It's Hard to Say Goodbye - June 26, 2011

I asked Gina to write something for the blog the other day, as I've just been unable to write anything myself. Here's what she sent me:

It's hard to say goodbye.

Still, it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be to commit Pete's ashes to the Atlantic Ocean during his final memorial service June 18. He grew up with a fishing pole in his hand and spent many summers out on boats - first our grandpa's boat, then headboats and party boats, and finally, his own - so I can't think of a more fitting final resting place for him than in the place he loved best.

I have to admit, I was a bit uneasy about this trip. Since Pete's cancer, trips home were awkward and uncomfortable for me. Living in California, I had some distance from the reality of his illness, but having to face it was really hard for me. I never knew what to say or do for Pete and my mom, and inevitably, I would say or do the wrong thing. This time, I would have to deal with the added reality that my baby brother wouldn't be there, and even worse, never would again.

Shortly after arriving, I went down to the basement where Pete's things are packed (mostly cartons and boxes full of clothes, fishing gear, books, and some mementos). I cried. Two days later, I went down to pick out a shirt of his to wear out on the boat for the memorial. I chose a blue T-shirt Pete bought in Dana Point one spring when he came out to visit me and Doug, a year or two before he got sick. When Pete was broke, my mom would buy his ticket to California during my spring break from teaching so he could come out and visit us. Pete had been so excited to go sportfishing in California, but the spring before, it rained almost every day and he never got to go. This time, he had great weather, so he researched the different fishing boats and chose one in Dana Point, a little over an hour away from where I live.

I got us a hotel room and we drove out the night before; then, I got up with him at 4 a.m. to drive him the mile or so from the hotel to the boat. We both got to do what we loved: Pete spent the day fishing, and I took the opportunity to go shopping at my favorite mall. When I returned from my outing, I headed back to the harbor and anxiously looked for Pete. About a half hour later, the boat pulled in and I saw Pete. He wasn't smiling. Not only did Pete not catch any fish, apparently, nobody did. He was not a very happy camper. He did leave with a hat, a shirt, and a pen from the gift shop - and some memories - but that was about it.

Last Christmas, I came home for a visit. I don't remember who sent it, but I think a friend (friends?) of his from Costco gave him a small framed three-dimensional "picture" of a small fishing boat heading out to sea. At the top of the frame is a clear glass piece that allows light to come in, giving the boat and the waves added dimension and life. It was beautiful, but its title "Last Catch" gave me a chill. I thought it was prophetic, and I really hoped Pete would beat the sarcoma so he could have many more catches and many more boat trips in his future. Sadly, Pete left us two months later.

So, on June 18, a boat full of about 90 of Pete's family, friends, and coworkers set out to say our last goodbye and take Pete on his final fishing trip. Three miles from the dock, the boat stopped and we took turns scattering his ashes and tossing flowers into the ocean. At the same time, somebody called our attention to the large school of fish breaking the surface not far from the boat. Afterwards, we all headed over to Farrell's for food, drinks, and friendship. It truly was a celebration of Pete's life. I was sad, yes, but what surprised me was the tremendous sense of peace that I felt. People who Pete loved and who loved him in return were there, and we were surrounded by that love. I knew that this is what Pete would have wanted. I knew that after two-plus years of fighting this disease, he was at peace. I will miss Petey forever, but I also know that he is home.

Random Thoughts - May 1, 2011

In cleaning and going through Pete's things I also am going through some of my own things that have been stored away for what seems like eons. Before computers and blogs I wrote with pen and paper, using notebooks to hold my journals, poems and ramblings.

Though I wrote this in November, 1982, it seems to fit well with my thoughts of Pete today.

Reverie
The beauty of the day
And warmth of sun
I wish to share with you.
The peace and strength
I search for
I find in thoughts of you.
The fields, the trees,
The laughter of children-
More beautiful because of you.

