I Pray that I'm Wrong

 This morning, it was announced that Joe Biden, former Vice President of the United States, was officially declared to be the new president elect over incumbent President Donald J Trump. In spite of how much I hoped and prayed for the opposite election results, I've known in my heart for months, that this would not be the case. Yet, I also knew which side of the debate I was supposed to be on. Some may question how I can say that "I knew." Let me explain.

In the Bible we are taught that all are given spiritual gifts. Some may be blessed with more, but all are promised at least one. I am blessed with the gift of discernment. Through that gift, I have had a strong sense of recognizing truth from lies and right from wrong. I have been blessed with recognizing people who are to be a positive influence in my life and learning to not despair over not fitting into the lives of others who would be less than a positive influence in my life. I have also come to learn that I am blessed with a sense of euphoria or lightness when something I hope for is going to happen and a sense of  sadness or despair when the thing I hope for is not destined to happen. It doesn't keep me from hoping; I'm just better prepared for the disappointment.

I don't like to declare myself to be a member of either political party. I was deeply affected by the horror of the assassination of JFK. I adored Bobby Kennedy in my teen years and fancied myself a Democrat. In college, the thought of communism sounded rather good. What could be better than ALL working together for the common good and the government providing equally for everyone? As I grew older, I began to lean to be more conservative and about 30 years ago, I was fed up enough with politics that I promised myself that if ever a non-lifelong politician EVER ran for president, they would have my vote. I voted for Ross Perot, I voted for Mitt Romney and I voted for Donald Trump, twice, and I don't regret it.

So, does that mean I LIKE Donald Trump? No. I didn't like him in the 80s and 90s when Randy was obsessed with Trump's financial success. Do I like a lot of his rhetoric and his personal insults? No. Had he been my son, he would have been getting his mouth washed out with soap on a regular basis and taught to quote my favorite Disney character, Thumper: "If you can't say something nice, don't say nothin' at all."  Do I like the fact that he seems to have no filters that prevent his thoughts from coming out of his mouth? No. BUT, I'd rather hear some things I don't want to hear than hear the smarmy lies of life-long politicians who say what they know everyone wants to hear, just to get ahead in their personal lives.

But, do I believe that he loves America? Yes. Do I believe that he has fought EVERY DAY of his presidency to help make America a powerful nation once again? Yes.  Do I believe he worked to make life better for ALL Americans. Yes, even though he was blocked from achieving so many things he could/would have done with the support of a congress that was truly working for the American people rather than for their own self-interest or party platform. (That is not a "dis" on the Democrats. There are just as many Republicans who are equally self-serving; which is why there need to be term limits for all politicians. Serve your term, then be ready to move up or move out!)

But, I digress from the topic of this blog post. Why do I pray that I'm wrong? I don't have anything in particular against Joe Biden. He's just another life-long politician who's gotten remarkably wealthy in "public service."  I could tolerate Joe as well as I've tolerated every other president, with very low expectations that they're going to deliver on their campaign promises. My fear comes from all the socialist jargon that has become common-place over the past two years.

Now, don't get your knickers in a twist, if you're reading this and you're a Biden supporter. I don't believe old Joe is a socialist. He is, however, affiliated with the party that spouts all the socialist rhetoric and I can't help but believe that more and more socialist values and thought processes are going to slide into our republic under  his leadership due to the strengthening pressure to adopt "democratic socialism." I fear that my children in the health-care field won't be able to run their businesses as they see fit for the benefit of their patients and their futures. I fear my grandchildren won't recognize the sense of accomplishment after hard work to gain an education in their chosen field. I fear that my grandchildren won't be able to proudly fly an American flag or sing the National Anthem or may feel pressured to hide their belief in God. I fear that my grandchildren won't be motivated to work harder for a paycheck, because a higher paycheck only means higher taxes. I fear that my grandchildren won't be able to have a gun to protect their homes and their families from the criminals who don't follow the rules and manage to obtain all the guns they want illegally. I fear that my grandchildren will have no place of refuge as did their great-great-great grandparents who fled Germany prior to the Nazi regime, when they chose to come to America. I could go on and on...

But, I pray that I'm wrong. I pray that at the worst, Joe Biden will be like all the others and just do nothing and all of my fears will be unfounded. I pray that this is one time that my discernment has failed me and all will be well for my children and grandchildren. I pray that this is not the time that Nikita Khruschev's words come to fruition. 

 (The video is from a talk given by Ezra Taft Benson at BYU, relating Khruschev's visit to the United States in 1959. Benson was the Secretary of Agriculture during the Eisenhower administration and became the president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints from 1985-1994. Don't bother to fact-check. Snopes and Politico both say it's false and that Khruschev never said these things, but I'll take the word of President Benson over Snopes any day!)

