Mokie Joe ended up posting Dad's bio on "Touchy Subjects." It really is an exceptional labor of love. So definitely worth the read.

The local paper added to the kindness of so many of the local people who graced us with their presence at the services by writing an article in the Sunday paper on the "Opinion" page. Dad shared the spotlight with the passing of another citizen who the author claimed "used a wheel chair, but was never 'confined' to a wheel chair. On page B4, the headline reads "2 Good Men Remembered Fondly."

The author described Dad as, "...an old timer loaded with war stories that ranged from the far corners of the globe (D-Day and Bastogne, for starters) to the far table at the corner tavern."

"Larry Webber was a master of spinning stories, particularly of the musical variety..." and Bubba still dosen't get why I blog, (most folks I know just don't get why I blog-but, I am a story teller, like my father, and thus, I blog).

The article has 2 pics of Dad, one sitting & singing while playing the Hammond organ, and the other, of Dad & Rene holing the sign that I free-hand painted for their "Going Out of Business Sale" in 1997. He was such a cute man..

After some sibling searching, I found the proper title & lyrics of the Michael Buble' tune that my niece dedicated to Dad at the end of the service. I believe that I saw Michael perform this on one of the national morning shows, and then, I thought it to be a song about new-found love. I see now, for me, for my family, that it was written for new-found life...

"Feeling Good"

"Birds flying high,
You know how I feel,
Sun in the sky,
You know how I feel,
Breeze drifting by,
You know how I feel,
It's a new dawn,
It's a new day,
It's a new life,
For me,
And I'm feeling good."

"Fish in the sea,
You know how I feel,
River running free,
You know how I feel,
Blossom on a tree,
You know how I feel,
It's a new dawn,
It's a new day,
For me,
And I'm feeling good."

"Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean, don't you know,
Butterflies all having fun, you know what I mean,
Sleep in peace when day is done,
That's what I mean.
And this old world is a new world,
And a bold world,
For me."

"Stars when you shine,
You know how I feel,
It's a new dawn,
It's a new day.
It's a new life,
For me.
And I'm feeling good."

That says it all for me. Sis Kathy tells me there is an even more appropriate song called "Home" on the same CD, and she will play it for sis Jan & I tomorrow mid-morning when she is gifting the 3 of us a massage from a massage therapist in Kathy's beautiful, relaxing home mid-morning. I will see Cecile (my mental health therapist) in the afternoon. I will try to visit my mom who no longer remebers who I am at her nursing home, and hopefully, continue on to visit my father's beloved, 2nd wife, Rene (who was in such terrible pain for the visitation and the funeral), at her nursing home, to hopefully wrap up a full day slowly enroute towards my own road to healing.

I'm feeling good...all things considered. Off and on, most of the time, the roughest times are when I am trying to sleep, but, actively I am working on it, and I'm feeling good.

My father studied music under Dan Fogelberg's father in Illinois. Dan dosen't know it, but in his song, "Leader of the Band," he included verses for my siblings & I. Mokie Joe set these excerpts to a video that was shown at Dad's funeral...I wish you could have seen it. His funeral was a celebration of his life, and a celebration of the new life upon which he embarked last Tuesay. Dad would have been so proud to have seen it...if his spirit was willing, I believe that he did.

exerpts from "Leader of the Band"

"A quiet man of music,
Denied a simpler fate,
He tried to be a soldier once,
but his music wouldn't wait..."

"The leader of the band is tired,
And his eyes are growing old.
But his blood runs through my instrument,
And his song is in my soul,
My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate the man,
I am the living legacy,
To the leader of the band."

"I thank you for the music,
And your stories of the road,
I thank you for my freedom,
When it came my time to go.
I thank you for the kindness,
And the times that you got rough,
And Papa, I don't think I,
Said 'I Love You' near enough..."

The service was beautiful. Someone in "Steel Magnolias" once said that, "laughter through tears is my favorite emotion."
There were many tears, and much laughter.
I know that he is gone from my sight, but still find it so hard to believe.

Mokie Joe orchestrated the majority of the proceedings for the funeral, including providing multiple copies of Dad's biography, at various tables in the funeral home. Many people signed up in a list for a copy of the bio.I wish Mark would post Dad's bio on his blog, but Mark told me that it was rather lenghty. Any one who has ever read any of Mokie Joe's posts knows-when did that ever stop him? I got my own to treasure & I think that it is great. Before the bio, I hadn't known that Dad buried himself in the snow for two days when his unit was over run by Nazis. Or that he was a POW for 6 days until the Scotish came over the hill, bag pipes & all & rescued him. I knew that one of the many times that he parachuted into occupied France, that a fellow soldier's chute failed to open, and he landed on dad's chute & somehow, they both landed safely...to find out that they were both from Peoria, Illinois!

I have never been to a service like my father's on Friday. My Harvard grad. nephew delivered the eulogy & centered it on what he thought were the 3 major themes of Daddy's life, "Courage, Passion, and Joy."

My hometown's most recognized voice, a radio news man, Sam Simmermaker spoke twice. The gentlemen who had delivered Communion to Dad & Rene the last 3 years at their nursing homes offered prayers and scripture. And laughter through tears was everywhere there.

