Georgie Porgie

I am having the hardest time starting this. I have opened my blog many times, but I simply have not been able to make myself start. Here I am already crying, and I haven't said a word of significance.

How can I possibly express how much this hurts? How can I tell you how much I love my dad, miss him and wish he were still here, but whole again--not sick or broken. How can I say how grateful I am for the gospel and as my dad says, "The Great Plan of Happiness." I think that shows how he felt about Heavenly Father's plan--it was for us, to make us happy. I'm just having a hard time being happy.

On January 12, 2009, my sweet daddy slipped away from this earth.

In December Dad needed a blood transfusion but his veins were collapsing and he couldn't accept any blood. The other option was to go through a main artery right to his heart, but that would be very dangerous because he also had congestive heart failure. I kept wanting them to just try one more time! Mom asked the doctor what he would do; his answer was that he wouldn't do it. He didn't think the risk was worth it--he could possibly not even make it through the transfusion if things went wrong. And he didn't think it would increase his quality of life very much, even if it did take. Mom had a hard decision. I think she realized that she could lose him right then, that very day if they tried again. She decided not to. Neither she nor Dad wanted to do the artery to the heart option. I think Mom knew then that Dad was not long for this earth. I know she did. She asked me to shop for a new dress for her for a funeral. That scared me.

Dad had pneumonia--I think he was sick just after Christmas, but he had a nasty cold and it just got worse. The week of January 5, Mom finally got someone to listen and give him an antibiotic and cough syrup. She told me he slept through the night and they were both finally getting some rest. We thought he was getting better.

Saturday the 9th, the Stake President and Bishop came for a visit with Mom and Dad. Dad wanted a blessing and then he wanted them to give Mom a blessing. They pulled a chair up close to Dad so he could use his Priesthood and help give Mom the blessing. The next day in their Ward Conference, the Stake President spoke quite a bit about his visit with my parents. Mom said several people commented about it, but she wasn't sure just what was said.

That same weekend, Lynn and his family visited with Mom and Dad. Saturday night he told Mom to get some sleep and he'd get up with Dad--7 or 8 times that night they got up. Once Dad said he was done and simply couldn't go any further. Lynn had to grab him under the arms and drag him back to his bed. The next day he and Ron decided that something needed to be done. Mom wasn't getting any sleep and Dad was not getting better. Hospice had a 5-day stay program at a nursing care center and they decided that was a good plan. Sunday night Mom called and told me that Monday morning they were going to take Dad there. That scared me even more. I asked Mom what Dad thought about going, but she said she didn't think he was really aware of anything. She said he'd been mumbling and talking all day, but incoherently. He didn't want to be here any longer. I wonder who he was talking to, making plans for a reunion.

That night I prayed for my Dad. I had been praying that he could last just a little longer and I realized that was very selfish. I just didn't want him to go. Finally I prayed that if my dad needed to leave this earth and if Heavenly Father wanted him back home, then at least could he go peacefully? A year or so ago, I told my Mom and Dad that my wish for them, when it was time, that they would have a great day, a good meal, go to bed, have nice dreams and just never wake up. That would be so much nicer than many deaths. I just wanted peace for my Dad. I think I was finally at the point where I could say, "Thy will be done." (But please, peacefully.)

Monday morning I was making plans to have my Primary music calling taken care of so we could go see Mom and Dad the next weekend, over Martin Luther King Day. In my mind, this would probably be the last time I'd see my dad. I really thought we'd get to visit and then he would go. I got off the phone and then Ron called. It was about 10:00 a.m. He said Dad was gone. I just couldn't believe it. Ron said they put him to bed Sunday night and he just kept sleeping and sleeping. He got up several times to check on him, but Dad was asleep. He said about 5:00 a.m. he stopped by Dad's door and he could hear snoring. Then at 7:00, Mom was up and dressed and went in to check on Dad. She said she couldn't see any breathing and he was a little cool. Cool was pretty normal for Dad. She called to Ron to check, and he was gone.

Jay and Auburn were still there, so Jay got a chair for Mom so she could sit by Dad. She held his hand while Ron made the necessary phone calls. I'm so glad she wasn't there alone to deal with all of that. Mom helped get Dad dressed in clean jammies before he was taken away. She was glad to be able to do that.