Thoughts About "Growing Up"

Carol & George 1973

Today's post is written specifically with "the original five" grandchildren in mind, but will, hopefully, provide food for thought for the rest as well as they approach their later teen years. As I've listened to seniors this year, expressing their disappointment over missing out on their senior year of high school due to our "shelter in place" lockdown from the Covid-19 virus, I've thought a lot about each of you and what your futures hold. Andi and Cari are 17; ready to begin their Senior year in the fall. Ethan turned 16 this week and Dylan and Sarai will join him before the year is out. You're all driving, learning to drive or thinking about learning to drive. You're starting to think about whether or not going on a mission is part of God's plan for you. You're all, hopefully, thinking about your futures as you choose classes in school and begin to think about what's next after graduation. As you should be! It's important to think about what you want to do and where you want to do it. We all need goals.

Grandma, the Nerd
working on Calculus with
Shakespeare text underneath

I never questioned whether or not I would go to college. I never questioned what I wanted to be. From my first day of Kindergarten, I wanted to be a teacher. By the time I was in Junior High, I knew I would be a Math Teacher. I never questioned that goal, until my Senior Year of High School when I learned the State of Illinois was going to abolish the rule that high school students had to take 3 years of high school math. I knew I was the exception in my love for math and I could literally, do the math. Just taking my own high school into consideration and thinking about how many math teachers there were, I realized that there would no longer be a need for as many math teachers and it would be difficult for me to find a teaching job. So, I began looking for another career goal.

National Honor Society
Jr & Sr Years

My ACT scores were all good; especially math, where I got a 35 out of 36 possible points. I outdid the SMARTEST guy in our graduating class! Because of my scores, I was named an Illinois State Scholar and I had colleges and universities recruiting me in state and out with scholarship offers. I chose an alternate career in Occupational Therapy and began focusing on colleges that offered an OT program.

After graduation with high
school friends 1973

I worked hard all through high school. I kept a good grade point average, but I also learned how to have fun. Losing my mom halfway through my Sophomore year, I took on the family finances, the grocery shopping, the cooking, assisting my maiden aunt and babysitting my niece and nephew who lived downstairs. Wanting to honor my mom, I remembered how much she enjoyed going to football and basketball games to watch my brothers play, so I began going to the games. I remembered our school fight song that she taught me to sing, with enthusiasm. I worked on the Homecoming float and the prom committee. While I was still a quiet nerd, I found my own core group of friends, who had interests similar to my own, and I learned to have FUN!!! 

Freshman Year at College
Dorm Fun & Friends 1973

So, why am I telling you all this? Because I worry about kids in high school these days. I see teenagers taking on too much; worrying too much about the world, their futures and life in general. I see too many kids working their bums off in high school to graduate with college credits so they can graduate from college EARLY! Or, I see kids so overwhelmed with it all, they become paralyzed at the thought of what they'll do with their lives and find NO FOCUS for their futures.

If you see yourself in one of these examples, all I can say is STOP!!!! You are young. You have time. Take time to get to know who you are; what your strengths and weaknesses are; what you really ENJOY that will give you a lifetime that you will enjoy and feel rewarded. Each of my children, your parents, approached their post-high school lives by going to college, but that's where the similarities ended: 

• Megan started with a focus in political science and saw it straight through for four years, earned her bachelor's degree worked a few years and then went back to law school and earned her Juris Doctorate while working as a manager at Levi Strauss and raising three kids.
• Sami started out with an intent on college and getting into nursing school, but met the love of her life early on. She left school with an associates degree, a husband, and a hiatus from school to stay home with her kids until the youngest was established in school and then went back to complete her schooling.
• Brooks, the creative one, headed for college with full intent of becoming an Interior Designer. She was headed that direction but hit a roadblock named Josh. She chose to alter her career goals to become life goals and has dedicated hers to supporting a husband, raising five kids and keeping an organized, functional home. She still has the knowledge and skills she learned in school and life, but now uses them to improve her own home and, on occasion, using her skills to help others decorate their homes.
• Brandon & Barton, I'm lumping together, because they started on the same path. Both of them, through high school accomplishments, received scholarships to go to Southern Utah University, majoring in vocal music performance. That worked for them through their Freshman year at college, but when they were coming home from their missions, neither one of them wanted to return to vocal music or southern Utah. They both graduated from BYU-Idaho and then pursued their career goals to become an optometrist and a pediatric dentist. 
• Grandma started college as an OT major, switched to Special Education after my freshman year, switched to Elementary Education after my sophomore year, taught for 2-1/2 years after I graduated, substituted on and off in three different states for sixteen years and finally ended up as a manager for Walmart who taught other managers how to do their jobs! I ended up teaching, but not in a way I EVER would have imagined in high school.

College Graduation with
Zeta Sisters 1977

Some of you will want to go to college; maybe even graduate school. Some of you will be able to meet your career goals through a technical school or apprenticeship.  Some of you may go right into the workforce by finding a job with a company that you like and find your success right there! Some of you will change your life goals 2-3 times and that's okay. Some of you may decide to be a stay-at-home parent while your spouse works outside the home. All of these are acceptable, worthwhile goals, but you do need to have a goal; something to work toward. (I will say, however, that if you want the stay-at-home option, you do need to still have a career goal in mind. There are never guarantees with that option. You may not meet your eternal companion right away. You may be widowed at a young age like your great Aunt Amy. You could, unexpectedly, find yourself divorced like Megan or me. You have to have a plan to support yourself should you find yourself in any one of these circumstances!)

