes. We readily accepted homemade popcorn balls or caramel apples or cotton candy, as well as the usual store bought candy fare. We entered neighbors' (even if they lived two streets over-they were considered neighbors) homes so that their guests and family could see our costumes, explain how they knew us or one of the kids with us, and give us our treats. We went down South Lakeshore to Wallace Road, then over to Shorewood Drive. By the time we were coming back on Shorewood, we little kids started to get tired and our feet sore from wearing shoes that went better with our costume, than fit our feet. The older kids started a chant to get our minds off of our misery: "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight... we - are - a little bit crazy!" (You took steps forward to each of the counting words, then stop "we", put foot forward "are", feet together knees bent "a little bit", straighten back up "crazy!", then march forward again "One, two,..." etc.) We arrived home tired, but happy and had plenty of candy.

One time the church Youth Group (was it still Walther League then?) decided to have a Haunted House in the empty, and apparently church property, house in back of the church. Marty and Gayla Benson, who lived down the street, decided to fix me up as a princess for the occasion. They spent what seemed like hours, fixing my hair into an elaborate french twist, which consisted of a lot of bobby pins and copious amounts of hairspray. When we got to the Haunted House, I was a little bit apprehensive, not so much from the scary prospect of what would happen there (I knew the boys-Herman and Fred- would be the scary characters and they had explained the skits, complete with cold spaghetti "guts" and peeled grape "eyeballs"), but that my hairdo would fall down and ruin my whole costume!

As we aged, Halloween took on more real danger. Reports of razor blades in apples, or rat poison in those paper straws filled with powder (turns out that was the father of the girls, trying to collect life insurance money) made us nervous, but did not altogether deter our quest for sweet treats. It did make us suspicious of these strangers we had formerly considered neighbors. Still we took our younger siblings, Carl and Janet, out trick-or-treating, just as we had done. Bullies hid behind bushes to scare kids and steal their hastily abandoned bags of candy, or dropped heavy rocks into unsuspecting innocents' bags to burst the bottom out and scoop up their ill-gotten booty. Our kinder, gentler Halloween days seemed lost. Daddy was inspired to request an old-fashioned celebration with apple cider and cinnamon-sugar donuts, following a short Trick-or-treating foray down Laguna and nearby South Lakeshore. Our neighbors, Flynne and Brett Mauthe, with our help, set up a scary cemetery for those who dared to trick or treat at their house to walk through. We had BEWARE signs and headstones with pine straw and leaf "graves". For the braver, older guests, Flynne hid under the leaves and at the opportune moment "rose from his grave", much to their horror, or delight.

Eventually, the Trick-or-Treaters became fewer and farther between. Our old neighborhood had grown up, grown cynical and grown weary of the whole celebration. It was now only a ghost of our Halloweens past.

In our own neighborhood, our kids have enjoyed the fun we had as kids. Dressing up in costumes that are either carefully thought-out and planned, or spur-of-the-moment thrown together. They've gone Trick-or-treating, to parties, or stayed home to give out the candy. Neighbors decorate their homes to rival Christmas, with hay bales, scarecrows, and pumpkins. Halloween is a time of celebration... of Fall, and of imagination, of fun and being a kid.

There are still dangers out there... we keep them in the backs of our minds, ever aware, but hopeful that we will remain untouched by them.

"You better mind your parents and your teachers fond and dear,
and cherish them 'at loves you, and dry the orphans tears,
and help the poor and needy ones 'at clusters all about,
or the gobble-uns will get you, if you don't watch out."
~Little Orphan Annie ~ by James Whitcomb Riley