My dad was a complex person. He could be tender, sweet, and
loving. He could also be temperamental, fierce and violent. He did mellow with
age.
However, it was no surprise when a rare violent wall of
weather hit the region the day after he was found dead.
Derecho. I never heard of it until afterward it struck. A
wall of wind associated with thunderstorms. As soon as I heard about it, I
thought Sherman's March. Then I immediately connected it with Dad and his
death.
Dad died on a Thursday. His body was found mid-afternoon. In
what started out as a typical day turned into a long and exhausting day. EMT's,
followed by police, then the funeral home staff, and finally, the new parish
priest responded over a period of several hours. All made their way into my parent's
rustic farmhouse at the end of a dirt lane.
The day had built up lots of heat and the family house has
no a/c. The EMT's stayed outside, instead of with me and my sister and Dad, to
wait on the police who had difficulty finding the farm. A fly was starting to
hang around his body. Who knows how long he'd been dead. But when the funeral
home staff moved him, the unmistakable odor of death was compressed out of him
and hung in the air longer than the undertaker said it would.
Partner went to work the next day and I took off to meet
with Mom and a sister to make funeral arrangements. Mom was determined to have
a traditional timeline as if he was being buried, even though he was being
cremated. Funeral home visitation would be on Saturday afternoon and evening
with the memorial service at the little country church Sunday afternoon. And,
we would be providing the food and setting up/tearing down at the church
ourselves per Mom's wishes.
Family had been notified and the out-of-towners were coming
in. There was a plan.
At our evening meal that Friday, I told Partner how
wonderful the yard looked and fortuitous it was that the house was clean. We
could relax about being host and hostess in the midst of whatever would be
unfolding.
Later that evening, Mom and I were checking in by phone
about details regarding the next few days.
Partner kept saying in a steady voice, "a really big
storm is coming," as warnings were flashing on the internet.
Lightning and winds picked up until the weather was howling.
Our electric began to flicker. Meanwhile, I had been trying to get Mom to
realize that a storm would likely be hitting the farm which is about 12-15
miles east of my house. With the phone propped between my shoulder and ear, I
started filling containers with water at the kitchen sink in case we lost
power. (Wells need electric to pump water.) Finally, the lights went out and I
told her to get serious and fill her tub with water in case she needed water to
flush the toilet. People were coming to
stay and we would need the basics. Then I hung up.
The lights did a little more flickering and then there were
bright flashes as electrical sounds and smoke began to fill the kitchen.
Partner walked around the house muttering that we had a problem.
In an even tone, he told me, "Call 911," as he
went from one electrical box to another. Because he was so calm sounding, I
almost didn't hear him. Then I realized that his stress response is to sound
quiet, calm, and unconcerned.
Using my cell phone because my land line was now dead, I
found myself talking across state lines to get a 911 center. The person stayed
with me until she transferred me to my own state and county's center, saying
that the 911 centers were flooded with calls.
The new 911 person stated, "The fire department is on
its way. Go out on your porch.”
I told the 911 lady, "You've got to be kidding!"
We ran out to the car with the dog and a flashlight since
our porch is unprotected and the wildness of the storm made the idea of standing
out on it unfathomable.
As the lightning seemed to create a constant source of
illumination, the devastation was sinking in. Large limbs were down. Green
leaves were shredded lying on the ground. A limb landed on our tractor crushing
the canopy. Trees had been uprooted.
After the rescue squad made it past downed limbs in our
driveway, they then began the process of seeing what was going on. In their
muddy wet boots and clothes in the midst of the storm, they tromped through
every room and closet in the house.
There had been a flash fire in the house, but it was out. A
large surge protector by the major electrical box in the laundry room had
exploded, but the wires to the box had not melted. Sandy-like dirt was
everywhere in the laundry room and now tracked throughout the house. Our air
conditioners and lights had been damaged. But we wouldn't know that until the
next day when our power returned.
We went to bed at 11:30 p.m. exhausted, not worrying about
the stuffy heat in the house. The house and the yard were a mess. But, we were
okay.
The family gathered the next morning at the farm. Mom was
also without power. We would learn that the church where the memorial service
was to be held was dark, also. It would
be days before they would regain electrical service.
And so, that morning, before the afternoon and evening
funeral home visits were to begin, our family worked.
Did I mention that a heat wave started in earnest? There is
nothing like no power, no water, and conditions hotter than hell to add to an
already grim situation.
We moved food from the farm to my recently deceased
grandmother's home 20 miles away because it had power. We would clean the main
floor of the house which just had the estate sale the prior weekend - no
furniture, but crud left from 60 years of living. There would be air mattresses
for sleeping and showers/toilets for all of us without power. We told the kids
(now adults) that this would be just like camping.
When I called a friend during the peak of the storm on
Friday night, she suggested, with some humor, that I tell the angels to help
move Dad on to the other side. With Dad's death, I felt like a vacuum had
formed and all kinds of chaos would be ensuing.
What would happen now that Dad was gone? If the storm was
any indication, what next?
The day the EMT's were at the farm, one of them asked why a
step ladder was on the front porch roof. My mom used it to sweep snow off
during those big storms in 2010. She'd
been harassing Dad to remove it. The derecho blew the ladder down for her.
But the big surprise was the large bank barn. Dad's barn has
been trying to fall down for the past 20 years. Family members often gnashed
their teeth about the danger the barn posed. He would ignore them. I remember
praying for a lightning strike to finish it off, probably five years ago,
thinking this might minimize the risk of someone getting hurt. The main barn
wall facing the house still stood at Dad's death. The storm finally finished it
off.
As a nephew said after Dad's death but before the storm,
"now maybe the barn can fall since he is no longer here to keep it
up." Who knew it would be down the next day?
During the initial days after Dad's death, I reflected on
the ancient wisdom of "out of chaos comes order" or the cycle of life
model where there is birth, death and resurrection leading to new growth. I had
the feeling that we were still in the midst of the death part.
With only more chaos to come, my attitude evolved into let
the hilarity/fun begin which made curiosity and flexibility a core aspect to
coping over the next few weeks. I probably also looked a little disrespectful
and just plain weird to others. I just hope I was able to keep most of it to
myself.
As someone who has worked in the field of pastoral care and
geriatrics, I've seen all kinds of ways people approach grief. But so far, the
map called Normal doesn't seem to be
working for me. I'm told that map isn't particularly useful to others, either.