Famous Couples Dance 1976

My real goal with this post, is to discourage all of you from trying to grow up too fast! You may think you need to have so many college credits before you go to college to avoid/reduce student debt. I get it. But, no amount of money is worth your happiness. No matter how mature you may THINK you are, no twenty-year-old is really ready to enter the workforce full of adult responsibility. Kids who attempt that, typically end up moving back home with Mommy and Daddy, unable to face a career or a world on their own. 

Senior Year Christmas Elves

I thought I was the most mature twenty-year-old EVER! I've already told you some of what my responsibilities were after my mother died. I thought I could handle ANYTHING! The thing that I learned through four years of college was that I wasn't ready to handle everything life had in store for me. If anything, those college years helped me to learn how much I still didn't know! My thought processes were challenged. My fraternity helped me develop leadership skills, taught me to become better organized and gave me lifelong friends in a safe environment with advisors who let me make my own decisions, but were available to help me back up from my inevitable stumbles. Your parents view me as a strong woman, but that strength didn't come naturally. It was developed over time, beginning in high school, increasing through college and reaching maturity through the gospel.

Zeta of the Year with
Our Zeta Hero 1976

So, all my little loves. Work hard in school. Not just at your schoolwork, but work hard at figuring out where your interests lie. Work hard to learn about a lot of different jobs/careers. Be open-minded to what jobs match your natural skills and interests. Don't choose a job just because it earns a lot of money. Don't turn away from a career that matches your interests just because it may NOT earn a lot of money. Take the time to learn what is right for you; take the time to have some fun along the way; take the time to create some memories as you go through the times of your life. I love you all! (Sorry it's kind of sappy, but the message is a good one.)

Thoughts on Memorial Day

Memorial Day has been a lot of different things in my life. Many see it as the official beginning of summer. In Jr. High, we were taught that Memorial Day signaled that it was now socially accepted to begin wearing our white shoes and carrying our white purses, rather than the black or brown of the rest of the year! Raised with the fact that Memorial Day originated as a day to honor those who have died in service to their country, it was not a day that I was accustomed to going to family members graves to visit or place flowers. Few are aware that the day was originally called "Decoration Day," as Civil War survivors began to honor those lost in the war by decorating the graves of the fallen. Over the years, the day and manner of honoring those who had lost their lives has changed (read the history of Memorial Day here: 

  https://www.history.com/topics/holidays/memorial-day-history ) 

but it officially became the Federal Holiday that we know today on the fourth Monday in May to give federal employees a three day weekend in 1971.

As I've said, I didn't grow up going to visit family graves on Decoration Day, because none of my family members had served in the military. I was recently discussing this with my cousin, Norm, who was about to enlist in the Air Force when he received his acceptance letter to DeVry Technical Institute. He was able to complete his education rather than being absorbed into the heated conflict in Viet Nam. My brother, Al won big in the draft lottery when they drew his birthday, December 4 as #1 in 1968. He certainly would have been on his way to Viet Nam had his first son, Dan, not been born in June, 1967. Al's classification changed from 1a to 1y.

As Norm and I continued to think about the fact that none of our family had had to fight in any wars, we came to realize that his father, my Uncle Henry, was too young too fight when World War I broke out, and too old to be drafted for World War II. My dad, however, was of a prime age to be drafted into World War II. At 19 years of age when Pearl Harbor was attacked 7 December 1941, he was supposed to enter the service. The day of my parents' wedding, after the ceremony,  Dad had to go with Grandpa Zielke to the draft board office to verify that Dad was needed to help on the family farm as the last son at home. As farmers were needed, he received a deferral and Dad was able to return to  his wedding reception!

I share this information, not to brag that the men in our family managed to "dodge the draft" at every turn, but rather in gratitude; that we have been spared the sorrow of losing any of the young men in our family to the evils of war. My family history is fairly young to America with great grandparents born in Germany, Poland & Prussia, but in doing my family history, I have come to realize that they came to America to flee the wars and oppression of that time. As we've come to realize in recent years, had they not left their homeland when they did, they would have been trapped on the wrong side of the Berlin Wall. With that knowledge, having seen the evidence of those times that still exist, I can't take the freedom we have in America for granted.

I'm blessed. My children and grandchildren are blessed. My parents and grandparents were blessed to not have to been active in any of the wars, then or now. We've had the Memorial Day Picnics. From 1967-1974, every Memorial Day weekend was spent on Lake Siskiwit in Cornucopia, Wisconsin as my dad and Uncle Henry opened our family cabins. Those weekends were spent preparing for fun on the lake, campfires and a summer of fun! We had neighbors on Lake Siskiwit: Walt and Emma Westphall. I knew that they had lost their only son on a submarine in World War II, but it didn't really hit me until the day we went to visit them in their home in Aurora and I was faced with a picture of a handsome, young man in uniform, a pretty young woman and an adorable, smiling baby girl. At that moment, in spite of my youth, it hit me that their dead son was a REAL person and his daughter had never seen her daddy again after he left from that visit, while I took for granted all that my father was and did for me and our family. 

