Some Cowboys Have Mommy Issues, Too

Okay, I think I’ve had enough time to tackle this topic.

My relationship with my mother has long been… complicated.

You see, my mother was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia when I was 4 years old. This was during the 1960’s, when the societal response to mental illness was institutionalization, large doses of tranquilizers and electro-shock therapy.

My father spirited my brother away to his uncle’s farm during my mother’s first “breakdown.” They divorced shortly after that, when I was 5 years old and my brother was 4. Being the 60’s, mothers almost always got custody of the children and we were no different.

My mother had several more schizophrenic “breaks” throughout my childhood. She had very active and vivid delusions. I remember being 6 or 7 and listening to her call my grandmother and telling her to come pick up these kids (my brother and I) because someone had taken her children in the middle of the night and left these evil replacements. Not long after, I remember visiting her at the local asylum (Fallsview) and seeing her point at us and scream, “those aren’t my kids!”

Despite this, I remained close to my mother for as much of my childhood as she controlled between “breakdowns.” After all, she was my only parent – my father choosing to start a new family and abandon the first one.

Every few years, my mother would have another breakdown and Tom and I would either be trundled off to stay with my grandparents or, if the delusions weren’t too bad, we’d tough it out at home and wait for Mom’s meds to stabilize her condition. It wasn't a horrific childhood, but it was an unusual one. We were very poor – even when my father paid his child support, there wasn’t much money and when he didn’t, we had to rely on public assistance. We grew up in a housing project, but our maternal grandparents made sure we didn’t lack any of the necessities.

Then, when I was 16, my mother was working at Goodwill Industries and met another former mental patient named Harold. He convinced her that she didn’t need all those drugs – she just needed the love of a “good” man. They got married. All hell broke loose for Tom and me.

To make a long story short, Tom went to live with my grandparents and I struck out on my own. I lived with friends for a while and had a small place of my own when I was a senior in high school. For the first time in my life, I was free – really free.

More tomorrow…

Departing Elysium

It’s all over.

Yesterday, we had the calling hour and then the service, followed by a few brief words at the cemetery. People from work came to calling hours and then left. My friend and former roommate Tim came and stayed for almost the entire hour. My friend Missie came. Both of my Bacchanalia brothers, Rick and Lisandro came. One of my co-workers came and stayed for the service.

My father was in attendance, although he said very little to me. My brother’s ex-wife was there, as sweet and loving as ever (well, to me, anyway.) His current wife, Sheri was also there and everyone got along. I think I even saw Laura hug Sheri, but that might have been a grief-induced hallucination. All three of my nephews were there. My Aunt Betty, who isn’t really my aunt, but I’ve called her that my entire life, also came. Aunt Betty is love personified. It was terrific seeing her again

Flowers seem integral to the funeral experience. The flowers from my company were very, very nice – a faux birdhouse with two little stuffed birds and flowers spilling out of the roof. Tim sent a planter/basket with flowers. The kennel where Jake goes for day care sent a planter. My friend Lisa sent a fantastic bouquet to my home. Today, I got an arrangement made to look like a giant margarita from Lori, Charm and Jennine. And, of course, there were flowers from other people. The flower spray on top of Mom’s white casket was beautiful – it included peach-colored roses at my brother’s request.

The sermon Mike Freeman delivered was short and sympathetic and not too terribly religious. He said a few more words at the cemetery and told me her was available to talk or have coffee if I wanted. Nice guy.

After the cemetery, Tom, Sheri, her parents, the nephews and I ate at the Cathedral Buffet. The Buffet used to below to evangelist Rex Humbard, part of his Cathedral of Tomorrow complex. My grandparents used to take my Mom, Tom and I out to eat there for virtually every holiday. The entire ministry was sold to Ernest Angeley many years ago, but it seemed like a fitting place to remember Mom and Grandma.

After that, we changed clothes, went to my Mom’s apartment and took all her clothes and a few of her belongings to Salvation Army. Tom seemed very insistent that we take care of cleaning out her apartment as soon as possible, despite the fact that we have until the end of the month before utilities are shut off and the rent runs out.

As a result, we were back there again today, moving all her furniture to my oldest nephew’s first apartment or my brother’s house. I took a few mementos, mostly photos or old keepsakes the evoked memories of my grandmother. When I left, the apartment was empty but for a recliner my brother was coming back to get.

