I never talked much about my divorce. Not to friends or family or even my three daughters from that marriage. There was so much of what followed that I did not understand myself. If someone doesn't understand a thing themselves, then they cannot explain it to others.
The marriage was clearly over. I think we both knew that. I was actually the one who eventually left, taking the children with me. After many false starts and stops, I got an apartment for us, and he actually helped me move out of the place we had shared. He was clearly relieved. I think being married and being a father was never a good match for him.
The real mystery is not in the divorce. The thing that cannot be explained is why it is that after that, he chose to completely abandon his entire family. Take me out of that equation. He had a mother who had been so good to him and loved him. He had a brother. He had three children. Nieces and nephews. But he left without explanation. He did not even come back for his mother's funeral.
After the divorce, on Christmas day in 1979, I took the three girls to Grandma's house, because their father was going to be there and of course, they wanted to see him. I have checked with them, and they have little memories of that. Only the oldest has some memory, which was not positive. He did not really interact with any of us. At any rate, that was the last time that we saw him.
Then came the phone call all the many many years later, out of the blue, that he had died.
We had all speculated about where he had been, what he had been doing. His brother Robert may have had some insight into that. But our speculation turned out to be spot on.
I thought maybe he could have re-married, worked, had more children. When he "retired" from the Army he was only 43 years old! There was no evidence of any of that.
But the trail of paperwork in his car confirmed our suspicions. He had been traveling from military base to military base, staying at guest housing. He would occasionally catch a military flight, and go to Hong Kong, Thailand, Germany, Costa Rica. There was an assortment of coins from various places.
When he was not at a military base, he would stay for six months or so at the equivalent of a Motel 6, only it was called Studio 6. He had a permanent address in San Antonio, so he could register a car, do his income taxes. The permanent address was actually a UPS box, that gave a street address and "Suite 101" as the 'permanent' part of the address. He had been a counter-intelligence agent in the Army, so he knew how to do those things, be invisible, not traceable. Also, he always dealt in cash, with a debit card. He had no credit card.
I didn't know what to say about the children's father. About our divorce. About where he was. And so mostly, I said nothing. After a while, you can just push away all those memories from a time long ago, that has nothing to do with your life now.
His death brought a lot of that back. Opened a floodgate.
For a while, following his death, he re-entered with a vengeance and dominated everything.
Thursday, June 15, 2017
Road Trip-Chapter 3
It was Palm Sunday. I was liturgist at church. I had not wanted to miss that obligation and opportunity at worship. After that, I left immediately for Brenda's house. We all decided that it would be best if she does the driving. She has a new car, and would be less nervous in unfamiliar driving areas than I would be. We were all meeting at Brenda's house to go together on this road trip to Virginia to view the body of their father, about whom they remembered little, and knew even less.
So I am driving to Brenda's house, down a very familiar highway driven hundreds of times. I suddenly realize that ahead of me on the road is an Army convoy. I am slowed down by their presence in front of me. I see some irony in the Army presence, as I am on my way to see an Army veteran. I haven't seen an Army convoy in 25+ years on this road. There are no military installations anywhere around.
It strikes me that this is symbolically some kind of a military escort. Strange. Very strange! It must mean something, since it is happening in this context. I take it as some kind of a blessing, a salute perhaps to the veteran who has died.
We all assemble at Brenda's, pack the car and hit the road. Naturally, a big topic of conversation centers around what to do next. We have been told by Cathy that a military burial at Arlington Cemetery is a possibility. I think one of us had looked that up on line and learned that an Arlington Burial requires a copy of a certain military form, testifying to an honorable discharge. At that point, we had no idea exactly how or where to get that form.
We also discussed the option of having a Memorial Service in the cemetery where his parents are buried, in the town where he grew up, Newark Valley, New York. If we do that, there will at least be some family members there. Robert, his brother, would want to come, and his children, perhaps. We go back and forth on those two options for quite a while. In the end, making another trip back to D.C. for a military burial seems challenging, since we are on the way to spend several days there trying to figure out what to do, and personal time for the three who work. Besides, it is not as if he died in action. He had been retired for 38 years. We begin to lean toward the Newark Valley option. I have planned ahead and have the address and phone number of the Newark Valley funeral home, in case we need it.