While my Memorial Day holidays have always been celebratory in nature, I have always been mindful of those who were lost in the wars and thankful that none of my family had been a part of any of it. In recent years, two young men who married into our family have served in the Army. My son-in-law, Joshua Gailey, has recently been discharged from service while my niece's husband, Andrew Powell, is still in service. Once again, however, we have been blessed in that neither Josh nor Andrew has had to face active combat, but they were trained and had the Army given the order, both would have gone to do their duty.

I'm grateful for an America that provided freedom for my ancestors, that has enabled generations of Zielke/Staffeldts and Hill/Haags to live and prosper and pray, for all its faults, that the America that I know and love continues to exist through the lives of my children, grandchildren and generations to come. 

Laughter is the Best Remedy

I want to thank all who read my previous blog post for all the kind words of sympathy and compliments on my writing skills. Writing is actually very therapeutic for me and, while I shed many tears as I wrote that blog and Randy's obituary, after I was done writing, I felt much better. And then I was able to laugh.

For those who knew Randy, you know that he was one of the most random people around and if there was ever a chance of something crazy happening, it happened to him. In that spirit, I feel it appropriate to record the events that occurred as Randy reached the end of his mortal existence. I believe he would be laughing and since he enjoyed telling a good story and making people laugh, I dedicate this blog post to him, but write it for anyone I may have brought to tears with the previous post.

To set the stage, let me first explain the housing situation. While I live in the ranch-style house with my ex-father-in-law, when Randy came here to live last year on Christmas Day,  he moved into the 2 room basement apartment. The apartment has a door on it and there is a door at the bottom of the basement stairs from the garage. Both doors have locks on them, but due to Randy's hallucinations and paranoia, he didn't trust the locks to be enough. Whenever he went downstairs, he would put a long pole between the wall and the door to prevent anyone from getting in if they picked the lock. Additionally, neither Pop nor I were aware, but he installed another hotel room style lock on the inside of his apartment door; no one was going to get in to get him without him knowing about it. Additionally, Randy's bedroom/sitting room were right underneath the living room on the main floor, so I was always able to  hear his television, him singing or talking to his dogs.

Monday evening, the 16th, Randy came up to eat dinner with me. He seemed to be okay. A little distracted, but fine. He even helped do the dishes as we talked after. Later that evening, Pop had me text him to see if he wanted popcorn. Randy declined. I told him to sleep well and he responded: "I hope both of you sleep very well!" That was at 7:58 pm. That was the last I heard from him other than a severe coughing fit around midnight due to his bronchitis.

Tuesday morning, it seemed extremely quiet downstairs. I could usually hear the TV from early morning on, if he didn't have to work. He didn't come upstairs to get any breakfast and I didn't see him outside walking his dogs. Not terribly uncommon if he wasn't feeling well. Around 3:30, Pop asked me if I'd seen or heard anything of Randy. I said no and asked him the same. Pop told me that he hadn't even seen Randy come up into the garage for a cigarette; their normal time to visit in a day. Pop said that we'd worry about it after he got back home (about 6:30). In the meantime, I tried texting Randy and then calling him with no answer. I texted Pat to see if he had heard from Randy, but he hadn't either since Monday evening. I began to fear the worst and just knew that he was gone. 

When Pop got back and found out I still hadn't heard anything, he decided that we'd wait 'til the next day and then check on him. I couldn't let him wait, knowing how I was feeling and convinced Pop that Randy must be really sick and may need our help. He went downstairs and began pounding on the basement door and yelling Randy's name while I started pounding on the floor. Eventually, Pop had to cut a hole in the basement door so that he could move the pole to open the door. Then he used the key to unlock the apartment door and had to tear the trim off the door frame to get the door open. That's when Pop found him laying on the floor, cold to the touch.He came up into the garage, told me Randy was gone and to call the ambulance. That's when the chaos began.

As I called 911, shortly after 8:00pm, I had to wonder if the woman on the other end even listened to what I had said when she asked about the nature of my emergency. I told her that my ex-husband was found dead on the basement floor. She asked if I was certain he was dead. I told her that he wasn't moving or breathing and that he was cold to the touch. 

"Is he moving?" 

          "No." 

"Is he breathing?"

"No."

"Does he have a pulse?"

 "I don't know but when Dad touched his neck, he was cold to the touch." 

Help was on the way. Within minutes, lights flashing, the paramedics arrived.Over the next 15 minutes, as a firetruck and four squad cars arrived I hobbled back and forth between the front door and the garage door to direct 2 paramedics, 4 firemen and 8 policemen to the garage where Pop met them to take them to the basement. I'm not sure if all that attention is standard protocol or if it was a slow night in Decatur.  

A little later, as Pop came upstairs with one of the paramedics to answer some questions, the phone rang. Pop answered before I could get to it.

"George, what's going on over there?" asked 

our Gladys Cravitz-like neighbor

 "My son just died!" 

CLICK!!!

After answering the paramedic's questions and being assured Randy had not suffered, he prepared to leave as the doorbell rang again! Enter the deputy coroner. I directed her toward the basement in time to see the paramedics putting the EMPTY stretcher back into the ambulance. I had assumed they would be taking him to the morgue for an autopsy. Nope. Amid the previous chaos, I had begun to text family and close friends, but with all the confusion and my own stress, I was a bit blunt and uninformative, so I began to get texts and phone calls in return to add to the other chaos.