Jay and Auburn drove Mom's car to my house so I could come the next day and help with arrangements. Monday I spent getting things taken care of. I got Primary arranged for, Cub Scouts on Thursday--I have a new leader who I couldn't possibly leave to do it alone. I colored my hair. I packed. I finally went shopping for a dress for Mom.

As kids arrived home from school, we gave them the news. They were sad, but they just went through this with Corky's dad two months ago. They knew the routine. It's amazing how kids think and act. Jake figured he should be able to stay home from school--they did last time, but that night we didn't get home until late and we were up late. I needed to leave in the morning and Corky needed to go to work. Kids went to school. I did toy with the idea of taking Dante and Jake, but decided against it. I'm glad. There was enough going on and we were running back and forth to the mortuary, etc. that it was a good thing they weren't there.

Monday night I wrote my Dad's obituary. I stared at the computer for the longest time. He was a wonderful man and I wanted everyone to know it. Finally I wrote and wrote, figuring Mom and Ron could delete things if it was too long. They didn't cut out anything.

Tuesday as I got ready to go, Jake finally realized that I'd be gone all week before he'd see me again. He cried and wrote me a sweet "Love you" note with a frowny face on it. He was fine by the time we got to school. I left the boys and went right to the Distribution Center to get a new white shirt, pants, necktie, socks and handkerchief for my daddy. I had bought the same things for Corky's dad. It wasn't easy either time.

I drove, I cried.

When I arrived at the house, there were people there cleaning. Why do people always go clean the house when somebody dies? I never really figured that out, but I was glad that I didn't have to do it. Maybe that's why. It's something they can do, and then you don't have to. Life is about serving others, and they were. People brought cereal and soda pop for the kids when they would arrive. There were fruit baskets, rolls, chicken soup, cakes, casseroles, visits and cards. I was amazed at the love that was shown by neighbors and people in the ward. While I was there Mom had a visit from the High Priest Group Leader and a counselor. One man talked and talked; I tried to sit and listen for a minute, but the phone kept ringing. When they were ready to leave, Richard Bevan, the Group Leader and an acquaintance of mine from High School, gave the most wonderful prayer. I bawled all the way through it. He prayed that we would all be buoyed up in our spirits and that angels would attend our home. I was truly touched by his words and spirit.

We went to the mortuary to make arrangements. The man we spoke with was Brad--he seemed a bit distant and out of his element. Then we found out he was--he came from the Pocatello office to help out because they were so busy in Twin. He made a horrible program for the funeral. The next day we met with Brett--he was wonderful. He was everything that I expected. I saw a lot of love and attention from Kirk Soffe, the funeral director for Grandad, and I guess I wanted to see if they were all like that. Brett was. He was happy that I had everything on my jump drive so they didn't have to retype--said he'd hire me. And, he said he didn't like the program either, so he started on a new one. Mom and I were happy about that. Brett was totally attentive, especially to Mom. One time we were there and she didn't want to come in, so he came out to the car and talked to us for 1/2 an hour. He held the door for her, he took her coat. Once we were walking back to the car and I started to open her door, he said, oh please Sally, let me get that. He offered options and made us feel like we were the most important people of all.

Corky was home working on a DVD of Dad pictures. He spent many hours and sleepless nights for me, for Dad, for all of us. A couple of years ago we recorded Dad doing a Maori haka and some of his little sayings--Corky put that on as background. It was wonderful to hear his voice, even unsteady.

We worked on flowers. We worked out the program. Thursday Chad's family arrived. Friday everyone else was coming, so I cooked the turkey I brought. I really didn't want to be the cook for the "crew," so I just made funeral potatoes, jello and turkey. Fend-for-yourself kind of meal.

There was a viewing Friday night--Luan and her family came during the viewing, Lynn arrived just before (with the DVD), Arlene was there earlier Friday. My family was still missing. Just at the very end of the viewing, I saw them. What a relief to see my sweetheart and my children! I was so glad to see them.

The viewing was nice. I got to see people I knew, talk with my nieces and nephews, finally meet Zuki. One man came and spoke to me and wanted to tell me how much Dad meant to him and his family. He said my dad changed their lives. Mom told me later that this family had been inactive, but Dad was their home teacher. Need more be said?