What an unusual trip! Having a mother and three grown daughters all going on a trip together seemed a once-in-a lifetime event to me. On the journey there, we had lots of laughter and good times together.
We discussed the things we had learned from Courtney at the Rehab Center. He was there because he was struggling with COPD, and was weak and not able to walk , apparently. We also knew that they had his wallet and bonds. His wallet had a considerable amount of cash in it, and the three bonds were worth a considerable amount of money. We began to wonder what we might find in the car. The car was one of the big unknowns.
For one thing, it had been sitting there for a long time, and probably would not start. (And so we took jumper cables with us).
It might have 200,000 miles on it, and not safe to drive back to New York. We might have to make arrangements to junk it.
There might be other belongings of his in the car.
All in all, we did not really know what to expect anywhere along the line. Not at the viewing, not at the Rehab Center, not at Ft. Belvoir.
But at some deep emotional level, it felt like taking care of him in his death, somehow made up for the fact that he did not take care of us in his life. There was some strange kind of reverse redemption in that.
Although he had disappeared, and clearly had not wanted to be found, it seemed the right thing that we would appear and do what needed to be done.
So I am driving to Brenda's house, down a very familiar highway driven hundreds of times. I suddenly realize that ahead of me on the road is an Army convoy. I am slowed down by their presence in front of me. I see some irony in the Army presence, as I am on my way to see an Army veteran. I haven't seen an Army convoy in 25+ years on this road. There are no military installations anywhere around.
It strikes me that this is symbolically some kind of a military escort. Strange. Very strange! It must mean something, since it is happening in this context. I take it as some kind of a blessing, a salute perhaps to the veteran who has died.
We all assemble at Brenda's, pack the car and hit the road. Naturally, a big topic of conversation centers around what to do next. We have been told by Cathy that a military burial at Arlington Cemetery is a possibility. I think one of us had looked that up on line and learned that an Arlington Burial requires a copy of a certain military form, testifying to an honorable discharge. At that point, we had no idea exactly how or where to get that form.
We also discussed the option of having a Memorial Service in the cemetery where his parents are buried, in the town where he grew up, Newark Valley, New York. If we do that, there will at least be some family members there. Robert, his brother, would want to come, and his children, perhaps. We go back and forth on those two options for quite a while. In the end, making another trip back to D.C. for a military burial seems challenging, since we are on the way to spend several days there trying to figure out what to do, and personal time for the three who work. Besides, it is not as if he died in action. He had been retired for 38 years. We begin to lean toward the Newark Valley option. I have planned ahead and have the address and phone number of the Newark Valley funeral home, in case we need it.
What an unusual trip! Having a mother and three grown daughters all going on a trip together seemed a once-in-a lifetime event to me. On the journey there, we had lots of laughter and good times together.
We discussed the things we had learned from Courtney at the Rehab Center. He was there because he was struggling with COPD, and was weak and not able to walk , apparently. We also knew that they had his wallet and bonds. His wallet had a considerable amount of cash in it, and the three bonds were worth a considerable amount of money. We began to wonder what we might find in the car. The car was one of the big unknowns.
For one thing, it had been sitting there for a long time, and probably would not start. (And so we took jumper cables with us).
It might have 200,000 miles on it, and not safe to drive back to New York. We might have to make arrangements to junk it.
There might be other belongings of his in the car.
All in all, we did not really know what to expect anywhere along the line. Not at the viewing, not at the Rehab Center, not at Ft. Belvoir.
But at some deep emotional level, it felt like taking care of him in his death, somehow made up for the fact that he did not take care of us in his life. There was some strange kind of reverse redemption in that.
Although he had disappeared, and clearly had not wanted to be found, it seemed the right thing that we would appear and do what needed to be done.
Wednesday, June 14, 2017
Two Angels-Chapter 2
There were two women in Virginia who were helpful, kind, amazing angels who helped us in various ways. One was Courtney who interacted with Ron at the Rehab Center where he spent his last three months. She interacted with him there frequently, along with many other people.
