Tribute to Donnie(my brother who died in 1992)

Today, July 19, 2001, at precisely 3:19 p.m. I held in my arms a tiny male infant, only 2 months old. The time is important because at that very moment my brother, Donnie, had been dead 9 years.

Irony? I think not. Rather I think it quite fitting that I would be quietly celebrating life and all of its miracles as that dreaded time rolled around. Time unfortunately,or is it fortunately?,stops for no one.

Although I know Donnie is in a much better place, I find I still miss him. What I would give to feel his arms wrapped around me in a hug!

I have allowed myself permission to mourn...miss him. I allow myself the pain....sometimes sharp, sometimes dull, some times it sneaks me, sometimes I know it is coming.

Never once in the 32 years prior to Donnie's dying did I ever consider that I would live life minus a sibling. Not once did it occur to me what it must be like to bury someone birthed from the same womb, raised in the same house, as I was.

I do know that once faced with that horrid reality, I thought I would never draw another pain-free breath in this life time...I was convinced I would never live another "normal" day. Everyday life without Donnie in it just didn't seem a realistic possibility.

I hurt, I ached, I cried. Due to the nature of the wreck...it was on a motorcycle...his body was in such shape that it would have been easy for me to deny that it was in fact Donnie's. Somehow, though, even in the deep dispairs of my grief I KNEW that I had to find him in there. I knew the importance of my own healing and that healing began with acceptance of the most horrendous fact imaginable to me at that time.

Could I do it? Could I find my Donnie in that swollen excuse for a corpse? If so, then could I forgive God for taking him and Donnie for allowing himself to die? Could I work through this pain to any sense of healing? When I had originally heard the news my heart literally ripped...I screamed from the torturous pain. Could anything hurt this bad? Why my 23 year old brother? I reminded God of the fact that Daddy was older and that he would not be missed nearly as bad as Donnie...and then asked him why he let my Dad be here this long anyway. Why didn't he take Dad and leave Donnie here?

The next few days were a blur for a long time. I counted minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, then years...all relevant to the time and date that Donnie had left this planet. I thought time would never again not be related to that one event in my life.

I remember going to Mom's for 2 weeks afterwards and lying on her couch looking up at the pictures of all of us kids. Next thing I knew, I was sobbing as my Mom held me. I recognized the hand in the picture as the same one in that damned casket.

Later, Alan told me that the undertaker had shared concern that they would not be able to have any of Donnie's body out from under the cover, as he had suffered terrible road rash. Alan explained to him that having his hand and arm out were mandatory to those of us left behind. Our family has always been and will always be a great bunch of huggers...the guys always did the manly thing and shook hands before hugging. Sure enough with the help of the undertaker and a long sleeved white shirt, we were able to clutch Donnie's hand one final time.

I remember frantically-almost maniacally-searching through hundreds of photographs until I found one of just Donnie and I together. Try as I did, I couldn't remember his face before the wreck, couldn't feel his arms wrapped around me, couldn't see his smile, or hear his voice. I HAD to know that he HAD been and that he loved me. I found a picture finally-one of him with his arms wrapped around me-baby and all. He and I were giggling. It was wonderful to see...somehow soothing my ravaged heart.

I was so mad...angry that my brother had died, angry that Alan had had to identify his body, angry that we lost Donnie, angry that it hurt so deeply...I even considered that Donnie had committed suicide. I was just good and ole pissed off!

Fearing that I would never function again, I sought counseling through my church. I know that nothing short of God's love, comfort, grace and mercy that pulled me through that time. I also learned that screaming,"Why?!?!?!?!?" at the heavens may be therapeutic, but there isn't always an answer.

As the old adage goes--time heals all wounds. Lord knows, how I hated all of those polite, trite sayings that folks would spit out when they could think of nothing else to say instead of just sitting in the uncomfortable-ness with me. I can only hope that I was not rude. Thing is...no one could comfort me. I cried when I needed to cry, bitched when I needed to bitch, felt sorry for myself when I needed to, and screamed when I needed to scream. I also prayed constantly. I knew that I had to work through this. I do so appreciate those patient people who allowed me to share my pain with them...and those who carried it for me when it was too much to bear. I talked and talked and talked about Donnie...the gory details of the wreck, how horrendous his body looked, and constantly recounted as it came back to me the awful details of that horrible week.