The picture board that my Angel sister Jan put together was phenomenol & folks kept going back to it, over and over.

It was a funeral service for a man you didn't know,for a man who never met a stranger-but, man, I wish that you had been there. It truly was a celebration.

My niece dedicated a Michael Buble' tune at the end of the ceremony, but I don't know the title & have googled in vain trying to find the lyrics...I bet that you know it, though...it goes:

"Birds in the sky, you know how I feel,
River running high, you know how I feel...

It's a new life, it's a new world,
and I'm... feeling good..."

He suffered so much there in that nursing home, it is time for him to suffer no more...

"And Papa I don't think I
told you, I love you near enough..."

Oh, but my sweet Daddy, I tried. I tried.

The magic in his music, in his smile, in his jokes, in his touchhhh...the father that I have always adored is dead. Shortly after 6 this morning, I got the call...but I pretty well knew when I left his room last night, after the 5th time my sister begged me to go on home. It was getting dark & I don't drive as easily in the dark as I used to, so finally, I agreed to go. But I kissed him and smoothed his brow 3 times pretty much knowing that this was the last goodbye. I told him I'd be back, but I think we both knew that it was wishful thinking. Leaving the nursing home's air conditioning, going out the back door into the staff parking lot into June's evening heat, I was racked with chills, and I felt then, again, that I knew. I hoped I was wrong, then I hoped I was right, but nonetheless, I felt like I knew that I was leaving him for the last time. I cried for a long time in the parking lot-probably not for the last time, as we promised him over and over again that we would not desert his wife.

I awoke at 5 this morning, after a fitful mixed-up night of sleep and wide-eyed somber wakefulness. The rain was sprinkling around the back porch and the patio, as distant thunder rolled softly in the distance. And of course, as always, my head pounded with the coming of the rain. When the phone rang, I knew before answering, but answered it anyway, as it had to be done.

"It's all OK, now," said Angel sister Jan, "It was peaceful. Kathy was with him, and it was peaceful."

It's all over now, except the crying, and when Daddy's little girl loses her Daddy, the crying goes on and on...

Taps

Day is done,
Gone the sun,
from the lakes
From the hills
From the sky,
All is well,
Safely rest,
God is nigh.

Goodnight, sweet soldier Daddy of mine. I have never known a man so well loved here on earth, and surely, the love in Heaven has only begun to ring...

...."Maybe even until Friday. It is impossible to predict. Only God knows." This is the professional opinion of the Hospice nurse as of last Saturday night.

He is semi-comatose, often comatose. But when he is moved, he is in pain, and you can see it on his face, and he may let out a quick howl of pain. Most times, when a daughter whispers to him that she loves him, he raises his eyebrows and you can see the yearning in his face to tell us that he, too, loves us so vey much. There is an ocasional loud hiccup, sometimes 3 or 4 in a row. Mostly, he sleeps...I hope. He hasn't had intake of any sort, since Friday. Too much noise in the room can make him moan, as it startles or interrupts his drfting, I suppose. Consequently, the noise subsides. Many people don't know how to act & they talk endlessly, even loudly to a daughter or two at the foot of his bed. They are only nervous. I understand. And when the talk irritates him too much, he will groan, and the talking stops.

We 3 sisters talk little and speak softly. Thursday night he told me "Don't let them take me!" and I feigned ignorance, saying "Who take you? Take you where?" But I knew what he meant & was so mad at myself for not saying what really needed to be said. So Friday night, when he had exhausted himself after a choking fit, I told him not to be afraid, not to worry, to "follow the angels into the light." "Angels?" he managed to slur back to me.

Saturday afternoon, after a really scary choking fit, he lay exhausted and again, I told him, "Don't be afraid. Go into the light," and a sister on the other side of his bed admonished me, "He dosen't need to hear that now!" she said, and I let it slide. I won't fight with anyone at this point in our lives. My other sister told me that the sister who had admonished me had been telling Dad to go into the light since last Wednesday, at least. It was she that didn't want to hear me say that then, I now understand. I am blessed that she smokes & takes frequent breaks & often busies herself elswhere, so that when she is not around, I can tell him to have no fear, that he is going to God, that the light is there to show him the way, and to "Be brave, Daddy. Go into the light when you see it. Go into the light, don't fear the light, but go into it."

My eyes have felt sandy for over a week, now. Eyedrops feel good, but don't last long. My head is as heavy as my heart. I eat obsessively, compulsively. I often wish that I smoked cigarettes, but it is too hot to go outside and try to learn. My stomach, back and arms have broken out into hives, and I must time my Benedryl so as not to interfere with my driving. Neck and back muscles ache, and my headache drones on either in the back ground or right up front in my right eye, pounding, pounding, pounding. When I sleep, if I sleep, it is light and dreamless. And when I wake, I am drowsy, headachey, weak, and heavy hearted.