And so my mother is in the ground. Except for memories and scraps of paper, her entire existence is all but wiped away. Part of me is too numb to know how to feel about that. And part of my feels guilty. Guilty because a tiny part of me feels relieved. More on that later, after I’ve had some time to process…

Preparing for Charon's Ferry

According to the autopsy, my Mom died of a massive heart attack. Apparently, she had blockage in two major arteries and never knew it. Hopefully, this means she died quickly and with little pain. We'll never know.

(The Buffy episode "The Body" keeps running through my head.)

Yesterday, my brother and I went to the funeral home to "make decisions" about our mother's funeral arrangements. We were both under the impression that Mom had already made her own selections, but in fact all she did was designate which funeral home would handle her arrangements, a sort of funeral "letter of intent." She chose the same place that my Grandma used a few years back.

My brother, his oldest son Josh, Josh's friend, Tim and I met with the Funeral Director aka the undertaker. The undertaker (though the title hardly seems appropriate for the man) was a 30-ish guy named Russ, the last family member still in his family's business. He wore a polo shirt and dockers and seemed to genuinely emphathize with our loss. The cynic in me wants to say that makes him good at his job. The grieving son in me was thankful for his easy smile and flexibility.

My Mom was somewhat under-insured, so as much as it pained us to think of it that way, some of our decisions came down to dollars and cents. Tom, my brother's name is Tom -- isn't that too 60's cute, Timmy and Tommy -- and I agreed on many of the decisions. I wrote a preliminary obituary without knowing any of the real details. It was simple, befitting my Mom's fairly simple life. We tried to embellish it, but it still came down essentially what I wrote.

I originally thought we would do a small, closed casket memorial service at the cemetery, followed by internment. I based this on two factors: my belief that creating a huge spectacle was not in keeping with my Mom's life -- she had few friends, was not active in a church or any social organizations or clubs. Also, I personally hate funerals. I never know what to say after "sorry for your loss," or "let me know if there's anything I can do."

Tom, on the other hand, wanted calling hours and a memorial service at the funeral home with a minister so that his friends and co-workers could pay their respects. Whatever. I managed to talk him into doing just one hour of calling prior to the service, immediately followed by a trip to Mount Peace. Tom wanted a specific minister, a guy who grew up a few doors down from my grandparents. He spent the better part of an hour tracking the guy down to ask him if he would officiate at the memorial.

Then came the fun part: selecting the guest registry and memorial cards, followed by choosing a casket and vault. The latter two were influenced primarily by finances. With only $5K to work with, we went pretty simple.

At one point, my brother asked if we could include in Mom's obit a request that in lieu of flowers, people contribute to a fund to help with any lingering financial obligations she might leave. I was aghast. If he wanted to have people donate to the American Diabetes Association or the American Cancer Society, that would be fine. I wouldn't have any part in asking people for money. He immediately followed this by asking if we could get one last look at Mom before the service. Two hours earlier, we had agreed that she would not be embalmed and that the service be closed casket. After looking at Tom like an oak tree sprang full grown from his forehead, Russ and I got him to relent.

Of course, when it came to signing paperwork, I got to be the oldest son. After completing that chore, we had to go to the cemetery to sign some more papers. There, a terse woman with a know-it-all attitude told us (i.e., me) to sign on the highlighted lines and hand over a check for $750 for "opening the grave." Russ had warned us that might happen, so we told the woman all of that was being handled by the funeral home. Egad.

After signing some more papers that will probably come back to haunt me, Tom, Josh and I went to see where the grave would be and pay our respects to Grandma. Mom will be buried close to, but not beside, her mother.

We left Mount Peace, went to Rockne's for a late lunch, and then went to my Mom's apartment to start the process of cleaning it out and parceling out her belongings. I stripped her deathbed, bloody pillow and all. Then, I spent most of the next two hours going through old photos so that we could put together a photo collage to display with her closed casket.

Today, Tom and I are going back to her apartment to clear out some more. Tomorrow is the funeral. So many feelings; so few words.

RIP Joyce Ruth Shannon

My Mom died today.

Or to put it more accurately, my Mom was found dead today. She had been dead a couple of days, probably since Sunday.