By the time the third anniversary (is there an appropriate word???) rolled around, I noticed some healing. I was crying less often and for shorter periods of time. I was able to recall with a smile or giggle some of the times Donnie and I had shared. I could see his face, feel his hug, hear his voice. I knew I was getting better.

Today, as I write this, it has been 9 years...I don't know how many months, weeks, days, hours, or minutes. I have "normal" days....whatever the hell that is:)! I got to the point during that 3rd year, where I gave myself permission to not be miserable, to forgive God and Donnie, and to not feel quilty because I was still alive.

Even though my heart will never totally heal, it is now capable of having "Donnie" moments without ripping further and with time and age I have concluded that all is as it should be.

Our Mom never recovered from losing Donnie; it was not possible to focus on her "4 living children". She simply could not accept that Donnie was no longer here. Three years ago, she too left this planet. As I held her hand and she drew her final breath, I released her to go to Donnie. I miss her...but I know that she, too, is in a better place, at peace and whole again. What more could I wish for loved ones?

Within the first week of losing Donnie, everyone of of his siblings and our Mom heard this song-at separate times-and all of us immediately thought of him.

Jesus And Mom Will Always Love Me

Made a wish upon a star:
I could have a brand new car
Got tired of wishing, so
I stole one.
Twenty-three* and knew it all
My dreams were big but, my thoughts were small.
So many roads,
somehow, I chose the wrong one.

Jesus and Mom will always love me
even when the devil took control.
Jesus and Mom will always love me...
this I know.

I felt trapped most all my life
found new kinds of lows and highs
Never been a husband,
but I've had a lot of wives to hold me.
Headstrong, stubborn,
couldn't be told
like a wild horse that couldn't be rode...
a rainbow chaser hungry for gold
and still searching.

Jesus and Mom will always love me
even when the devil took control.
Jesus and Mom will always love me...
this I know.

I wish Mom could see me now,
how I've turned it all around...
lately I've been going down the right road.
Like a picture that you paint
with blues and grays and cans of paint.
Heaven knows,
I'm not a saint but I know...

Jesus and Mom will always love me
even when the devil took control.
Jesus and Mom will always love me...
this I know.
The song is by "Confederate Railroad" and
it reminds all of us of Donnie.
*I took the liberty of changing "17" to "23".

******
If this post leads you down a similar path of self-discovery, pleas click on the trackback link below to let me know that they have written an entry in your blog about my post or leave a comment:).

Enjoy the journey~.

Tribute to my Mom

This is the message the preacher gave at Mom's funeral. (1998)

As we remember Carol, let us call to mind the ways God's love triumphed in her life. I invite you to recall those precious memories of Carol that are special to you...to remember what was important to her. What were the themes of her life?

Carol was born March 12, 1940, in East Cleveland. This coming March, she would have celebrated her 58th birthday.

Carol was the daughter of Aaron Carl and Ruth (Stroud) Schuman. She was the seventh of 12 children. When she was 7 years old, her family moved form Bedford to the rural town of Jewitt in southern Ohio. Early in her life, she learned how to be a survivor. In a large and unashamedly poor family, she learned the importance of loving and caring for her brothers and sisters. She also learned how to "go on and be happy" when life dealt her a difficult hand.

Carol quit school in the ninth grade, but later returned to school to get her GED. What a proud moment that was for her.

In 1959, at the age of 18, Carol married Philip Hale Lough. Together they had five children: Phyllis, Scott, Alan, Donnie, and Danny. At its best,the marriage was rocky and Carol frequently found it necessary to pack up the children and move. The family had many homes... moving all over the eastern U.S. They spent time in the Oakland, Maryland, area and eventually Carol returned to Ohio with her kids...to start life over.

Carol knew the struggles and grief of 3 divorces. However, the deepest grief of her life was the sudden death of her son, Donnie, in 1992. The loss of her son literally took the wind out of her sails and she spoke frequently about wanting to be reunited with him.

