Category: Death

Angel Wings

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

angelwingsA man was laid to rest this week. There were no banner headlines marking his passing. Only his family and those few who were his friends or coworkers knew of him. There were a smattering of comments about him on Facebook and the newspaper held the usual kind of obituary outlining the essential elements of his life. He was quiet and unassuming and so too was his final memorial.

I first met Michael when he was still a young boy, a teenager only nine years younger than I am but who at the time seemed to be from another generation. He was the only son of my next door neighbors and I mainly saw him coming and going from school and outings with his friends. He was always polite and helpful, quite pleasant, and I liked him even without talking much. His was a blended family melded from the union of two people who had each been married to someone else. All together there were five girls and Michael who had been born in France while his father served in the Air Force. I never really knew what became of his birth mom but I learned soon enough how much his second mom truly loved him. I suppose that it was inevitable that she would because Michael was so sweet with an oh so genuine smile.

Michael followed in his daddy’s footsteps and joined the Air Force as soon as he could. He loved planes and flying, something that he also inherited from his father. He was one of those people who always tried so hard but seemed to be stalked by bad luck. Somehow he never let the setbacks get him down. Each time life dealt him a blow he got right back up and began again.

He eventually found great solace in God. His faith was joyful and profound. He was so happy to know his savior that he proclaimed his newfound faith to the world. He was lit up with a fervor that wasn’t always understood or appreciated. He wanted to share what he had learned so that everyone he knew would feel the love that had made such a difference for him. At one point he actually lost a job because he refused to still his voice when it came to proclaiming the word of the Lord. Luckily other employers were more understanding of his fervor and he proved to be a remarkable worker who gave his all to his jobs.

Everyone who knew Michael loved him. He possessed a generous spirit much like his mom and dad. He was never particularly concerned with hoarding earthly treasures as much as making certain that the people he encountered would be okay. He loved unconditionally and believed totally in salvation and forgiveness. Even when people hurt him he was willing to take them back into his heart.

After Michael left home I didn’t see him that often. He always came to the big family celebrations that his parents held. The ever growing family would crowd into their little home and fill the air with their laughter. When his father began to grow weak from his own illnesses I often saw Michael mowing the lawn or doing other tasks around the house to help his parents. He’d always wave and smile just as he had done when he was still a teenager.

I moved from the old neighborhood almost twelve years ago. At first I lost track of everyone but through the power of Facebook I found members of Michael’s family one by one. I was saddened to learn that his father had died. He was such a good man who took care of all of us who lived near him. I found out that his mother had moved to east Texas and on one occasion when I was camping I was close enough to her new home to go see her. She was as hospitable as ever, stuffing me with all of the wonderful delicacies that she is known for creating in the kitchen. Since that time I read all about various family trips and parties and emergencies. It was with great sorrow that I heard that Michael was dying in the hospital. It somehow didn’t seem right that someone so young was being taken from those who loved him so. 

Michael was taken from this world far too soon. He was only fifty nine. He suffered more than most. The pain in his final weeks was almost unbearable but he saw it as a small price to pay for the eternal glory that he was convinced he would soon share with God. He was certain that his heavenly home would be far grander than anything that he had acquired on earth. He assured his wife, his children and his grandchildren that he would always be watching over them even when he was gone and that one day they would all be reunited in heaven.

Now Michael is free of pain and hurt. He is flying high above us with the wings of an angel. Those who knew him will surely miss him. He was a good man. All of us should have someone like him in our lives. Rest in peace, gentle soul. You have surely earned your reward.

The Walking Dead

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

the-walking-dead-zombiesI’m not exactly someone who might be called a trendsetter. I’ll be celebrating my sixty eighth birthday in November and attending my fiftieth high school reunion in October. Still I’m not a fuddy-duddy either. I eventually made it to Facebook albeit at about the time that many young people were losing interest in it. I even opened a Twitter account but still haven’t unlocked the secrets to participating in its fast paced chatter. I try to keep up with the happenings in the world and I have a somewhat modern tolerance for the outrageous. I even read the Fifty Shades of Grey books and disliked them not so much because of the storyline but because the writing was atrocious. I often get suggestions for staying with it from my younger friends and former students. They have guided me to some of my all time favorite movies and television shows.

I would never have seen Breaking Bad were it not for my younger consultants so when they also urged me to watch The Walking Dead I should have at least given the first episode a try. Instead through six seasons of one of the top rated series I held on to my smug belief that my intellect was far too superior to be drawn in by what appeared to be a silly plot about zombies. Even when my granddaughter insisted that I was misjudging the program I withheld my openness and mentally noted that she is only a middle school student who in spite of her intelligence still doesn’t fully understand the world and how it works. I reluctantly sat with her one evening to watch a selection from the sixth season and I was so hopelessly lost that my interest was not piqued in the least. It took a visit to Universal Studios and The Walking Dead house of horrors to plant a tiny bug of interest in my brain.

