Trails End --

I started writing this story in 2008.  My plan was to keep everybody updated on what was going on with Marty.  Many of her friends, our friends, were not aware of what was happening so I thought I would keep everyone informed.

Like so many things the blog evolved and became my guide and a way for me to get my own head around what was happening in our life, what was happening to us.

I wanted a record of our journey for me, for our kids and for our grand-kids.  It sort of kept me sane as I was able to process the joys and heartbreak of caring for my bride after the strokes.  Writing became a catharsis and a way for me to understand myself as Marty and I walked this rather bizarre trail.

The lessons I have learned doing this are endless and all of the things Marty taught me, some without me even knowing it (sneaky woman), are an ingrained part of my soul and I will always carry those lessons with me and I hope they have made me a better human being

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As I let this blog thing (though I prefer journal, it somehow sounds more sophisticated and God knows I’m at the apex of sophistication) die a natural death there are a couple of very basic learnings I want to leave with you. 

 

We all need to get our head around the idea that we will all of us will ultimately be care givers or care receivers in this life.  It is inevitable.  Society has developed so many ways to keep people alive that it is a near certainty we will all somehow experience the pain and joy of taking care of or being taken care of, it’s simply truth.  

Please know, you can and will do it.  It’s not heroic, it’s not amazing, it’s not selfless, it’s inevitable.  Humans have a remarkable way of evolving and adapting, history exists because humans adapted.  You can do it when the time comes, you will figure it out when the time comes, you will make the changes when the time comes and, trust me on this, you will find overwhelming anxiety and pain, and you will find amazing joy and grace.  It is just part of life and baby, somewhere in your inner self, you will find a way to make it work.  That’s what humans do.

I have always loved my bride.  There were times, before and after the strokes, I didn’t like her very much, but in my head and in my heart, I knew, I always loved Marty.  She really was one of my most interesting people, she really was one of the smartest people I knew.  She was, to quote our daughter, fierce.  

She was passionate, she was spontaneous, she had a fiery temper, and she loved like no other.  She respected neither rules nor boundaries, well maybe she sometimes respected them, mostly she simply disregarded them.  She would get in your business and be running it within 30 minutes of knowing you and the disturbing thing  was often she knew better than you how to run things.

She was one of kind, just like we all are, blessed with the grace of a loving God, we are all but children of a God who, regardless of what we do or where we go or what we believe, God’s grace will always embrace us.  That is what my friend Bob Moon taught me a long time ago in a very different life.

 

So, (so is kind a lazy way to start a sentence, oh well.) So, I found myself sitting on the next to the top step of our deck overlooking Richland Chambers Reservoir.  I sat there so I could lean my old back up against a step and really relax.  It was about 6:30 p.m. and the sun was bright and leaking through the oak trees, I could feel the warmth on the left side of my face. 

 

It wasn’t too hot as there was a light breeze gently coming off the lake with just a small tinge of cool. The lake was flat, it was quiet except for the airplane 30,000 feet above going to Houston.  I watched Sharon walking around the yard (Sharon is a dog by the way).  She eventually got tired of sniffing and made her over to sit beside me.  I closed my eyes, felt the Texas sun and the gentle breeze and listened to the quiet as I reached my hand and rested it on Sharon. 

If you need me, I think that’s where I’ll be.

Lubbock -- A Meeting Place

There aren’t a whole lot of cars on the road through north Texas to Lubbock and not many curves, or hills, or anything else.  It’s an easy drive and really beautiful in its own way  We drove through the late afternoon listening to BW Stevenson singing, “Please Come to Boston” and “My Maria”, it was fantastic and Marty would have been harmonizing with us making us sound better than we did.

We pulled into Lubbock in the late afternoon.  The population is larger, but it still has the same small-town feel.  You can find your way around Lubbock easily, it’s all about sequential numbers and the alphabet and it’s square and flat.  It doesn’t fit just anyone.  Marty and I fit perfectly there.

I met Marty at a mutual friend’s birthday party in 1973.  A long time ago, literally a lifetime ago.  It feels good out there, it feels good in my soul.

We stayed with Skip’s brother Mike and his wife Pat.  Mike is a little older and he was part of that high school class that always seemed a bit intimidating.  Not anymore, both Mike and Pat are artists and part of a burgeoning art scene in Lubbock (yes, it’s true) and are consummate hosts.