In 1989,she recovered from 2 heart attacks. But in 1994 a series of strokes left her with one of the most serious challenges of her life. Remarkably, she came back a long way from the strokes...even learning to walk with only the assistance of a cane. In the midst of these struggles, Carol made it quite clear that the quality of life was very important to her. Under no circumstances was she to be kept alive by machines.

Following the onset of yet another heart attack and stroke, Carol was admitted to the hospital on February 12. This combination painfully took away all hope of recovery and Carol died on Sunday, February 15, 1998.

Some would say that Carol didn't have it easy...that she didn't get many breaks in her life. Yet through it all she kept her hope in a better day. She survived. She tried hard not to be vengeful. She kept her sense of humor regardless of what was going on and we can't really celebrate her life without saying that she was ornery. She was passionate in her love and in her opinions. This was part of the joy of knowing and loving Carol.

Her life, difficult as it was, still had it's pleasures. Without a doubt, the greatest joy in Carol's life was her children and grandchildren. The light in her soul just seemed to light up whenever she was with her family. She was a wonderful mother and grandmother.

As for pleasures...Carol loved her Doral Light 100 cigarettes and Mc Donald's coffee. No one was going to change this. She could have owned stock in the bubble gum and tootsie roll industries, in Pizza Hut and Mc Donald's. As a collector, she amassed quite the assortment of geese, angels, and Santa Claus'. She couldn't have lived without her telephone because that was how she stayed connected to her loved ones.

Two lessons came to mind as you described Carol's life. The first is to love one another and allow others to love you. The second lesson is to survive...to go on and be happy.

We give thanks to God for the many ways that his love and grace triumphed in her life. May God's light continue to shine in the world through us as we honor Carol. I invite you to honor Carol's memory. We learn about love and life from those who have gone on before us. If you have seen virtue and love in this woman's life, then the greatest tribute to Carol's life would be to pass onto others what you have received from her.

On February 18, 1998, we laid our Mother to rest beside her son, and our brother, Donnie Lough. It was as she wished.

******
If this post leads you down a similar path of self-discovery, pleas click on the trackback link below to let me know that they have written an entry in your blog about my post or leave a comment:).

Enjoy the journey~.

About my Daddy

taken from my live journal...written in approximately 2000.

My dear Auntie,

Here we are...almost to another Christmas holiday and it is long passed time for me to fulfill my promise of writing to you.

I send this letter with the hope and prayer that all is well with you. All is well, or as it should be, for us:).

I could bore you to tears with the daily joys and trials of raising 4 children, all of whom are-thankfully-as full of vim, vinegar, and love as healthy children can be. I am sure you remember well those days of your own. Suffice it to say that I am one very blessed woman and enjoy parenting very much.

Truth is that when you asked me to write and bring you up-to-date on my Dad, I panicked. So I did what I always do when I feel the need to write...I let it all churn inside until the right time came to pour it out on paper.

Daddy and I have a strange yet workable relationship at this point in our lives. I don't know him very well and that tugs at my heart from time to time. I am most willing to share with you what I do know and I understand that you miss your brother very much. As you know, he has broken contact with all of his siblings and quite frankly any contact with his children is initiated by us.

He currently lives above the VFW in a small West Virginia town. I suppose that he has been there almost 15 years.

I left home at 18...returned there briefly, and then married, but that is another story:). I had limited contact with Daddy and it seems the fellow I married enjoyed alcohol as much as Dad did...go figure! I did what I had begged Mom to do for years...I divorced the lush, stopped the cycle...at least temporarily.

The year I was pregnant for my first child, Alana, Daddy fell on New Year's Eve and cracked a few ribs, one of which punctured his lung. I went immediately to be with him, staying with his girlfriend during the nights and spending the days with Daddy in the hospital. True to his nature, the first thing he asked me to do was shampoo his hair...and yes, he is still a good looking man! He may not be quite as sure of it as he used to be, but he is handsome none-the-less.