I became intrigued at the theme park as we walked through a recreation of the desolate atmosphere depicted in the popular series while the strains of The Walking Dead soundtrack created a realistic sensation of apocalypse and dread. I had to admit that I wanted to know more about this show after that experience so that I might understand why some of the most intellectual people that I know are huge fans, including my rocket scientist and totally rational brother. When a two week long rainy season kept me from venturing too far outside I found myself with some free time and a sudden desire to see what everyone was applauding. After viewing the first episode I was hooked and I have spent time here and there attempting to speed watch the series so that I might be ready when the seventh season airs in October.

Perhaps I am reading more into this program than is supposed to be there but my English major background has led me to think rather deeply about the story and its characters. It is a dark tale of a dystopian society that has broken down as badly as the island inhabited by the choir boys in Lord of the Flies. Those left to deal with the aftermath of a deadly disease that somehow both kills and brings people back to life have to embark on a complex heroes’ journey in which questions of right and wrong, good and evil are never easy to answer. The survivors are forced to revert to a hunter gatherer kind of existence where their lives are uncertain from one moment to the next. They have to reimagine the definition of life, political systems, the greater good. It is as though they are the first of our species who have been expelled from the Garden of Eden to fend for themselves, only this world is even more dangerous than the one that Adam and Eve had to face.

The Bible has a subtle but constant presence in the story. There are characters like Cain and Able, one time friends and brothers who differ on how to deal with the realities of the situation. We see a symbolic Moses who only reluctantly accepts the mantle of leadership and makes horrible mistakes in the process. We find both sin and redemption. It is as though the entirety of the human story is being replayed with challenges not unlike those that mankind has faced before, albeit without zombies.

We only get hints as to what may have caused the illness that so quickly overtook the world. In fact, since the story mostly plays out in a rather limited area where all communication has been lost we are never completely certain that the problems exist all over the world. A kind of hopefulness remains that somewhere, somehow the people fighting so hard to carry on will one day find the safety that seems so elusive.

I still have three more seasons to watch. I don’t want anyone to spoil the story for me and I don’t intend to give away anything to those who have not yet tuned in to this remarkable series. I have become emotionally attached to many of the characters but I keep thinking about something that one of my professors said when I was taking an education psychology class many moons ago. She remarked that it was not until the twentieth century that societies became so focused on issues of children. Sadly the mortality rate among the young had heretofore been so high that most parents understood that they might lose some of their kids before they became adults. My own grandmothers each lost two babies of whom they never spoke. They had steeled themselves against the realities of the way things were. We, on the other hand, more often have the luxury of modern medicine and conveniences to make death a less common part of our existence. We allow ourselves to become very attached to the people that we know and love believing that they will in all probability have long and fruitful lives. Those who die young have become the outliers. In The Walking Dead the possibility of death is as constant as the fight for life.

I suspect that we are drawn to stories of dark dystopian worlds because somewhere in the recesses of our minds we believe that in spite of all of our progress it would not take much for society as we know it to collapse. History has shown us that once cultured and advanced nations are capable of devolving into horror. Our hope lies in the fact that when pushed to the wall the better spirit of mankind somehow finds ways to defeat the darkness. We are an imperfect lot that has warred and enslaved and murdered but we keep trying to get things right. Our lives can at times be brutish and we can feel as though we ourselves are surrounded by walking dead, unfeeling, unthinking creatures who bear only passing resemblance to humanity. Our challenge is to keep the lights of our better selves burning and we know how difficult that may be. Still we soldier on mostly attempting to do the right thing. That is what differentiates us from the beasts. 

Dun Da Da Dun

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

 

“Dun da da dun” is the sound of trouble in the middle of the night. It is an alert warning me that something significant has happened while I am sleeping. It comes from my husband’s phone which he 160824110618-italy-earthquake-debris-large-169charges on his bedside table each evening. It is tells me that the BBC has an important story. It usually signals bad news.

In the early hours of Central Time on August 24, I heard the familiar alarm and knew that somewhere something of import had taken place. The fact that it was still quite dark outside made it most likely that the occurrence was from another part of the world. When the sun finally peeked through my bedroom window it teased me from my slumbers. Remembering the sound that had roused me earlier I immediately checked my own phone to see what event had been so earth shattering that it merited a signal. As I stared at the headlines still blurred by my not quite awake eyes I learned of a horrible earthquake in the middle of Italy that had destroyed towns and taken far too many lives.