Saturday morning was another viewing and funeral. There were cousins there I haven't seen forever--Aunt Laree (Mom's sister) and her kids, Maralee, Vernon and his family. Carolyn Clawson, Uncle Jack's wife, came with her two daughters, Julie and Sally. Julie walked up to Arlene and me and said I'm Julie. I said I'm Sally. She said, no, I'm not Sally, I'm Julie. I said, I'm Sally. No, I--then she looked at me, shook her head and then realized what I was saying. Her sister Sally was right behind her. She and I both commented that we'd always thought it was so fun to have a cousin with the same name. I saw people I used to babysit for--I thought they were so old and realize now they were probably only 25-30 years old when I was babysitting. But to a 13-year old, that is old.

The funeral was wonderful. The music was perfect, the life sketch by Arlene was perfect, Ron's talk was perfect. The grandkids got up and sang "Called to Serve." A great missionary song for a great missionary. The Bishop spoke and made nice comments, and then the Stake President spoke. He spoke of Dad's love for Mom. He talked about the night they were there giving the blessings, just barely before Dad's death. He said how Dad was sick and wanted a blessing, but then he was very concerned for his wife, that she receive a blessing, too. President Allen talked about putting the chair close to Dad so that he could participate. He said that Dad's Priesthood was the presiding priesthood in that home and he wanted to exercise it. He talked about what he learned that night from Dad and Mom. I loved that.

We had sack lunches from the Relief Society since we were leaving town--it was great. Ham sandwiches, drink, chips and brownies. I drove Mom in her car to Goshen, Idaho. It was very cold outside and everything was covered in frost. It was totally breathtaking. I loved looking outside. Mom and I took deep breaths, ready for the next part. But we were not ready. She and I drove into the cemetery first. I looked over, saw my grandparents' graves and then where Dad's grave was going to be. My eyes got big and then Mom said--it's in the wrong place! I let her out and she walked over--I parked the car. She said, I know this is the wrong place. We're supposed to be right next to Mama and Daddy. I've heard that my whole life. I knew it was wrong.

So people started arriving--two very old aunties--Aunt Orilla (Dad's sister) and Aunt Joey (Mom's sister). People said, oh let Aunt Joey get over here, she'll know. I looked at them and said, why? It's not her plot and she's 91! What's she going to know about it? She didn't know.

After some fussing around and several phone calls, we finally found out that Mom does actually own that land--she has four plots when she thought she only had two. (So at least it wasn't someone else's spot. That would be great--a couple years down the road and someone else would want that place.) They just dug the whole in the furthest spot. She fussed and didn't know what to do. It was kind of funny because they had the nice chairs, the awning, the fake grass by the hole--of course. But we didn't go over there. People brought the chairs to the spot where Mom wanted Dad to be buried. So we all sat and stared at a grassy area next to the Andersen grave. Uncle Rone had reserved the Goshen church down the road and had soup and sandwiches there for us. He was anxious to get people out of the cold and to the church, but Mom didn't really want to do anything until she found out exactly what she could do. We decided we could dedicate the spot where she wanted him and then we'd move to the church and take it from there. But Ron had gone to make more phone calls. We needed to wait for him.

Finally Ron came back and said there was a sister mortuary in Pocatello--we could take Dad there, come back next week. Mom was feeling guilty and didn't want to put anyone out and was thinking that she should just use the hole that was dug. So the six of us kids pulled Mom aside and said what do you really want to do? She hemmed and hawed and I said, in five years, are you going to feel bad that Dad is over there? Where do you really want him? She took a deep breath and said, I want to be next to Mama and Daddy. We all said Yea! she felt relieved and then she cried. It was okay. We all stood around the spot where Dad would go and Chad did the dedicatory prayer. They were going to have to take Dad to Pocatello to wait until the next week when they could dig another grave. They said the ground was frozen and it would take a little time, etc.