"Sorry. Can't talk now. Will get you more

info as soon as I can!"

The coroner came back upstairs and I was put in charge of answering her questions. As we were talking, firemen and policemen were in and out with questions of their own. The coroner contacted the funeral home to come pick Randy up, but kept being put on hold. Suddenly she screamed into the phone!

"You WILL find the director on duty and you

will do it now! I have a body to pick up

and if you can't find him to do it, I'll call

the owner RIGHT NOW!"

Amazingly, the director was on the phone in less than a minute and assured her they'd be right here. With that assurance, one by one all of the "officials" began to leave. We had a moment of quiet, then the bell rang again as the funeral director arrived. There were two men; one probably in his early thirties; the other late 40s early 50s. Pop was asked to pull his car out of the garage so they could get in and out with their stretcher. They removed the sheet and long stemmed red rose from the stretcher and they headed downstairs. Shortly, I heard commotion and grunting on the stairs and then I heard:

"Hey. Would you mind grabbing that side 

and I'll take this one?"

Yep. The 30-something young man really asked the 89-year-old man to help carry his newly deceased son up the stairs! What's worse? Pop directed them, on the count of three. On three, Pop lifted but the doofus DIDN'T and had Randy not been strapped onto the stretcher, he would have had another fall onto the basement stairs! Finally, they got Randy upstairs and into the van. I noticed that they left their sheet and the rose on the chair, so I asked them about it, thinking they would give the rose to Pop and express their condolences. Nope.

"Oh yeah. Don't want to forget our sheet."

And away they went, Randy, sheet and rose....

Thinking all would be quiet now, after 10pm, 3.5 hours after it all began, Pop went to pull his car back into the garage only to realize the headlights had been on the whole time and his battery was dead! Deciding he'd mess with it in the morning, he came inside, we sat and reviewed the day's events a little while and he headed to bed about 11:30. Fortunately, I was still too wired to go to bed, because at midnight the doorbell rang again! 

I got to the door and realized there were two more officers at the door! Forgetting all about our security system I unlocked and opened the door, setting off the alarm. Holding up a finger to the policemen, I headed to the kitchen to silence the alarm when my phone started telling me the house alarm had been triggered. I got both silenced, headed back to the front door only to find Pop in his pajama pants coming down the hall yelling "What the hell is going on now?!?" Gladys Cravitz struck a second time! As she saw Pop's car sitting in the driveway, totally out of character for Pop, she decided she needed to call the police to do a wellness check on him! Learning of the situation, the officers offered to push the car into the garage for Pop and hook up the charger. Until they couldn't cuz his fancy car locks up and you can't push it if there is no power!

End of Tuesday, December 17th

Begin Wednesday, December 18th

A fairly quiet start to the day. Pat arrived from Kentucky a little after 10:00. He went to greet Randy's dogs, cleaned some things in the basement and went with Pop and me to the funeral home at 1:30. That was a fairly routine venture until Daisy, the director assigned to us, asked if we had a POA. Pat pulled it out and gave it to her.

"This is a financial POA."

"Yes. Isn't that what you need?"

"We need a medical POA." 

(3 faces just stared back at her until Pop says what we're all thinking)

"That's not gonna do us much good now, is it?"

"We need a medical POA to authorize the cremation.

Did he have any children?"

"5"

"I'll need their names."

"ALL OF THEM?!?!"

"Without a POA we need authorization from all 

surviving children."

"Can we do it through email?"

After providing Daisy that information, we finished up the business transaction, I texted my kids to watch their emails and get the authorization back asap. We left and hit a couple different auto places to get a new battery for the Lexus and then headed to get some dinner. Going through the drive through, Brandon and Sami called to report on her surgery and let me know there was no email yet. Told them I'd call back when we got home. 

We walked in the door, I began to unload the food and the phone rang. You guessed it! Glady Cravitz insisting she talk to George to give him her condolences and tell him what a wonderful young man his son was, etc. I refused and hung up on her too. As I continued to put out our food, the doorbell rang! I went to answer the door to find an Amazon delivery for Randy! Dog treats for the dogs! Thank heavens they arrived before Pat took them back to Kentucky with him. As I returned to our food (Pop and Pat were eating by this time) my phone began ringing again; Brandon!

"Can I call you back?"

"Yeah, but just a minute.

We got the email."

"Okay... sign it."

"That's the problem. It's not a cremation authorization

and it's not for Dad. It's for Jacqueline ___

and it's got all her personal information! Even her 

Social Security Number."

So, as I sat and watched Pop and Pat feeding their faces, I called the funeral home to talk to the director and explain what happened. This unconcerned man got on his computer and said that he saw what he did and started to explain himself. I'm like, "I DON'T CARE! Just send another email with the right paperwork to my children so they can get it taken care of!" In the meantime, my other kids were finding their emails and sending me texts asking who Jacqueline was too!

