father-in-law
In the early years of being a grandpa, my father-in-law had just girls…three in a row to be exact. That didn’t bother him one bit. They were grandpa’s girls, and he thought that was just fine. He loves kids, and as I have seen in letters he wrote to my mother-in-law, before their marriage, he had a special place in his heart for those little girls. His future sister-in-law, Margee had been just a little over 5 months old, when he and my mother-in-law were married, and he thought Margee was just the sweetest thing. His thoughts on baby girls didn’t change much over the years.
The girls felt the same way about their grandpa as he felt about them. They just thought he was the greatest thing going too. He loved to get down on the floor and play with them, and even if they were having one of their drama filled moments, he just didn’t seem to mind…he just redirected the play, so the drama would end, and the fun would begin. It was always fun to watch him with the girls, because he just loved being a grandpa, and it showed. In fact, he had always loved kids, so maybe that’s where Bob got his way with the little ones…softies, both of them.
I sometimes wondered where my father-in-law got his patience with the girls when they were fighting or crying…usually in the form of screaming, both. He didn’t lose his patience, like I felt like doing, but rather just separated the two fighters, and hugged them when they had their little boo boos. The screaming and crying practically drove me up a wall. If they were in that kind of a mood, I was very happy to let them go visit their grandparents, so grandpa could settle them down some.
As the years went by, my father-in-law would get one more granddaughter, and three grandsons. While he was wonderful with all of them, and it was obvious that he was simply partial to babies and kids in general, I will always remember those early years fondly. Thoughts of him happily surrounded by his girls playing and laughing put a smile on my face. The girls were so blessed to have him for their grandpa, and I hope they know that. Not every child gets to live near their grandparents, and the fact that they did is very special. While my father-in-law is gone now, I’ll always see him surrounded by his loving family, and I’ll always hold a special memory in my memory files for him and Grandpa’s Girls.
While going through my father-in-law’s belongings, since his passing earlier this month, we have come across so many interesting things…things we knew nothing of, but should not have been surprised about. One of the things we found that was particularly exciting to me, was a box of old letters written back and forth between my in-laws, during the last months before their marriage. Old letters give their reader such insight into the true person the writer was. At that time, my she was living in Colestrip, Montana, and he was working in Rosebud, Montana. Being in love and so far apart is never an easy thing, but they made due, knowing that soon they would be together for the rest of their lives.
While the letters always contained the usual “I miss you very much” parts, there was something else in one letter from my father-in-law that I thought was so sweet. In the letter he asked how his “girls” were doing. I looked up at the date on the letter, because he said “girls” and not girl. It was written on February 28, 1949…my mother-in-law’s birthday, and a little over 3 months prior to their marriage on June 6, 1949. So, what “girls” was he talking about? In the next sentences I found my answer. He clarified, when he wrote 
the name of that sweet little girl…Margaret. The little girl he loved so much and found to be so sweet, was my mother-in-law’s baby sister, who has long since been given the nickname, Margee. He went on to say, “I think she is the sweetest thing. I would like to have one just like her.” That comment brought tears to my eyes. It was just such a sweet thing to say, and it came straight from his heart.
I have always found my father-in-law to be a very good judge of character, and in my opinion, he hit that one spot on. Margee has always been a sweet person, who is willing to help in whatever way she can, and when she retired, and we were at a place in my mother-in-law, her sister’s care, where she could no longer be left alone, Margee stepped up and sat with her whenever we needed to take my father-in-law to the doctor or hospital. That, in my opinion, proved just exactly what he had seen in her when she was just a little baby, and though I have always loved her, it so completely reinforced my feelings for Margee, that it…well, lets just say it will be impossible to ever repay Margee for all she did for us. When we needed her most, and she proved over and over what a “sweet” person she is.
Dad saw something is his sister-in-law to be that would always make her dear to him. He had 
known her for all of her life and she had been his sister-in-law since she was just a little over 4 months old, so really, she was as much his little sister, as his sister-in-law, and she had never known a time when he was not in her life, so I guess he was more like a brother than a brother-in-law too. He got to see over and over what a sweet little sister she would go on to become. The few little lines he wrote in the middle of the letter, were not what the whole letter was about, but they leaped off the page as I read them…because I knew the rest of the story. I knew how that “sweet little girl” turned out, and how he had called it exactly right. She certainly was and is a very sweet girl.