I knew him well enough to know that he would have an absolute fit over that fact that my baby had a black father. I was afraid of his reaction to the extent that I only told him half of the truth...her Daddy is half Comanche. The day Dad was to be released from the hospital, I had his girlfriend put me on a home-bound bus on her way to pick him up.

I did, of course, tell him the truth once the baby was born, but did it safely over the telephone. Every little girl wants to be the "apple of Daddy's eye" and to know that he accepts her for who she is. I had always looked forward to the days when I would take my kids to see Gramma and Papa and there would be hugs, kisses, and giggles. He has yet to accept my children as his grandchildren and although I missed him and the child-like dream I had held onto for so many years, I had a life to live and children to raise. Life and time goes on.

I had three more wonderful babies and it was 8 years later when Donnie was killed in the motorcycle wreck. Daddy had been here in Ohio, working and living with Alan. Amazing how God works, it blesses me to know that Daddy was able to spend time with Donnie before losing him. Daddy isn't one to travel at all and I am convinced it was the good Lord that touched his heart and brought him to Ohio.

Prior to the wreck, I had gone to visit with Daddy at Alan's...even taking him on a beer run. It was on that beer run that Daddy opened up and talked with me. He told me that he just couldn't accept the fact that I had black children and that he just wasn't like my Mom or brothers who had all accepted the kids. He also told me that he will always love me, but that was as far as he could go. My brothers had told him things about me and my life and he said he was very proud to know that I am a great Mom and that I am very obviously one brave woman. I informed him that I could not effectively raise my children while burying my head in the sand. He chuckled. I am still not sure how we made it through that terrible week when we had to bury our 23 year old brother and son, but the grace of God is sufficient and ever present. Much to our disdain, Daddy returned to West Virginia the following week.

A few years ago, Alan took me to see Daddy...it was time. I had determined that as his daughter I deserved to know he loved me, that I mattered to him, that he still remembered the little girl he had played with and held so dear. Not to fear...God is SO good. When Daddy saw me his face lit up, he grabbed me and hugged me close, and said, "Baby Girl, I love you!" I don't know who had the most tears in their eyes, Dad, Alan, Barb, or me.

He looks old and that was hard on me. It was so difficult to realize that he no longer hunts and fishes, that there are no more beagle puppies. I stayed with him while Alan and Barb made a trip to the Laundro-Mat with his clothes and bedding. He was always so meticulous about his appearance, his home, his car. Now here he was, no longer able to keep up with these things and it troubled him greatly. He was embarrassed and fussed about the fact that his apartment wasn't spic-and-span, then combed his hair, and made us coffee.

I set about the business of tidying up. Daddy's feet and legs have horrid circulation and he can't trust them to hold him up for long periods of time. He resents that very much. With his guidance and assistance, it wasn't long before the apartment made him smile!

We wanted to take him out to dinner, but he refused. According to Alan, Dad would only go to the bar and until recently, a little restaurant across the street. His friends take care of his banking and shopping needs, so he goes no where.

My brother, Scott retired from the military this spring and he and his wife, Tonya purchased a home within a reasonable distance of Dad's apartment. They now stop by and check on Dad every day...make sure all is well and he has everything he needs.

His typical day goes like this...He rises around 11 a.m. (can this be the same man who woke me at 7 a.m. daily so that I wouldn't waste my day away???), and drinks 1 1/2 cups of instant coffee with cream...tosses the last half of the second cup down the drain, rinses the cup, places it in the dish drainer, and reaches into the fridge for a beer. To his 3 or 4 Milwaukee Bests he adds salt...and then he heads to the bar. Thank God he lives upstairs...this forces him to walk down the steps and is the only exercise he gets. He hangs out at the bar, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer till the wee hours of the night. He climbs the stairs, goes to bed, and then does it all over again. Basically the only change in this routine is if one of us kids show up or he is ill.

He is an odd man, although he has certainly mellowed with age. I am no longer afraid of him-physically or verbally. In fact, I am a pretty good match for his crabby ass when he starts running his mouth. He can only blame himself...we kids learned the art of smart-assed-ness from 2 pros...Dad and Mom!

Growing up with Dad was not fun or easy as he drank and Mom was a lunatic due to it. I am sure that he did the best he could with what he had, but the one who ultimately lost out in the end is Daddy himself. Mom divorced him in 1985.