What a zoo!!! Fortunately, the chaos calmed down after those first two days. I'm certain that it doesn't sound nearly as bad as it was to live through, but I hope you do recognize how appropriate those two days were considering the way Randy did EVERYTHING in his life. If it was possible to have a glitch, he'd find it! I think instead of Murphy's Law, I'm going to begin calling it Randy's Law!

It's still been a rough week, especially considering today (Dec 23rd) would have been our 41st wedding anniversary and it's also the 5th anniversary of his mother's passing.Today Pop brought Randy back home and he'll stay here until one day this spring when we do a small memorial for both him and his mother. His spirit, we know, is in a better place where he can be happy and smile again. AND, Megan and I are pretty well convinced that he was greeted at the "pearly gates" by our good friend, Susan, who probably had a "Welcome Home" party planned to greet him. 

Happy Anniversary, Randy!

How do you say good-bye to a guy named Randy?

How do you say good-bye to someone who's been a part of your life for 45 years? How do you pay proper tribute to the person named in the title of your blog? What do you say about the most exasperating person in your life when that person is also the one who gave you everything that is worth anything in your life: 5 wonderful children, 23 grandchildren and the gospel of Jesus Christ? How do you stop wishing that his demons hadn't taken over his life so that he could have recognized and enjoyed all the blessings he forgot he had?

One of my very best friends died yesterday. He was my friend and constant companion for years before we married. After we married, he took on more of the role of my best friend; he was the one that was present and shared my joys and sorrows. We did everything together. Many believed that we were the perfect couple with a perfect marriage. In some ways we were.

But internal conflict and genetic mental illness combined with prescription drugs and drug abuse took its toll on the spontaneous, creative, fun-loving guy that I knew I would marry before we even went on our first date.

Randy loved me. I know he did, but not the way he should have to marry me. He only asked me to marry him because he had seen me dating another guy and didn't like it AND he knew how badly I wanted children. Since he didn't like seeing me with anyone else and he knew that I would be actively looking for a man who had the same goals I had, he decided to do the "right thing" and proposed. Perhaps I was naive, but I believed he was proposing for the "right reason;" that he loved me...like that. 

Thirteen years into our marriage, he dropped the bomb and told me he was gay. I offered him a divorce immediately, but he didn't take me up on it. He wasn't sure if that's what he wanted. When we finally divorced four years later, he told me that he still didn't know what he'd do if he ever saw me with another man.

After our divorce, Randy dove headfirst into everything he apparently felt he'd been missing. He had several different sexual partners, he began using drugs and was an obligatory father to our five children. He loved them in his own way, but his expression of love was polar opposite to the love my kids were used to getting from me. But, they were used to taking his expressions of love and loved him in return.

A few years after our divorce, Randy met a great man, Pat, and they became committed partners. I love Pat. My kids love Pat. Grandchildren who know him love Pat. And Randy loved Pat. But somewhere along the line, Randy contracted HIV and has been on HIV medications for years. As I understand it, over time, HIV medications begin to take a toll on the mind. 

Randy had a pre-disposition to mental illness, inherited from his mother and never sought the real help he needed to control the illness and its control over his mind and his life choices continued to grow. Eventually, Pat couldn't take the mood swings and abuse any more. He left and Randy hit rock bottom. He turned to serious drug abuse and began having severe hallucinations; believing people were out to get him, trying to kill him and drugging him. He BELIEVED terrible things of many different family members and his paranoia began to control all of his life actions. His demons were ever present in his life.

I didn't mean for this post to get dark, but it is the darkness that dominated his life for the past few years; cutting him off from most who loved him. His demons have been part of my life for the past year as he came home to Decatur to stay with his dad. There have been good times over dinners together or working on small projects, like assembling the new snowblower, laughing at our own ineptness, it was like old times as we were always good at laughing at ourselves. It was wonderful being able to discuss concerns over his Dad's health or share frustrations when we were scolded as if we were three-year-olds. But then his demons would come back; the hallucinations took over and he'd barricade himself in the basement apartment, certain that "they" were after him again.

In recent years, Randy alienated a lot of people; our children most of all. He said terrible, hurtful things to those who loved him the most all driven by the demons he couldn't chase away. To all who have been hurt by him over the years, I ask that you try now to focus on the good, fun Randy that you used to know; the one that you shared laughter or a project with; the one who was creative and spontaneous, because that Randy was still in there. 

I pray that my children can focus on the dad who would pack up the family and take us on an unplanned adventure to Niagara Falls; or fall victim to his own DIY projects and fall through the attic floor, hanging into the garage below; or even the dad who taught them how to work hard hanging drywall, stapling insulation or running electrical wiring which have enabled them to be able to complete home improvement projects in their own homes today.

I pray that they can focus on the dad who cried at the sight of his baby laying helpless under a bililight; the dad who slept under his daughter's crib in the hospital for weeks so she'd know she wasn't alone; the dad who loved the special hugs from the little girl that insisted on sitting on his lap to watch TV in the evening; the dad who made special arrangements to get his boys into the best preschool and traveled hundreds of miles to attend their high school performances. This was their REAL dad. This was the man I loved. This is the man who will ALWAYS hold a piece of my heart. Whatever his reason, this is the man who gave me the best gifts of my life and for that I will be eternally grateful and will never forget the good that we had. 