Everyone got in their cars to go to the Church for our haka, soup and relaxation. Mom and I pulled out of the cemetery last, except for Ron and Lynn were walking with Aunt Laree to see another grandfather's grave. We got to the church, had soup, wondered what happened to Ron and Lynn. They finally came and Ron said that everything was done! While he was still there, the sexton and the man who digs the graves came to take care of the chairs and stuff, so they told them their plight. The four of them put the casket into the vault. The man dug a new grave (so the ground wasn't frozen enough to worry about) and then they pulled the vault and casket up and put it in the new grave. So after we sang "I Walked Around Charlo," did a couple of hakas, we went back to the cemetery to see the new grave. It was in the right spot. The fancy chairs, grass and awning were gone, and in their places were clumps and clods of dirt. The pall bearers tossed in their boutonnieres, we said another family prayer (not dedicating) and all threw in some dirt clods. I think Dad liked it better that way. He was definitely a dig-in-the-dirt kind of guy. It was nice. I liked it.

What a relief that it was finished. Nobody really wanted to have to take Dad to Pocatello and come again another day. I would always wonder if that was really him in there. This way we knew for sure. Ron and Lynn were there and put his casket in the vault. They saw it go in the right grave. It is hard to bury someone you love--it would be awful to have to put it off and do it all again. I know Mom was relieved, as we all were. She told me later that she felt like "Georgie was down there just telling me it was okay."

It was okay. It is okay. It's still hard and I expect it will be for quite a while. I didn't feel like I really got to grieve that whole week I was with Mom. I had to be strong for her, although I certainly shed some tears. But I think I've been crying even more this week than two weeks ago. I've gotten phone calls, emails and cards, love from people, but it still hurts. This is all-consuming.

I am so glad that I told my dad how much I love him, many times. I think he knew. I know he loved me. I am so grateful for his love, his blessings, his wisdom and guidance.

I love you, Dad.

Grandma Margaret Clawson

I was thinking about my grandma today--in a couple of days it will be the 2nd anniversary of her death. Her name is Margaret Kerr Lieshman Clawson. She was married and widowed twice. Her second husband, Ray Clawson--my grandfather, passed away in 1972, so she was a widow, for the second time, for a very long time. She would have been 104 in April of that year (2007). She was a teeny-tiny woman who lived in a teeny-tiny trailer in a teeny-tiny town, Charlo, Montana. I believe I copied her history for those of you who would want to know--if not, tell me and I'll pass it along.

My dad's mother died when he was 16, then he lived with relatives in Idaho until he went into the Navy and then on to school in Logan and then married my mom. So, he never lived with Mother Margaret, as all the kids called her. But he loved her just like a mother. We went to Montana every year to visit Grandma and Grandpa, and then even after Grandpa died, we still went to visit. I know that up until she died, my mom and dad still went to see her at least a couple of times a year and they called often. I am proud of my dad for helping to take care of her.

Life for Grandma Margaret was not easy. I remember going to visit--it took all day long. We always arrived in the middle of the night (or so it seemed to me, a sleepy-headed kid), but that was part of the magic of the whole thing--arriving in the dark, setting up beds and not really knowing where you were in the morning when you woke up.

When I was little, Grandma and Grandpa still lived out on the farm. Oh man, that was so wonderful! We got to go to the bathroom in the outhouse, bathe in the washtub in the barn and pump water outside. I'm sure my mother wasn't thrilled with the outhouse, but I remember thinking it was something very special.

I do remember when my dad, and perhaps some of his brothers or brothers-in-law, put a sink in the kitchen with running water. It was still a pump, but inside the house. The sink was a long trough with the pump at one end and a drain at the other. Then a couple of years later, they installed plumbing. Actual running water in the kitchen, and a real bathroom. It was fun to see the "new stuff," but not nearly as much fun as bathing in the barn.

I don't remember a lot about the farm, other than what the house (in my memory) looked like and the barn. I do remember one time when Grandpa showed me how to check the eggs. He held them over a little light to see if a chick was starting to form. We didn't want to eat those. I remember driving down the long dirt road past Charlo to get to the house.

I think I was about 10 years old when Grandma and Grandpa sold the farm and bought their trailer house. I distinctly remember my dad sitting at our kitchen table with a letter in his hand, upset at how small the trailer was. So, we had to go and check it out. Somehow the trailer dimensions written in the letter turned out to be much smaller than the actual trailer. But it certainly wasn't a large trailer, just large enough for two grandparents. Again, I thought that was very cool. There was a little bedroom where Arlene and I got to sleep, in a bed just larger than a twin. I remember a picture hanging on the wall above the side of the bed.