Some of Pete's Last Text Entries - April 28, 2011

Pete ---> Brian W - Thanks Brian. I miss you guys and wish I made more of an effort to get together this past summer. Say hello to your fam for me (crissy, kids, momma dukes, bren, etc.), I think of you all very often. Still looking to recover somewhat, since I need to finish my boat and do some fishing this summer, so don't count me out of the fight... I am realistic, but I refuse to quit, it's not in my nature... Sent: Feb 12, 8:20 AM

Jeanne O ---> Pete - I Miss U Pete!!!! U'll b happy 2 know I'm still doin my Animal Noises & I can now do a Real Turkey Call ;) I've perfected my chicken, pig & goat. I'm a hit @ register w/kids ;) Adults tooo!!!! ;) Rc'd: Feb 12, 6:30 PM
Pete ---> Jeanne O -Awww, good to hear you're keeping up the good work, wish I could see you in action (Message was never sent)

What Story Could They Tell? - April 24, 2011

The other morning I pulled out a box filled with an assortment of beverage glasses that Pete had bundled in newspaper for safe storage when he packed his belongings and moved in with us. As I unwrapped this mix of odds-n-ends, most displaying something to identify their origin, I could guess that some Pete had collected himself, while others must have been given to him by friends as I know he was never in Hawaii, Arizona or Texas.

I set each one down and sorted them according to type - beer glasses, 2 with Yankee insignias (Pete was a Phillys fan), another from the Subway Series, another simply shaped like a football. Did he attend games or did one of his friends bring back a souvenier because they thought he might like to know they were thinking of him? Which of his friends remembers how Pete came to posess the  glass eblazoned with Bud Lite "Bubble Boys" or the one from the Pilot House or from Applebee's? Did they represent a birthday celebration or other notable event? All are in pristine condtion except for the one advertising "Pete's Wicked Ale". That one looks like it was used often because the screen printing is worn and faded.

Then there are the shot glasses. I'm pretty certain that the one from Puerto Rico is a memento of when he and Rod S. and several others went there to visit Timmie P. What memory, though, does the shot glass from Point Pleasant represent? And who gave him the one from Arizona?

It was difficult looking at those empty glasses and wondering why Pete brought them here. Each must hold a story, some reason why he wrapped them so carefully, but for now they remain silent.

That Last Goodbye - April 21, 2011

I attended a support group recently, specific to parents, grandparents and adult siblings who have suffered the death of a child of any age. I was taken aback by the number of attendees and though I didn't count, my very conservative estimate would be around 50.

They began the meeting by having everyone introduce themself and provide some information about their child. Among all those present there was only one couple whose child, a woman about Pete's age, married with 3 young children of her own, was also a cancer victim. Most of the children were adults or young adults, but their deaths were sudden and unanticipated - the result of traffic or other accidents, suicides, drug overdoses, and heart attack.

We all lost a child, one couple lost two, so we all shared that common grief, but, with the exception of the parents of that young woman who battled breast cancer for 4 long years, there was a huge difference. Dare I say that that couple and I were the "fortunate" ones who had time to prepare for our child's death? That we were given the opportunity to say our final good-byes, to tell our child how much they were loved and to hear them say that they loved us? To be with our child and hold and comfort them as they left this world? To know that we were doing all we could do to make the transition as peaceful and loving as possible? And, yes, to accept death and even welcome it because it released our child from the pain and misery that cancer inflicts.

I cry because I miss Pete. But I cannot imagine the horror and devastation all those other parents had to endure when they received the shocking news that their child was gone, the fear that their child may have suffered unimaginable pain, the anguish of never having had the opportunity to say that last goodbye, to exchange that last "I love you".

Something I Found - April 20, 2011

I've been busy sorting through Pete's things and boy, did he have a lot of stuff! Granted, the vast majority of it is fishing and boating paraphanalia, but there's lots of other stuff, too. I found several boxes of chemisty and physics texts and notebooks. As I was fanning through the notebooks, in the midst of an unused section of a chemisty notebook, I ran across the following that Pete had written:

Feeling like a part of yourself is missing when they're gone.
Getting a warm feeling when they are near.
A smile from them gives you a rush.
Being concerned about their happiness to the extent that it bothers you if you feel they are unhappy.
Wanting to know more about them, so that you might know what to do for them to cheer them up when they're down.
Being willing to give more than you would to just about anyone.
Being able to forgive them for doing or saying something which you might disagree with.
Making a concious effort to do something they will appreciate, or not to do something they will disagree with.
Wanting to see them smile all the time.
Feeling lost when they've got something else to do, but knowing that they are thinking of you.

My Muse - April 17, 2011

Muse: n - a source of inspiration; especially : a guiding genius

My muse is in hiding. During Pete's battle with Sarcoma he was my focus and nourished my muse. Now that the cancer has claimed victory I have difficulty concentrating. Just to write these few sentences has taken so long. It's not that the words aren't there; there are so many thoughts swirling around in my brain, flying faster and coming from so many directions that I just can't capture them to set them down here.

It's 3:23 AM. I sat down in front of the computer over an hour ago. Not much to show for the time I've been here.