In closing, I pray that he is now free from his demons. That he knows HIS reality was NOT reality. And that he will recognize that the love we have always had for him IS REAL. I love you Randy. Rest in peace.

For other blog posts specifically about my relationship with Randy, see posts from 31 Jan 2013, 15 Mar 2013, 22 May 2013 and 31 Jan 2016

Welcome to the family #23, Rocky!

Getting stabilized

He has red hair!
That's a first for a Sloan/Zielke!

Daddy says he looks like Emily,
cuddling her body pillow!

I began calling him Rocky early in his mother's pregnancy. "Rocky" was an underdog who became a world champion boxer in a movie by that name. The character was a tremendous fighter who kept persevering even though no one thought he could do it. This is how our little "Rocky" came to be. He beat all the odds. He wasn't supposed to exist. His mother, Emily, had been given no better than a 2% chance to conceive on her own. Each of Rocky's siblings came to the family through fertility specialists, but Rocky? He came on his own. Emily's pregnancy wasn't an easy one and it seemed that her body wanted to miscarry. She was assigned to strict bed rest at times and Rocky held on. If he could just hold on for six months, he'd have a "fighting" chance! And fight he did! Until the night of Dec. 6, 2019. The family was at their ward Christmas party and Emily began to have pains. Barton took her home, got the family settled and began watching a movie. For two hours, Emily suffered through contractions that were three minutes apart. When she began to bleed, they knew they had to head for the hospital! A neighbor came to sit with Abigail and Millie until Emily's parents could get there and around 12:19, Bart & Emily left for the hospital in Riverton, UT. Amid a great deal of screaming, commotion and urgency, Emily's water broke, she was finally given permission to push and little Rocky was born "around' 12:41!!! Unable to breathe on his own, they rushed him away and called to have him life flighted to a hospital better equipped to handle his needs. All day, fog had prevented the life flight helicopter from going out, but the fog cleared in time for them to fly to Riverton from Salt Lake to help Rocky. As soon as they landed, the fog rolled back in. Our Heavenly Father had cleared the fog long enough to enable these specialized nurses to get there in time to get Rocky ready to transport. As the fog had come back in, and Rocky was doing better, they opted to take him to Intermountain Health Center NICU by ambulance. Daddy Barton followed in his car and took a short video of the trip there. Bart was told he'd be in the NICU for two months; around the time of his due date, Feb 10. It is less than 16 hours later that I'm writing this memory and at this time, Barton has told us that he's almost breathing on his own, he's eaten and all his "numbers" look good! With God's blessing, maybe his stay in the hospital will be much shorter than two months! Barton and Emily haven't given Rocky his official name yet; there's a slight battle. Emily likes the name Jack. Barton likes Hinckley after the LDS prophet, Gordon B. Hinckley. To this very proud, happy and humbled Grandma though, he'll always be Rocky.

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EY #12: Tell about your grandparents

The story of my grandparents is far more interesting now than it was ten years ago, but let's start with the basics...