I am picturing a lot of green at Grandma's house. I don't know if she had green carpet or couch or an afghan or what. Maybe the stove or something was green. That horrible olive green was the color of the 70's. Sorry most of you missed it. (We had a lot of green at our house--green shag carpet. My mother liked green. It's taken me until just recently to acknowledge the color green. I don't eat green things--green jelly beans, gumdrops, Dots, green jello or Kool-Aid. Gratefully, the popular shade of green has changed.)

I remember a little bit about the town of Charlo. It had an Indian trading post (which we thought was very cool, but I don't ever remember actually going in there--probably off limits to us kids). Charlo had a general store and a laundromat. It was close to a couple of other little towns--St. Ignatius and Ronan. When I attended Ricks College I met a guy from Montana. I asked him what town he was from, but he insisted that I wouldn't know it because it was very small. Naturally, I persisted, somehow knowing that I would know. He said he was from St. Ignatius! So I said, "Oh right next to Charlo and Ronan!" He was dumbstruck. It turned out that he used to go home teaching with Grandpa Ray. He said Grandpa always insisted on driving, which was scary. One day they were out doing their home teaching, and there was this huge cow standing in the middle of the road. The kid could see the cow, so he kept commenting, boy that's a big cow in the middle of the road, hoping Grandpa would slow down or something. Grandpa didn't really acknowledge what had been said until he got right up to the cow. He slammed on the brakes and yelled, "Wow, did you see that big cow? I almost ran right into it."

I remember Grandpa taking Arlene and me to the general store and buying us play money. In my memory, that happened every time we went to Montana, but probably not. Still, play money makes me think of my Grandpa.

One time Arlene and I were helping Grandma dry the dishes after dinner. As she put the glasses in the cupboard, I noticed on the very top shelf some great glasses that had little African gals on them. I was intrigued, not having seen much of anything like that and they were obviously way cooler than anything we had at home. They were tall and skinny and the little girls were wearing a colored cloth tied around one shoulder and huge gold hoop earrings. So, naturally, I asked Grandma why we didn't ever get to use those glasses. She said, "Oh them with the little black babies on them? They're too hard to dry. You can't get your hands in the d---- things!" Holy cow! I'd never heard anything like that in my whole life, and especially not from my teeny-tiny grandma! I never heard her say anything like that again, but I will never forget it.

My grandma had a special place in her heart for my mother. Mom told me once that when she and my dad were engaged, Dad wanted to take her to Montana to meet Grandpa and Grandma. Grandma later told my mom that she was embarrassed to have my mom come and see her in her little house, but after she met my mom, she was no longer worried to have Mom around. She made a couple of quilt tops for my mother and she was always happy to have her visit. She also liked the fact that my mom pitched in and helped and didn't sit around wanting to be waited on.

A couple of years before she died, Grandma could no longer see well enough to crochet, so she gave bags of yarn and crochet cotton to my mom. Mom gave some to me--mostly teeny-tiny balls of yarn left over from some long-finished project. What was I going to do with all that yarn? So I started crocheting baby blankets and afghans for my grandchildren. Sometimes there is only a row of yarn from Grandma, but I have labeled all the blankets and written which yarn came from Grandma, who will be the baby's great-great-grandmother. At first my kids thought I was nuts, but now they talk about which blankets "their babies" will have. It's been very fun and makes me think of my grandma. I have about three tubs full of blankets and afghans. I think I'm addicted.

So, two years ago on New Year's day, we got the call that Grandma Margaret was gone. Think of the wonderful reunion she had! There were two husbands waiting to see her, two step-children and a couple of her children. Think about how Grandma Veva (my dad's mother) must have greeted her--Margaret took care of her babies for her when she couldn't.

Grandmother Margaret had lived alone for many years, but for the past 2-3 years before her death, she finally sold her home and moved in with her daughter. Her doctor had been telling her for several years before that time that she should move in with someone, and she'd smile and say, "Okay." Then leave the doctor's office and say, "I'll do whatever I want." And she wanted to be in her own home. I know the ward members there in Charlo were very good to her. Grandma didn't drive, so they took her to church and to the store and helped her with everything she needed. When she was turning 99, they decided to have a big birthday party for her, thinking it would probably be the last one. I rode to Montana with my brothers Ron and Lynn for the party--I'm so glad I got to be there. I remember someone asking Grandma where she wanted to have her party the next year; she said, I don't want to be here! Surprise--she was there for four more birthdays.