Kids these days don’t play the same games that kids of the past played. That is not such an unusual thing, because the times change, but it is sad to think that the kids today don’t know how to play games like Kick the Can, Red Rover, Jacks, or Marbles. When I was a kid, boys and girls alike played marbles, but there was a time, when marbles was pretty much considered a game for boys. Girls were supposed to be playing more ladylike games.
The little boy, who was my father-in-law, lived in such times, and he couldn’t wait to play marbles like the other boys around him. Then, one day, when he was in second grade, he found himself in possession of one marble. Now, it was a bit of a risky move to join in a game of marbles when you had just one marble, because if you lost it, you were done. Still, what good was one marble if you kept it in your pocket and never took a chance to win more. The thought of being afraid to play…well, it just never occurred to little Walt.
He got himself into the first game he came across, and played his little heart out. He didn’t lose the first marble he ever had, and began winning right away. I can just imagine how proud he was when he showed his mom his take that first day. And winning that first marble, probably got him immediately addicted to the game. I can picture him practicing at home, all by himself, so that he could get better and better at the game that he loved so much. And, get better, he most certainly did. Before long, he was the winningest marble player in the area, and by the time he got to be too old to play such kid games anymore, 
he had won a good sized box of marbles. So many in fact, there was no way he could possibly take all of them to each match he played.
That little boy is gone now, as is the man who is my father-in-law, but his legend lives on, in his little brothers. While in town, for the funeral of his brother, Uncle Butch asked us about the box of marbles. None of us knew anything about it, as he had never mentioned it to us. As we went through the house, going through his things, we assumed that the box os marbles must have, long since, been given away…until yesterday, when we came across them again. They were in the same old box that had once held a lunch pail, safely tucked on the top shelve of the closet, because even though the little boy had outgrown the game of marbles, the little boy still lived in the memory files of the man who became my father-in-law.
For the past seven and a half years, my life has been largely defined by a series of responsibilities known as caregiving. For anyone who has ever been a caregiver, even for a short time, it is easy to understand what that entails, and what it means in the lives of those involved. Caregiving is not a job that usually becomes less demanding as time goes by, although that is not an impossibility. While caregiving is not an easy job, I can tell you from my personal experience that it is a very rewarding job. It is one that places you in a battle for life…or at least a battle to prolong life. While it is rarely a battle you can win in the end, you do win in that those final years are made more comfortable for the patient, and filled with the knowledge that you love that person so much that you are willing to make this sacrifice for them.
Now, after the passing of my dad, the recovery of my mom, the necessity of placing my mother-in-law in a nursing home, because Alzheimer’s Disease no longer allows her to stay at home, and the passing of my father-in-law, I find myself no longer in the position of being a full time caregiver. Yes, I still have minimal responsibilities with my mom and mother-in-law, like doctors appointments and visits with them, which are very important to their emotional well being, but the main responsibilities belong to others or are no longer necessary. So, I find myself wondering what do I do now that I am not a caregiver? What is life supposed to be like now? This has been who I was for so long. It was even all I talked about sometimes, as many of my family members can attest to.
A part of me is still very tired. At times during the day, I feel like I could sleep for a month, and yet, I have trouble getting to sleep at night. A part of me is ready to get back out on the trails…walking and breathing in the fresh air, and yet a part of me feels like I just want to sit and do nothing. Maybe it’s an emptiness because of no longer being needed as much as before. It seems like concentrating is very difficult…unless it’s about why we lost the battle for life, or what we might have done differently.
I know that I will get used to having more time again. And as with my dad’s passing, I will come to know that you don’t get over it…you just get on with it. I will get used to not being a caregiver, but I know too, that I will never be the same person I was before. I can’t be. I have seen too much…learned too 
much…felt too much…know too much, to ever be the same person I was before. I have experienced the adrenalin rush needed to hold myself together during life threatening illnesses reaching emergency levels, and making the decisions necessary to treat loved ones who can’t speak for themselves. I have held their very lives in my hands, and been responsible for trying to bring them back. And, I have lost that battle…twice. I will recover from caregiving and I will get on with it, but I will never be the same. I don’t think it is a bad thing, and I would not change any of it, except the loss of my dads, but while I would do it all again, I know that I have been forever changed by this experience.