Skip and I got up early on Saturday to go watch Texas Tech play Oklahoma State in football.  It gave us a chance to wander the huge Tech campus.  It was a cool panhandle morning as we made our way past familiar and unfamiliar buildings dotted with new and amazing sculptures.  The weather was perfect, and Skip and I meandered through the unfamiliar and familiar.

TTU has done an excellent job with incorporating art into the campus and sculptures and fountains dot the west Texas campus.  Marty would have loved the steel and stone figures sitting quietly in front of various buildings.  

The sun was bright at Jones stadium as were the Red Raiders as they beat OSU in a great game.  Marty, Skip and his ex-wife Sharon went to every game for a couple of years and Skip and I always had a great time.  I think the women Marty and Sharon silently humored us, maybe it wasn’t that silent.

After the game we headed out to Buffalo Springs Lake just east of Lubbock.  It’s not big lake but it is a beautiful lake in a small panhandle canyon.  Jerry, Marty’s brother, had a good friend whose relatives lived at Buffalo Springs back in the day and we would go out there and party.  At one-point Jerry bought a small sailboat and we would sail around the lake like real sailors (not).

We spent the evening talking, remembering hometowns, families and good and bad times.  Lubbock has always been a special place for me.  I went to college there, met some amazing people, met my wife, had a first shitty job, bought our first house (for 15k), got a dog, and lost that shitty job which led us to Paris.  

We got up early the next morning and hit the road for Pendaries New Mexico.

Muenster -- "I love to go, I hate to leave."

We got to Muenster about mid-morning.  Muenster is a small town, about 1400 people, that has a solid German Catholic heritage.  It’s right on highway 82 15 miles west of Gainesville and was one of our very favorite stops on our journey.

We lived in Muenster from 1980 to 1983.  We found it to be a warm, tight knit, self-reliant community.  There were two small grocery stores, a couple of restaurants, two or three beer distributors and two churches, Sacred Heart Catholic and First (and only) Baptist Church.

Marty did her Speech Pathology thing in a small school district in a small Oklahoma town I can’t remember.  I did customer service for Texas Power and Light and Erin was born at Muenster Memorial Hospital.  We were good friends with a couple of the nurses in the delivery room and Marty sang in the Cooke County Chorale with the doctor who delivered Erin.  It’s that kind of town.

Matt being a blonde haired and blue-eyed kid fit right in and attended a Montessori pre-school there.  We were great friends with the owner and operator of the local newspaper, the Muenster Enterprise and it was painful to leave.  While we were there we immersed ourselves in the community and the civic organizations associated with the town and made fast good friendships.  Marty did not want to move when we did and she told me, “I love going to a new place, I hate leaving the old place.”

Every year in Muenster they hosted the German fest in April or May.  Some 80000 people would come and polka, eat sausage and drink beer.  It was a huge party and Marty and I waltzed and two-stepped with the best of them.

I also remember sitting in the majestic sanctuary of Sacred Heart with it’s high ceilings and huge gray beams rising to the ceiling.  It was Christmas season and I watched and listened to the chorus Marty was in sing the “Hallelujah Chorus”.  I didn’t know you were supposed to stand during the Hallelujah part of the chorus.  Some old lady explained it to me succinctly and I’ve been standing ever sense.

When we got to town that morning Skip and I drove to the park and let some of Marty’s ashes drift to the ground amidst some tall old oaks close to the creek that runs through the park.  I didn’t say anything, I let the memories of this place that was such an integral part of ours, wash over me.  It was just about perfect.  

After the park I drove us through the little town.  We drove past our old house.  It was the first new house we ever had, and we put in the yard and hung drapes.  It was here we decided if we wanted to stay married we should again hang drapes together.  Marriage lessons learned.

We drove past Rohmer’s Restaurant, Fischer’s Market and the little motel I stayed in for six weeks while we waited on our move from Paris.  I stayed in the same room that whole time and finally brought my own light bulbs, no one can read off 20-watt bulbs.

Skip and I stopped at small bakery that used to sell the best Apple Strudel.  We got a cherry strudel, stopped at the Muenster Enterprise, now on it’s 3^rd or 4^th owner since we left, got a copy of the paper and headed to Lubbock.

I met Marty in Lubbock.