I sadly scanned the images and the details while clearing my head with my morning jolt of caffeine. I felt a great sadness wash over me as I read of the suddenness with which the rumbling earth had destroyed so many lives. One moment it was a beautiful day on which tourists and townspeople filled the streets, a time when the populace planned for weekend festivals. The next brought unimaginable horror as buildings that had withstood wars toppled to the ground burying the humans unfortunate enough to have been inside of them.

I next checked Facebook to see if any of my friends of Italian decent knew anyone who had been affected by the quake. Before I was even able to locate their posts I noticed a plaintiff cry for prayers from one of my cousins, a young woman with a beautiful family and an even more lovely soul. She revealed that she had been diagnosed with lymphoma and requested that we all ask God to help her. I felt as though I had been stabbed in the heart. I was shaken.

After gathering my wits I noticed a comment from a childhood friend whose family had immigrated from Italy long ago. She shared an image of the damage caused by the earthquake in the country of her ancestors and remarked that we should all live with the realization that everything that we take for granted can change in a heartbeat.

I was reminded for the millionth time just how fragile our lives really are. We assume that we will arise each morning and begin our routines. We make plans for the future never believing that anything will impede them. We have great intentions to do this or that but somehow become distracted with the mundane. We complain about small irritations that are generally easy to resolve. We act as though we have all the time in the world to do the things that are most important. We rush from appointment to appointment and often find ourselves apologizing for not having enough time to call a friend, check on a neighbor, visit someone who is lonely, send a card to someone who is sick.

We only have so many hours in a day and we have to prioritize, save our energy. “I’ll think about that tomorrow,” we reply echoing the now famous words of Scarlet O’Hara. All too often tomorrow never comes. We pile up regrets. The regrets turn to sorrow. We don’t quite know how to slow down the pace of our lives just enough to engage in a concerted effort to enjoy our blessings.

Of course our immediate responsibilities must come first. We have jobs. Our family members require our care and attention. We must maintain our own health. The drive just to accomplish those things may begin before dawn and only end in the dark of night. Our energy is limited. We can’t and shouldn’t push ourselves into to an early grave by attempting to be all things to all people. We know that this is true and yet each of us have known individuals who managed to redirect their lives just enough to be able to reach out to someone every single day. They demonstrate that it requires only a bit of organization and practice to include acts of kindness in the fabric of our daily routines.

I know people who keep rolls of stamps and boxes of generic greeting cards at the ready to send their love and concern to those who may need a burst of sunshine. It takes only a few minutes to jot down a note of encouragement but that tiny slice of time has the power to change someone’s entire day. Our phone calls don’t have to be long or move beyond a few sweeps of the clock. Just a quick few words tell someone that they are important. It need take no more than the time to say, “I was thinking of you. How are you doing?” At work we can give someone a thumbs up, acknowledging effort and the  importance of what they do. We shouldn’t wait for another day to express our sorrow or offer our contrition for mistakes or mend a broken relationship. A simple wave, a post on Facebook, a smile, a hug are gestures that take so little of our time and energy but have profound consequences. We should all strive to insert a few more of such endeavors into every one of our days. By doing so we are less likely to be filled with the regret of leaving our words unsaid, our actions undone.

The clock is slowly ticking. Each day is filled with uncertainty. It is a waste of time to dwell on the possibility of sudden tragedy but it is wise to realize that we only have so many opportunities to accomplish the most important tasks that center on the people about whom we care.

Last week I watched a biography of Jimmy Carter. It mentioned that President Carter loved and respected his father but sometimes felt that he was a bit too stern, unemotional and formal in his relationships. He didn’t think that his father’s business dealings merited much praise. He would have preferred to see his dad performing corporal works of mercy and charitable acts.  Upon his death Jimmy learned how wrong he had been in estimating his father. The funeral brought an overflow crowd and even more praises for the many kindnesses that Carter’s father had extended quietly and humbly to virtually everyone that he had ever encountered. Story after story told of small gestures and sacrifices that had made enormous differences in people’s lives. President Carter at that moment began to realize that it is in those everyday encounters that we touch the most hearts.

I will most assuredly once again hear the “dun da da dun” from the BBC announcing the latest news. My phone may ring to tell me of births, accomplishments, joys, sorrows, death. The unrelenting rhythm of life will march forever forward. The clock will tick. Hopefully I will have set aside a tiny slice of my day to live my best life. I can’t afford to wait until tomorrow to think about the things that deserve to be done today.