Every little boy goes through those moments when he just doesn’t understand what it is that makes girls so special, or at the very least what makes them so different. I’m not talking about the physical differences exactly, but more why they must be treated differently. That is the position my father-in-law found himself in as a little boy when he disagreed with his big sister. When a boy is little, and gets into a disagreement with a girl, he does not consider her to be different than any other kid with whom he disagrees. And in that instance, hitting her doesn’t seem like it is any different than hitting any boy he knows. Of course, his mother quickly explained that boys don’t hit girls!
When that little boy, who was my father-in-law, tried to rebel against what he saw as the unfair rule of his older sister, his little boy solution was to…what else, hit her. Of course, his mom told him that hitting girls was not allowed. In what has to be one of the funniest disciplinary moments Grandma would remember, her little boy stated the obvious, “Why, is she made of glass?” I know that if he were my son, I would find it almost impossible not to laugh at that moment. I mean, what do you say to a little boy who has a big sister, who is obviously not fragile…in fact, she is always bossing him around. Then, he finally gets the courage to fight back, and you’re telling him not to hit girls! He is not going to be fooled into thinking that she is weaker than he is, so that option is out.
It is an age old problem, and one mothers have long struggled with. It is their responsibility to teach their little boys the proper way to treat girls, and yet, those girls don’t always make it easy…especially big sisters. I can picture my father-in-law, with his impish ways, being everything from a trial to a smile to his mother. Grandma always was a softy, and he always held a special place in her heart, just like he will for all of his friends and family, whom he left behind when he left us just 11 days ago. As to Grandma’s ability to train her little boy to be nice to the girls, well…you succeeded Grandma, because Dad was an incorrigible flirt who knew just how to make a girl feel like a beautiful lady…and, he did finally learn that boys don’t hit girls.
Yesterday, my dear father-in-law passed away. It was a hard day for all of us. I have been thinking back over the years that I have been a part of this family. There were so many good memories. I will never forget the first time I met my future in-laws. There is no easy way to meet your boyfriend’s parents. You are simply a nervous wreck. We were going out to their house for dinner, and once I arrived, my father-in-law, broke the ice with his teasing ways. As so many girls who have known him can tell you, his first words were about what a “pretty girl” I was. When I blushed, he knew that I would be a good one to tease. My mother-in-law chewed him out for picking on me, but to that, my father-in-law simply grinned, and I knew I had made a new friend. By the end of the evening, I felt totally at home with my future in-laws.
This hard working man began working when he was just 13 years old. He worked at a ranch, milking cows before and after school. So began his working life, and he would be a hard working man for many years to come. While he was tough in many ways, when it came to his kids, he was a big teddy bear. His family was his life, and he had a soft heart when it came to them. All of his kids knew that they could call him whenever they needed wisdom concerning any situation. He always seemed to have an answer or at least an idea as to how to solve the problem. He had so much experience in so many areas, that often there was no need to call someone else to help. Even when they did need to call someone else, he probably knew someone who could do the job well and for less.
As for me…well, Dad always made me feel special. From that first meeting, until our last visit on Saturday night, his love for me was such a blessing. I felt so honored on the day he said, “You are no longer my daughter-in-law, you are my daughter.” I had the great privilege of taking care of this wonderful man since 2007. During that time I watched his brave struggle against the disease that would eventually take his life. He was not a man to complain, and he always hated to be a bother. Since we spent much time together these last few years, we became very close. His smile will always be in my memory. He was a man who returned the love he was given…in triplicate.