The other was Cathy who only interacted with his body at the hospital. Apparently Ron passed away in the ambulance between the Rehab Center and the hospital. Both Courtney and Cathy worked very hard for a long time to find a next of kin.
Courtney saw him regularly, and kept asking whether or not he had any family. He said he had no one. At one point, he did confess that long ago he had been married and had daughters, but that had nothing to do with his life now. So Courtney knew there had to be someone out there somewhere.
Cathy interacted with his body regularly, and was particularly interested in what happened to him because of her connection to the military. He was a veteran. She was an 'army brat'. Her father was a veteran, and various other family members. She did not want to see him end up with a 'pauper's burial', whatever that would involve.
So between them, and officials at Fairfax County, including a lawyer at one point, they searched. We were not as hard to find as he had been for us. Eventually they ran upon Michelle's name, who had repeatedly looked for him via the internet. Somehow they managed to find her current married name, and called her. And she had them call me, because she knew they would want my help. Thus began the flurry of phone calls among the sisters, me, Ron's brother, Cathy, and Courtney. Courtney later said that Michelle had "left the train of breadcrumbs' that allowed them to find us.
His body had already been in cold storage for almost three weeks. Cathy wanted to know if the daughters would like to view the body. I could not imagine that. Priscilla didn't seem to have a clear answer to that. Michelle immediately said yes, and then Priscilla realized that since she had not been able to see him most of her life, she at least wanted to see what he looked like in the end. So we determined that we would make the trip to Virginia to view the body.
All of this happened on a Saturday afternoon. I told Priscilla that we could leave on Sunday after church, and go to Virginia, do the things that had to be done on Monday, and drive back home on Tuesday. In the end, once that decision was made, my oldest daughter Brenda also decided that she would make the trip with us as well.
I made arrangements for cremation, for the funeral home to pick up the body, for them to have it ready for us to view on Monday morning. I made the arrangements for us to stay in a Holiday Inn Express not too far from the places we had to go----the Cremation Services Center, the Rehab Center and Fort Belvoir, where his car had been parked for a long time. I made all those arrangements.
Courtney had told us about the car. We imagined that it would be an old clunker, and we would have to find a way to get rid of it. I had researched some salvage places in case we needed to have it towed away. We contacted the Guest Housing quarters where he had been staying, and told them we were coming.
Cathy and Courtney both were a big part of this story. When I think of them, I am reminded that there are more good and kind people in the world than there are bad and evil ones.
The other was Cathy who only interacted with his body at the hospital. Apparently Ron passed away in the ambulance between the Rehab Center and the hospital. Both Courtney and Cathy worked very hard for a long time to find a next of kin.
Courtney saw him regularly, and kept asking whether or not he had any family. He said he had no one. At one point, he did confess that long ago he had been married and had daughters, but that had nothing to do with his life now. So Courtney knew there had to be someone out there somewhere.
Cathy interacted with his body regularly, and was particularly interested in what happened to him because of her connection to the military. He was a veteran. She was an 'army brat'. Her father was a veteran, and various other family members. She did not want to see him end up with a 'pauper's burial', whatever that would involve.
So between them, and officials at Fairfax County, including a lawyer at one point, they searched. We were not as hard to find as he had been for us. Eventually they ran upon Michelle's name, who had repeatedly looked for him via the internet. Somehow they managed to find her current married name, and called her. And she had them call me, because she knew they would want my help. Thus began the flurry of phone calls among the sisters, me, Ron's brother, Cathy, and Courtney. Courtney later said that Michelle had "left the train of breadcrumbs' that allowed them to find us.
His body had already been in cold storage for almost three weeks. Cathy wanted to know if the daughters would like to view the body. I could not imagine that. Priscilla didn't seem to have a clear answer to that. Michelle immediately said yes, and then Priscilla realized that since she had not been able to see him most of her life, she at least wanted to see what he looked like in the end. So we determined that we would make the trip to Virginia to view the body.