  

Not So Strange

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

66.0.0Watching television in the summertime can be a dreary affair. The hundreds of available channels tend to pack their schedules with reruns or replacement programs of dubious value. Most of us are too busy enjoying travels and the long hours of daylight to really care about the dearth of decent options but when rain is dampening plans we sometimes reach for our remotes hoping to find something interesting and worthy to view. Sadly our options aren’t always promising.

The summer Olympics in Rio have been fun but somehow NBC manages to go into overkill with certain events and completely ignore others that might be interesting. I have found myself tuning out every time that they showcased yet another beach volleyball game. Don’t get me wrong. Those competitions are fast paced and even have the potential to be exciting but when they seem to be part of the programming every single day they soon get old. On the other hand we never get to see much related to soccer or rugby or basketball. I thoroughly appreciate the finals in swimming and track but don’t really need to see every event leading up to those matches. I’d much prefer a montage of the many different sports and not just those that NBC has selected for my viewing pleasure. I suspect that I am not alone in my thinking because ratings for the Olympics are down.

Luckily there is a bright spot in the vacuous desert of summer programming. Stranger Things is yet another Netflix original limited series that demonstrates how a great story, taut writing, a perfect cast and stunning production can elevate a simple idea into a winner. Stranger Things is so nineteen eighties and that is a very good thing. The tale weaves a tapestry of mystery with characters right out of the movies that we so loved in that era. Subtle but powerful touches include a soundtrack of eighties favorites that illicit memories of MTV with starring roles for once young actors and actresses who have settled into middle age. The formulaic themes so common in the golden age of the eighties are all there but with twists and turns that keep us on the edges of our seats. Stranger Things is a romp through the past that seems to have elements of Goonies, E.T., Sixteen Candles and Alien. In other words, it is great fun, especially for those of us who so enjoyed that glorious time.

When I think of the eighties I get a huge smile on my face. It was a decade when everything in my world was going well. I loved my job and had few worries. I lived in a great neighborhood and enjoyed adventures with so many wonderful friends. My two girls kept me busy but I loved every moment with them. I was still in my thirties, a time when I was confident, energetic and still rather nice looking. We traveled all across the United States as a family and created memories that are vividly exciting even to this day. The world itself seemed safer and less complex. We lived contentedly at the end of a cul-de-sac thinking that life would always be as perfect as it appeared to be back then. We were so busy enjoying our little slice of heaven that we hardly noticed the changes that were brewing just as they inevitably do.

We would all grow older. Family members and dear friends would die. Our children became adults who left our little nest to begin their own sagas. The world seemed to evolve into a more dangerous place. Our nostalgia for the good old days increased and yet if truth be told these are good times as well.

The reality of life is that it is in constant motion. As the Bible so beautifully tells us there is a season for everything. How we react to each stage of our existence will color the way that we view our past, present and future. With the right attitude we are able to accept and enjoy our status even with the many changes that alter the way we live. True joy comes in embracing the moment and finding the blessings that most surely are right in front of us.

My mother was masterful at enjoying the simplest of things. She had very little money but she never complained. She received as much joy from a McDonald’s sausage biscuit as she might have had from breakfast at Brennan’s. The simple act of waking up each morning was a grand miracle in her mind. Each day was precious to her and she packed her hours with generosity and love. Whether she looked backward or forward at her life she was filled with optimism. She loved the eighties like me but she appreciated all of the other decades as well and they spanned from the twenties of the twentieth century to the teens of the twenty first. She had a way of finding the silver lining even on the darkest of days and constantly assured us that every problem has a way of working itself out if we are willing to be patient.

Watching Stranger Things reminded me of one of my favorite times but it also made me think of just how wonderfully far I have come. I now have seven grandchildren who weren’t even part of my imagination back then. I have met so many remarkable people in the days since dresses had more padding than a football uniform. The inventiveness of humankind in the last thirty years has made virtually every aspect of my existence far easier than it has ever been. I can tutor my granddaughter or visit with my grandson without any of us leaving our homes thanks to technology. I am daily reminded of how lucky I am and of the goodness of most of the world. It is with a sense of anticipation that I think of what may lie ahead. I suspect that wondrous things are on the horizon and that’s a good thing.

The best thing about life is how creative we humans are again and again. We adapt and thrive and carry on because it is in our natures to build rather than destroy. We laugh and enjoy the adventure of a good challenge. The bonds that tie us all together weather the test of time and there is nothing strange about that.   

An Anniversary

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Ellen and DanielFive years ago my retirement and my mother’s death coincided. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way but life always seems to be full of surprises. Just when I thought that I would be free to give my mom more of my company and attention she left this earth. It was a shocking turn of events and it took me a great deal of time and reflection to finally accept that the timing had been just as it was meant to be. Hers was a faith-filled ending to a life well lived. She fully understood what was happening and was expectantly ready to meet her God.