My brother found her when he went to pick her up for grocery shopping. He called me at work at 4:05 pm.

It's all too new, too raw, too unreal.

I watched the paramedics take her covered body out of her tiny apartment on a gurney and it felt like a scene from someone else's life.

Damn.

Bacchanalia 2005 Report

So, the supposed last Bacchanalia is over. Damn, I had fun! I mean, I always have fun at Bacch, but this year was even more fun than usual.

Bacchanalia is this music and beer festival held every year at Beck's Family Campground and organized by College of Wooster's Crandall House. It's been going strong for 38 years and Crandall alumni come from all over the country for it. At one time it was on Playboy's "Ten Best College Parties" list.

Basically, you buy a ticket ($20 in recent years) which gets you a camping space of your own choosing and all the draft beer you can drink from noon until midnight as well as music acts all day long. The music is wildly eclectic -- from rock to jam bands to reggae.

All day, people socialize, dance, play frisbee, whatever. After midnight, when the bands stop and the beer is shut off, the place is lit with campfires, some people cooking or playing guitars, or sitting around a drum circle. People walk from fire to fire, getting to know one another and chilling out. The whole affair has kind of a hippie "feel" to it, and indeed it apparently has a historical connection to the Deadheads.

I've attended the last five Bacchanalias and had a fantastic time at every one. This year's event almost didn't happen for various reasons, but some alumni got together and pulled it off at the last minute. Because of this, attendance was low -- but the people who did come were the best quality.

I drank. I socialized. I drank some more. I engaged in philosophical debate. I drank some more. I listened to music. I didn't dance for the first time ever, but I did drink some more. After dark, it is entirely possible that I was one of the streakers that ran the circuit of the campground. I will neither admit nor deny. Those were some brave, liberated guys, though.

Now it's over and there may not be another. That would be truly sad. As soon as this hangover wears off, I may see if I can join the organizers in trying to keep Bacchanalia alive. That is, if the hangover wears off before next year.

Damn. I may be getting too old for this stuff...

Things to Do (My List)

Sidebar before I continue: today, I read author Anne Rice's NY Times priece on the disaster in New Orleans. It's excellent -- read it!

Hurricane Katrina's destruction of New Orleans made me realize it will be a while before I can check off one of the items on my "Things to do before I die" list. I made this list years ago, in my early 20's and while I have added a few here and there over the years, I've never removed any and checked off a few. My list has existed in many formats over the years -- from handwritten to typed to many iterations on various software programs. (I can't remember if this was on a Magnavox VideoWriter diskette, but it definitely spent time as a Symphony spreadsheet file.)

Don't have a list of your own, dear reader? Get to work! How else will you keep track?

Things to Do Before I Die:

1. Go skydiving (status: closed -- not once, but twice in 1991)
2. Tour Ireland (status: open)
3. Climb an Aztec pryamid in Mexico (status: closed - 1992, Pyramid of the Sun)
4. See the Great Pyramid in Egypt (status: open)
5. Attend Mardis Gras in New Orleans (status: open)
6. Attend Carnival in Rio (status: open)
7. Spend New Year's Eve in Times Square, New York City (status: open)
8. See an actual rain forest (status: closed - Puerto Rico, 1994)
9. See an actual jungle (status: closed - Malaysia, 1993)
10. See the everglades (status: open)
11. See the Sydney Opera House, Australia (status: closed - 1995)
12. Vacation in New Zealand (status: closed - 1995)
13. Buy or Rent an RV and drive across the U.S./see Mount Rushmore (status: open)
14. Take the train to Seattle (status: closed - 2005)
15. Take the bullet train in Japan (status: closed - 1996)
16. Climb the Statue of Liberty (status: open)
17. Ride through the Arch in St. Louis (status: closed - 1998)
18. Attend a bear event in a major city (status: partially closed - BP in Chicago & IBR in San Francisco, among others; always willing to see more)
19. Retrace the route "Priscilla" took through the outback (status: open)
20. Tour Rome and Greece (status: open)
21. See the Arizona grandmother knew (status: open)
22. Take a whale-watching cruise to Alaska (status: open)
23. Publish a best-seller (status: open)
24. Fall in love and live happily ever after (status: so open)