He had a team of caregivers, including his sons, Bob and Ron; his daughters Brenda, Jennifer, and Debbie, when she was in town; daughters-in-law, Rachel and me; his grandchildren, Corrie, Amy, and Barry, and Machelle, when she was in town; and great grandchildren, Chris, Shai, Caalab, and his special caregiver, Josh, who took extra special care of his great grandpa; his sister-in-law, Margee, and her granddaughter, Stasi, who did whatever we asked of them; and of course, his 
wife, Joann, who watched over him carefully, even though she had Alzheimer’s Disease, and was unable to fully understand what was wrong. There were so many others who showed him kindness and love in these last days, and their love and kindness was not lost to him…the doctors, nurses, and aides at Wyoming Medical Center; Dr Schoeber, Dr Novick, Dr Dowell, Dr Hussieno, Dr Wilkinson, and their kind staff members; the staff at Sharon’s Home Health Care, especially Deb and Sherry; Angie, his respite caregiver; and the nurses and aides and Shepherd of the Valley nursing home, which he loving called the Sheep Herders Place…he had some good times there. I want to thank each and every one of you. Your kindness to him will never be forgotten. We love you Dad, and we’ll always miss you.
Through the 38 years of my marriage to Bob, I can’t begin to count the number of knitted, crocheted, and sewn gifts our family has been blessed with. My mother-in-law had such talent and creativity. I had a heavy sweater with my favorite activity at the time, bowling on it. My kids had everything from Strawberry Shortcake to skating to unicorns on theirs. And of course, each time they outgrew one, they got a new one. Bob had one with a sports car on it. These sweaters are warm enough to be a coat. In fact, I didn’t buy a coat for any of us for years. She made afghans, dish cloths, pot holders, and so much more. We were so blessed to have all the things she made.
For many years, my sisters-in-law, Debbie and Brenda, my mother-in-law, my father-in-law, put their crafts in the multiple craft fairs around town and did quite well on sales with them. Everyone of them made things that were different from the others. And we have all benefited from all of them. It is always such a blessing when you don’t have to buy the things you need, because someone loves you enough to just give you the things you need.
My mother-in-law has been doing these things for most of her married life of 63 years, and in reality, still does them…but now it is in her memory. If you ask her what she did today, she will tell you that she made a few dish cloths. You might as well not argue with her, because in reality she did. 
She may not have used a crochet hook and yarn, but she did crochet the dish cloths. She uses the end of her shirt, and the oxygen tubing that she is holding. You might have to look closely, but if you do, you can see that she is wrapping the yarn around an imaginary hook, and she is very careful not to lose a stitch. If you ask her to do something with her hands, she really can’t, because letting go of her crocheting would result in lost stitches. The only solution is t o remove the crocheting from her hands, while reassuring her that you will make sure you don’t lose any stitches, and then she will do what you are asking…at least until her crocheting miraculously comes back into her hands again.
My mother-in-law is in the hospital tonight. Her age, Pneumonia, Alzheimer’s Disease, and Diabetic related Kidney disease are taking a toll on her body. We don’t know how long she will be with us, as she is in and out. When she is somewhat lucid, this dear sweet lady is asking us things like, “Do you want me to make you some breakfast?” or “Did you feed that brown dog?” Here she is very ill with Pneumonia and very messed up electrolytes, causing her to hallucinate about things like the crocheting she used to do, and the pets she used to have, yet she is thinking about doing for others. She isn’t moaning and complaining about how much she hurts, and demanding that something be done for her. She is thinking of others…or she is resting quietly…asking very little. She just weaves her story as she goes along.
She has always wanted to make sure that guests didn’t go away hungry, and so offering to make breakfast for Kevin, Corrie, Amy, and Josh isn’t so unusual, but she hasn’t cooked in years, so you would think that she wouldn’t bring that up. That is what Alzheimer’s Disease does though…takes away your present and leaves you only the past. She lives in an alternate reality…a review of the life she lived. Much of what she says makes sense only to her, and those who knew her in her young life.
I mentioned the dog question to my father-in-law, telling him that I had assured her that we fed the dog this morning. He said the dog had to be Brownie, a dog they had when Bob was a baby. A picture popped into my head…a picture of my sister-in-law, Marlyce with a brown dog. I had written a story about that dog with Marlyce just 3 days ago. I didn’t really know the whole story, when I wrote the story, I could just see that Marlyce and her dog loved each other. It would take my mother-in-law’s trip down memory lane to bring out the full story of how protective the dog was of Marlyce…often stopping her from going 
where she shouldn’t…like too close to the railroad tracks near their home. And yet, it was just what I was thinking when I looked at the picture.