For whatever reason, he is not close to any of the grandchildren and doesn't particularly persue relationships with his own kids or grandchildren. His mind is still sharp as a tack-remembering all the grandkids birthdays and ages. I have 4 children...ages 17, 16, 12, and 11. Scott has 1...Philip, 16, and one on the way! Alan has a daughter, Shauna, 8, and says he is done for this lifetime. Donnie had no children. Danny is the proud Papa of 3...Daniel, 11, Samantha, 9, and Taylor, who just turned 2 in November. All in all, that's 10 grandchildren who would keep him young and full of joy, but he doesn't show interest. It's a shame, but chances are he won't change at this point. My daughter, Phylicia, calls him from time to time-whether he likes it or not! She even cries because he is alone...she is such a tender-hearted child.

Daddy now has Rheumatoid Arthritis in his back:(. It bothers him terribly. Since he is still quite stubborn, he refuses to come and live with us. I would take care of him for the rest of his days...and he would leave this planet among family.

I have grown and matured and healed over the years...guess I am mellowing with age, too. I have forgiven him and love him very much. He is often in my prayers. That day when I went to him and he hugged me and said he loved me was the catalyst in my healing. Now I teach my own children about the power of forgiveness.

Our Mom died in February of 1998. She had heart and circulation problems and had had 2 surgeries on veins in her leg. She refused to have more surgeries to prolong her life, but I accepted that and supported her. She left this planet smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee just as she said she would. She had lived with me for a year and had gotten her own place in '97. Phylicia spent most weekend with her...drinking coffee, swearing, and making prank phone calls! Gramma had an ornery streak in her that we have all inherited and her wake was actually full of wonderful stories about her and her sense of humor. We laid her to rest beside Donnie.

She had never recovered from losing him. It wasn't that she didn't love the rest of us...she truly did very much...she simply never made it passed the fact that one of her kids was gone. To this day, there are still times when I will pick up the phone to call her and realize, again, that she is no longer here.

All in all, though, life is good. I am a firm believer in, "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger." Turning 40 was wonderful for me. Suddenly, things just fell into perspective for me. I giggle a lot more now and love the sound of my own laughter. I am married to the same fellow now for 13 years and it looks as though he has finally puts drugs and alcohol behind him. He is-in so many ways-a black version of my Daddy!

Speaking of my Daddy...he never was one to talk to me and I have always wished he had. I still would love to hear about his life, childhood, meeting Mom...etc. Except for him telling me about a pet raccoon he had and getting bitten when he grabbed and pulled on the wrong end of a snake, the only things I do know I learned in an odd way.

Not long after Grandma Lough left this planet, I rode to the bank with Daddy. I was 10. I waited in the car for him and while he was inside, I noticed an envelope with Grandma's handwriting in the visor. I knew he was 'weird' about his stuff and would have likely belted me if he caught me looking. Curiosity got the best of me! It seems that Grandma Lough had mailed him a letter and some momentoes she had saved over the years. His blond baby curl was there as well as newspaper clippings about his military days. I never knew my Dad was in the military, let alone that he was a Sarge...I was SO proud. To this day, Daddy doesn't know that I snooped.

Aunt Barb would tell me things from time...how Grandma would go for weekends to her mothers home and how Grandpa and John tortured Daddy because he prefered to be in the kitchen cooking with the two of you girls. For what its worth, he is still an awesome cook!

I would enjoy any information you would care to give me concerning not only Dad but all of you. I also hope we keep in touch. Thanks so very much for writing and asking about Daddy...I have needed to write these things for a long time now.

My love and many prayers,

Phyllis Ann

P.S. Whew! In reading over this, it seems so bleak...so depressing, but then Daddy and his life are quite dismal. My life is no longer like that. Accepting the things I could not change has been a wonderful tool for me. If you like, the next letter can be a look at a typical day around here:)!

******
If this post leads you down a similar path of self-discovery, pleas click on the trackback link below to let me know that they have written an entry in your blog about my post or leave a comment:).

Enjoy the journey~.