I suspect that she was tired and worn out from shouldering so much responsibility for so long. At a very young age she had become both mother and father to me and my brothers. She taught me how to cook and sew and played catch with the boys. She had to be our nurse, our disciplinarian, our source of comfort and security. Somehow she found ways to stretch a budget that was so thin that most women would have felt defeated. Instead she teased that she had a secret money tree and we need not ever worry. She bragged that we never missed a meal and that was quite true, but we often ate beans for dinner and learned to enjoy them as much as a juicy steak. She worked during the day and went to college at night, often staying up so late that she existed on very little sleep.

Just when her world appeared to be settling into a normal routine she was stricken with the symptoms of bipolar disorder that would stalk her for the rest of her life. There were times when her illness made it impossible for her to even leave her home. Her emotional pain created physical illnesses that were as real as if she had come down with a disease. Somehow she always fought her way back and began anew. There was never anything easy about her existence and yet she never complained. Instead she counted her blessings with a kind of radiant joy and often spoke of how good God had always been to her. That optimism was with her on the day of her death. She seemed more concerned with comforting her family than dwelling on the end that she knew was certain to come. She pointed to heaven and smiled. She knew that she was going home.

I felt a void in my life for many months after her death. I suspect that I was no more ready to end my career as an educator than I was to accept that she was really gone. I needed something to do each day and I was unable to find anything satisfying. While I fought hard to entertain myself I actually found that having those quiet hours in my home were just the therapy that I needed. I was able to look back on my time with my mother and forgive myself for the things that I should have done for her but never did. I was able to reconcile my thoughts and begin to focus on the positive aspects of my relationship with her. With the help of friends and family I slowly began to heal and adjust to my new life. I found a rhythm that felt comfortable and thoughts of my mother became joyful rather than sad.

Eventually I began to do the things that made me happiest. I went camping with Mike, tutored students who were experiencing difficulties with mathematics and best of all I began to write. I found great solace in my new hobbies, particularly in the exercise of writing the story that my mother and brothers and I had shared. I realized that my mother never truly left us. Her spirit is present in us and our children and grandchildren. I see snatches of her in each person, even those who never got to meet her. I revel in the love that she created and nurtured for all of her life. I feel certain that she is still with us when we party and celebrate. I will always be convinced that she sent my sister-in-law Allison to us, and most especially to my brother Pat. I think of how excited she would have been to know that five more great grandchildren have been born since she left. She so adored babies and would have been delighted beyond measure to see those little tots. I think that she would celebrate in knowing that her grandson Daniel has found a loving partner with whom to spend the rest of his life.

I wonder sometimes if she ever realized how much people loved her. We humans have a bad habit of hiding our emotions when we should share them. It would be so grand if we were to let people know how much they mean to us. The accolades heaped upon her since her death five years ago are too numerous to list. I hope that she is hearing them from her heavenly perch.

My mother is greatly responsible for the person that I have become. She demonstrated how to live by example. She taught me what is most important in this world and it has never been money or power or privilege. People and God were always at the center of her universe and she treasured them every day of her life. If there really is such a thing as saints then my mom most assuredly is among their ranks.

I’m still unable to spend a day accomplishing nothing without feeling strong pangs of guilt. I believe that I should serve a higher purpose at least until my body or mind sideline me. Writing is my favorite pastime but whenever I have the opportunity to help a child with mathematics or any other aspect of academics I feel especially elated. I suspect that I was always meant to be a teacher. My mother was the first to show me how to touch hearts and minds. The natural abilities that I seem to possess came directly from her. Those talents have been the most rewarding gift that I might have ever received.

Time flies when I’m having fun but I suppose that I will never forget that day of five years ago when it became apparent that my mother was going to die. I have played her last hours inside my brain over and over again. With time and distance I have been able to exalt in the glory of her passing. Everyone should be as blessed as she and our family were on that day and every day since.

I expect to spend this day quietly. I’ve got a date to take my eldest grandson out to lunch and I’ll be preparing for an upcoming trip to Boston. Life goes on just as it did after my father died. We grieve and then adjust and learn how to carry on. It is the way of the world. My mother showed me how to walk through the world with grace and optimism. I still miss her from time to time but I feel her spirit in everything that I do.

(Note that the photo included with this essay was taken only one month before my mother died from lung cancer. She always loved to dance. She told me that she felt very dizzy when she danced with her grandson Daniel but he kept her steady and she was quite happy and proud that she had that final spin around the dance floor with him.)