All of this happened on a Saturday afternoon. I told Priscilla that we could leave on Sunday after church, and go to Virginia, do the things that had to be done on Monday, and drive back home on Tuesday. In the end, once that decision was made, my oldest daughter Brenda also decided that she would make the trip with us as well.
I made arrangements for cremation, for the funeral home to pick up the body, for them to have it ready for us to view on Monday morning. I made the arrangements for us to stay in a Holiday Inn Express not too far from the places we had to go----the Cremation Services Center, the Rehab Center and Fort Belvoir, where his car had been parked for a long time. I made all those arrangements.
Courtney had told us about the car. We imagined that it would be an old clunker, and we would have to find a way to get rid of it. I had researched some salvage places in case we needed to have it towed away. We contacted the Guest Housing quarters where he had been staying, and told them we were coming.
Cathy and Courtney both were a big part of this story. When I think of them, I am reminded that there are more good and kind people in the world than there are bad and evil ones.
Tuesday, June 13, 2017
A New Direction-Chapter 1
I need a distraction. I need a new direction. I notice that it has been six months since I last wrote a blog here. So much has happened in that time. Not the least of which is a new president, about whom I am not pleased, but about whom I read too much, see too much, listen too much. Too much of my time and mental energy is used up in that dark world. I want to be free of that.
I need a diversion from the world of politics. Maybe writing would help. I haven' t been doing much writing for quite a while. I have given up any further writing ambitions, and also, I gave up writing my blog.
Let writing do its work and distract.
+++++
Maybe I will start a story here. A true story, one that happened recently. I can remember the exact date. It was April 8th. It was a Saturday, and I had gone out running errands around town, not far from home. Of course, it is actually a story that began all the way back to 1967.
When I returned home, there was my daughter Priscilla. Gerry's arm was around her, and she was crying. When I came into the room, she blurted, "I just found out my father has died."
I was married to Priscilla's father from 1969 to 1979. We had three daughters. Then there was a divorce. Neither I nor any of the daughters have seen or heard from him since 1979. Suddenly learning of his death 38 years later was quite a shock.
A flurry of phone calls ensued. They went the rounds from Priscilla to Brenda, from Michelle to me, from people in Virginia where he died, to his brother Robert, to Michelle, to me, to the rehab center in Virginia, and so forth. There were apparently phone calls from a lawyer in there some where.
Ron was his name. Now we know that he died in Virginia. All of us were resigned to the fact that we would never know what happened to him. He was not find-able---meaning everyone had "searched" the internet for years, sometimes even paying one of those People Search Places. There was just nothing there. Perhaps he did not live in the United States any more. Perhaps he had died years ago.
And yet, suddenly, in his death, he re-enters our lives.
I need a diversion from the world of politics. Maybe writing would help. I haven' t been doing much writing for quite a while. I have given up any further writing ambitions, and also, I gave up writing my blog.
Let writing do its work and distract.
+++++
Maybe I will start a story here. A true story, one that happened recently. I can remember the exact date. It was April 8th. It was a Saturday, and I had gone out running errands around town, not far from home. Of course, it is actually a story that began all the way back to 1967.
When I returned home, there was my daughter Priscilla. Gerry's arm was around her, and she was crying. When I came into the room, she blurted, "I just found out my father has died."
I was married to Priscilla's father from 1969 to 1979. We had three daughters. Then there was a divorce. Neither I nor any of the daughters have seen or heard from him since 1979. Suddenly learning of his death 38 years later was quite a shock.
A flurry of phone calls ensued. They went the rounds from Priscilla to Brenda, from Michelle to me, from people in Virginia where he died, to his brother Robert, to Michelle, to me, to the rehab center in Virginia, and so forth. There were apparently phone calls from a lawyer in there some where.
Ron was his name. Now we know that he died in Virginia. All of us were resigned to the fact that we would never know what happened to him. He was not find-able---meaning everyone had "searched" the internet for years, sometimes even paying one of those People Search Places. There was just nothing there. Perhaps he did not live in the United States any more. Perhaps he had died years ago.
And yet, suddenly, in his death, he re-enters our lives.
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