Grandma Clawson was a mother to my dad's younger sisters when they didn't have a mother. She was grandmother to me and my siblings, as well as to our many cousins. She had two families of kids that I think didn't always get along, so that was very hard. She loved my Dad and his brothers and sisters. I know she loved me. I am grateful for her and her sacrifices, for the life she lived and the love she freely gave.

My Dad

This is how I remember my dad. I remember fishing with him, wading in the water, hooking the worms, and calmly waiting. I loved fishing with my dad, maybe partly because my sisters didn't. I think Arlene didn't like the worms and I'm not sure why Luan didn't like going. Perhaps she was just old enough to want to do "girl" things, and this wasn't. Maybe I was just young enough that I didn't care about those things. But I did like being there with my dad. This picture shows Corky, Taylor, Simona and Dante fishing with Grandpa. When my kids were little, Grandpa would load up the fishing gear and head down the canyon--there was place where you could fish without a license and just pay by the pound. We did a lot of fishing there. Later that place closed, but Grandpa took us to the fish hatchery--I believe this picture was taken there. I have a lot of "Grandpa fishing" with my kids. Taylor and Simona remember fishing with him, but I don't think Dante does. I'm not sure Jake ever got to go, so that's not one of his memories, but it's something I certainly remember.

I remember Dad had a friend who would come fishing with us once or twice in the summer, and he'd bring his two grandsons. I went with them a couple of years, but one year I decided against it. I think that was year I decided I needed to do "girl" things. I wished all day long I had gone. I've always been sorry I didn't go; I missed an opportunity to be with my dad.

I remember going to Alturas Lake in the summer and fishing. I can feel the water lapping around my legs now. We had to stand quietly, or we'd scare the fish. I loved Alturas Lake and have such great memories of that place. There were a couple of different spots on the lake where Dad liked to fish. When too many other fishermen came, we would move. I loved catching a fish; I even loved cleaning the fish. Yeah, yeah, that's kind of gross, but I did. Again, maybe it was because my sisters didn't like to clean them. I always did want to be a little different than everyone else.

I remember getting up very early on opening day of fishing season. It was probably 3 or 4 o'clock--a.m. I remember driving, snacking, sleeping in the car, just waiting for the right spot. I never could figure out how Dad knew where that spot was, but he always did. Stopping under a viaduct didn't seem like the right place to me, but he knew where the fish were. Of course, he always had a can of corn at his disposal, ready for chumming (which I found out later was illegal). But hey, it attracted the fish. Wasn't that what it was all about?

On the way home (or depending on the time of day, it could have been on the way there), we would stop, I think in Shoshone, for a black raspberry malt. Maybe that's why I went? I still choose black raspberry malts; not sure if they're even my favorite, but they remind me of my dad.

After I was married, Corky and I went fishing with Dad (we even got a malt). I remember we stood in the stream on one side of a fence, clearly posted "No Trespassing." Dad cast his line over the fence. He figured we weren't trespassing as long as we stayed standing on the right side. Corky groaned and rolled his eyes, but he chuckles about it now. That was my dad.

This is Dad's 8th grade graduation picture. He is in the front row. Can you spot him? What a cute boy!

And here's my sweet dad at my wedding. We were standing outside the temple, waiting for our turn for pictures. Isn't he cute? I have to say I have a wonderful dad. I love him. He has always been good to me. Certainly I can think of times when I was mad at him, but generally that was because of me, not him! I know this was a very happy day--I think for Dad as well as for me. Before I was married, I'd meet my dad in Logan and we'd go through a temple session together. We'd get inside and Dad would always say, "Do you have a spare groom hanging around?" I think he was worried that my prince charming would never show up. Luckily for all of us, he did.

Happy Haunting

Check out these kidlets. Taylor was the Joker, of course. Dante was a mummy (made by Corky), Jake was the Skeleton--check out his lower jaw--Zumiez for $6. Simona was Sally from Nightmare before Christmas. Her friend, Erin was Alice from Twilight. We had some neighbor kids go with us--they are in the group shot. Our friends Isaac, Katrina and Dominic Azevedo. Oh, and that's Corky's Frankie on the door (next to Taylor).