I don’t know how this hospital stay will end. My mother-in-law is a fighter, and I don’t believe that she will leave this world until she is ready to go. We all hope and pray that she will stay with us a little while longer, because we are not ready to have her go. I guess we never will be ready, and it doesn’t matter anyway, because when it comes right down to it, we will have no say in the matter. All we can do, when the time arrives is to remember that she lived a good long life…even if part of it was lived in the past…in an alternate reality.
There is an old saying, “as snug as a bug in a rug.” Now I don’t know how long that saying has been around or if my father-in-law’s nickname came from that or not, but when he was a baby, they either switched that saying around, or made up their own, but he was “as cute as a bug.” That saying was used around him so long that somehow the nickname Bug eventually remained, and Bug he has been ever since. It’s funny sometimes, how these nicknames come about, and when you look back on them, you wonder why anyone would think that was cute, but on him it is nevertheless. And it has never changed. For all the years I have known and been in this family, his mom, sisters, and, brothers, called him Bug. When I asked why they called him that, they told me that he was as cute as a bug.
I can’t say that I have ever felt like bugs were cute, except maybe the Ladybug, but apparently either I was missing something, or they were cuter back then, or maybe it was just that boys thought they were cute, or great, or whatever. I suppose that for a boy, Bug would be a pretty good nickname…I mean, how many guys go by snake or something like that, and I have to tell you that I like Bug a whole lot better. Snake reminds me of somebody who might slit your throat in a gang fight, and I have to wonder how comfortable I would have been at 17 years of age, upon meeting my boyfriend’s dad and having him be introduced as Snake. Yikes, I don’t think so, and besides that, my father-in-law is not snake-like at all. He’s far too nice a guy for that. Of course, they didn’t introduce him as Bug either, but eventually the nickname came out.
Even though he has been Bug for as long as I have known him, my father-in-law would undoubtedly pass out if I ever called him that, and I can’t imagine doing it anyway. For one thing, since it was a nickname from his childhood, it seems better suited to childhood, and of course, for his family it was just as normal as calling my grandson Joshua, by his nickname, Josh, but if you didn’t start out using the nickname Bug by knowing him as a child, it might seem a little odd to start using it on him when he is your father-in-law, or at least that’s the way I see it. No, I’ll just have to leave that one for his brothers and sister, who will never get past calling him that anyway. You have to admit though, that he was as cute as a Bug!!
A couple of weeks ago, my brother-in-law, Ron gave his dad, my father-in-law a calendar from 2012 that he had used at work…not for the calendar but for the pictures. They were all pictures of tractors through the years. We all took a look at that calendar, because it was interesting to see how much tractors had changed over the years, and the different makes for that matter. I remember seeing one that could have easily passed for a travel trailer, were it not for the tractor wheels. And there were makes that even my father-in-law hadn’t heard of, and having grown up on ranches, I would have expected that he would know them all.
Since the Industrial Revolution, which occurred from 1760 to somewhere between 1820 and 1840, when manufacturing transitioned from hand production to machines, technology never stops changing. There are always new ideas, and someone to invent them. I recalled seeing a couple of pictures among the old pictures I have been going through, that showed a couple of different tractors used by members of Bob’s and my families. Even though these pictures probably weren’t taken that far apart in years, the two tractors are very different from one another. I suppose that the tractors themselves could have been much different in age, since you often use a machine for many years before it wears out, and they could have been for different work, thereby requiring different designs, but I was struck, nevertheless, by the vast difference in their design. My father-in-law also told me that it could depend on the area of the country, as to what makes of tractor were available. That makes sense too, in that different climates, and growing seasons might require different types of wheels and designs. I suppose that humidity could play a part in 
how the engines ran as well, and so could affect what tractor make would work better in those areas.
Technology is changing so fast these days that tractors may one day be obsolete, you never know. I mean…who ever thought there would be a vacuum cleaner that cleaned by itself, and yet now we have them. I don’t mean to say that crops will ever harvest themselves, or that the ground will just stay plowed, but one day there might be a machine that does those jobs with just a little bit of programing. Then, like the Roomba, which is no longer called a vacuum, the tractor might change its name with the modern advancement of automation too.