His wife, my step mother, is often delusional, but other times, grief stricken and exhausted from worry. I ache for her pain, as well. For all her drawbacks and shortcomings, she is a human being who shares my father's love, and who centers her world around him. She spends much time in denial, saying she thinks he'll get better, and I haven't the heart to tell her that he won't. Besides, she knows thast he won't get better, she just dosen't want to admit it. Their two single beds are pushed together again, but he no longer reaches for her hand.

Anyone who know me knows that "Harold & Maude" is my favorite movie. I thrive on Maude's love of life & do my best to emulate her whenever I can. Anyone who has seen "Harold & Maude" knows that it is a contoversial, dark humored movie with a cult following. Some folks love the movie, some folks hate it. There are too few explosions-Bubba hates it. Though it ends with Maude commiting a mortal sin, when I look at the persona Ruth Gordon portrays, all she does is forgiven in my book. But to most folk, especially here in the Bible Belt, it isn't my book that counts.

Way back when, before I ever saw the film, my California friends were amazed that it's existence had escaped my notice.

"You, of all people, need to see "Harold & Maude!" my friend Kelly exclaimed. Her husband, Mike, chimed in with a wise "Oh yeah-you need to see this movie."

It was after my disasterous marriage had dissolved & I had gone back to Indiana to drink a lot of liquor in a failed attempt to heal. Restless hormones (a woman in her mid 30's-a great time to be alive), the offer of returning to my old job in California with a raise, the offer of room & board room, reuniting with old friends, aas well as the bad habits I had entertained while out there had brought me back to California dreamin.' My decision to return freaked out my friends & family here in Indiana, fearing that I may be thinking of pursuing my ex. Nah-my California friends despised my ex for the most part. I don't know why I returned other than I needed to get something out of my system...the California dream, I suppose.

I went back to working with the Free Clinic's Rock Medicine at the Bay Area concerts. Siezed the opportunity to dance with Carlos Santana backstage at an Eric Clapton show. Strarted up old and new friendships, ended a few, even found love again, and had my heart broken again, and had my fair share of adventures.

I joined the "Cacaphony Society," and went bowling in ballroom attire, on scavenger hunts throughout San Francisco during Chineese New Year celebrations, attended formal pitch-in dinners, complete with candleabras, in a China Town laundromat and as well as on The Golden Gate Bridge.

I supported myself, and "aimed above morality" as Maude advised, thereby giving myself, something "to talk about in the locker room." As best I could, I lived life to it's fullest.

Then, Mokie Joe, my little brother contacted me asking that I record a few words of love to my father for his surprise 70th birthday party back in Indiana. I paced in circles in the living room of my hovel in Oakland, fighting denial. I was so sure that I had heard wrong-that it was his 60th birthday, not his 70th. I even called a sister for confirmation, and then, paced some more. I looked at my life in California and decided that these adventures had served their purpose, and that there really was nothing else for me there. I gave away my furniture, television, stereo, and water bed. I packed my life into 6 boxes and mailed them back to Indiana, telling my California friend that I was going home to "help my parents die." I put my dog, Cassidy, in a travel cage, and caught a plane home.

Coming home hasbrought me to yet another season of my life. I met Bubba & fell in love for what I hope to be the last time. I want to grow old with this man. And I want to die before he does...

For the last 15 years, "helping my parents die" has been the deepest learning experience yet. Watching Alzheimers slowly ebb it's way into completely smother my Mother's brain has been a heart wrenching phase of my life that still continues. I feel so powerless, useless,and detached.

Watching alcohol ruin my Father's reirement years left me giving up drinking with little effort, and attempting to become an authority figure to him in his weakened state. And now, attempting to ensure that he dies of something other than dehydration, starvation or neglect has become a main focal point of my life.

My Mother no longer suffers, though I cannot be assured that this state of contentment with her life comprised of merely eating and sleeping will continue. So much depends upon the right medication and sedation.

My Father suffers. The best parts of him are almost gone. On a good day, he may tell me that he loves me "so much"...but more often, he is filled with anger and comtempt for everything and everyone around him.

I have always prided myself in the fact that all of my life, I have been extremely adaptable to my environment. Joining the Navy, being posted in 6 different areas of the US, being married to a psycopathic narrcissist for almost a decade and surviving that era, being poor most of the time, suffering migraines every few days, past drinking, partying, and now, sobriety, I have eventually adapted to them all.

Adapting to living in a nursing home may just be the single environment that I will not be able to adjust to when the time comes. I just don't see it. I still have a good 20 or 30 years left before that happens, but when it does comes around, and nursing homes will bursting at the seams with baby boomers and even less qualified & concerned caretakers than they are today, I believe there is nothing wrong in proactively choosing the alternative that Maude chose, albeit in a Hollywood movie. When I become a burden to society and to those who love me, and I have lost the ability to lead any semblence of a quality life in any sense of the word, I do not believe that my loving and forgiving God will disown me for taking the "easy way out." Sure, I am manipulating the Bible to my own questions and desires, but this is what I believe, what I feel in my heart. When I can no longer retain anything that I have learned, when I am "just marking time," I want to proceed into the Hereafter and, I choose to believe, that there is no fire and brimstone awaiting the consequence of that final choice.

But let's not cross that bridge until we come to it. My journey is still, very much in progress.