My paternal grandparents were Reinhold and Martha (Staffeldt) Zielke. Both were born in the United States, children of German immigrants. Reinhold had been married previously to Martha's older sister, Louise, who died of pneumonia at childbirth with her 4th child in 1917. Reinhold's surviving children were George  (b. 1905), Henry (b. 1908) and Bertha (b.1911). (Aunt Grace, if you read this and I make any errors, please correct me!) As I understand it, Martha went to live with Reinhold after Louisa's death to help care for the children and married him Nov 20, 1918. Reinhold was born May 30, 1880; Martha was born December 18, 1890. Reinhold and Martha had five children: Helen (b. 1919), Raymond, my dad, (b. 1922), Grace (b. 1925), Marjorie (b 1927) and Dorothy (b. 1933). I don't remember too much about my grandfather, as he passed away shortly after my 6th birthday in 1961 after a fall down the basement stairs at my Aunt Marge's house. He had Parkinson's disease and I was always uncomfortable going near him because of his tremors, not understanding that he was ill. Grandma Zielke could be gruff, but she could be fun as well. I remember how she laughed and laughed when she tried to teach me how to hoot like an owl by whistling through a curled tongue. I could curl my tongue just fine, but when I blew, all I got was air. When she came to visit us in Wisconsin, I was expected to help her put on her support hose and to cut her toenails. I think of her now when I cut my own tough toenails and think "thanks a lot for that DNA, Grandma!" She was in a wheelchair the last several years of her life and sometimes on the weekends, grandchildren would go stay with her to make sure she was okay. She wasn't too fond of the late night giggling when my cousin, Beth, and I were the ones to stay there.I remember being fascinated with my parents' wedding portrait that was always on the chest of drawers in her bedroom. That was the only place I had ever seen their wedding picture before their 25th anniversary celebration.Grandma died during my Junior year of high school (a little more than a year after my mother died) in March, 1972.
(The following corrections were provided by Aunt Grace in Dec, 2019. I'm so thankful we still have her to share memories and a familial connection! Thank you, Aunt Grace! 
"I was just reading your blog of last May and did note a couple small changes (You've done a great job and can only rely on what you've been told I know).  To the best of my knowledge, Mom was living with Dad & Aunt Louisa prior to her death as apparently she had a difficult pregnancy, and Mom always always told me that she had promised Aunt Louisa that she would raise her children.  I can't say that she ever fell in love with Dad, but made the best of the situation.  That's not a correction - just FYI.  Next - Dad fell down the basement stairs at their house (not Aunt Marge's)  He was making toast as Uncle Bob was leaving for work and watching out the window.  He said the toaster threw some sparks and he headed for the door to try to yell to Uncle Bob and lost his balance and fell down the steps.  There were 3 steps before the landing, and from there he rolled and went down the rest of the steps landing at the bottom (in the basement) with a broken neck & back.  He was in the hospital then until he died.  He fell the morning of March 27th and died April 10, 1961.  You're right he had Parkinson's Disease and did shake.  I think he may have suffered either light strokes or reacted to medication (pain) as he did a lot of hallucinating during that hospital stay.  I remember the nurses had to cover the mirror in his room as he kept seeing things and thought someone was coming out of the mirror.  The only other comment, rather than grandchildren coming to stay with Grandma (which they did short term) but it was her step-children and children that cared for her.  She was in the wheelchair for 7 years (unable to walk) and we had a schedule for our turns to go and stay, which was primarily on weekends for us as George & Emily  and Henry & Emily were retired and could go during the week.  We had a caregiver for a short period of time, ,but Mom wasn't the easiest person to please and she caused that to end. We all knew something would happen sooner or later, and you might know I was the unfortunate one to be there when it  did.  Austin and I were with her that weekend, Austin had just left to go to Yorkville to see his brother and she told me she had to go to the bathroom and didn't want to use the commode in her bedroom, but wanted to go in the bathroom. It was a very small bathroom, neither she nor I were small women and she fell trying to get on the toilet.  She suffered greatly all day Sunday before being taken to the hospital by ambulance on Monday (Feb. 25th and she died at Copley Hospital on March 7.  Her hip was broken, but they couldn't set it and she suffered terribly all that time   as they turned her every few hours to keep from getting bed sores    Hope you don't mind my passing this info on.  I've always been thankful that neither one of them had Alzheimers and were "with it" to the end.  Hope I can stay that way.  You're right - they used to call it "hardening of the arteries"   and we'd hear of cerebrial hemorrages - today's strokes."


My mother was adopted by Edward and Pearl (Haag) Hill after they had been unable to have children of their own. These were the grandparents who lived 3 blocks away from us at 415 North Ave in Aurora, IL. After they adopted my mother, they were blessed with one daughter of their own, Dorothy (DeeDee) who was born on the same day as my dad's sister Grace. By the time I was in kindergarten, I was allowed to walk to their house to visit sometimes. I never learned much about Grandpa's youth, other than his father Orlando had died and his mother had remarried Charles Watson. I don't know if it was due to his age or circumstances, but I was always of the impression that Grandpa didn't have a good relationship with his stepfather. I met his sister Ida a few times, but that was the whole of his family that I knew anything about. Grandpa loved Chicago Cubs baseball, Blackjack gum and chewing tobacco. There was always a nasty smelling spittoon on the floor next to where he sat on the couch. Grandpa would still occasionally drive his old Chrysler sometimes when I was quite young, but mostly, it just sat in the basement garage. He had diabetes, was on a regimented diet and took insulin shots. My aunt, DeeDee was pretty much his caregiver as long as I can remember. He passed away in November, 1970, just a few months before my mother. She was too ill to make it to his funeral, but they were able to take her to the funeral home the day before so she could say her good-byes.
My Grandma Hill was my favorite, just because she was the one I was closest to and she was the one who would tell me stories about her childhood. I learned how she didn't know how to speak English when she first went to school and how far she had to walk to get there. She'd tell me stories about playing with her cats on the farm when she was young and about how her hair was so long she could sit on it. I must have really loved her stories of the "kitties" on the farm, because one year for Christmas she gave me a hand-embroidered dresser scarf with a gray kitten embroidered on each end. I still own the remnants of that dresser scarf and have always thought I'd like to sew the kittens onto something else to pass on to one of my granddaughters. 
As the only daughter of William and Eleanora (Hansing) Haag, she inherited all of the properties that her father built and she worked very hard to keep the yards and the buildings well-maintained. There was another whole lot that butted up against the back of the house lot that was called "the garden." It had flowers and, at one time, I'm sure there were vegetables, but most of all I remember hearing about the drudgery of mowing the garden and seeing the evidence of her legs being chewed up by the chiggers in the process. I imagine that at one time, during my mother's youth maybe even in my brothers' youth, the backyard of the house was beautiful. There was an enormous weeping willow tree and a goldfish pond. Grandma Hill started to get sick shortly after we moved to Wisconsin. Back then, we were told it was "hardening of the arteries." Today, it would be better classified as Alzheimer's. She began to lose her memory, began to hallucinate and live in the past. She became paranoid that people were trying to break in and rob the house. In one fit of paranoia, she took the old Haag family Bible and tore out, and destroyed, all the pages of family history. As I've tried to work on family history,that part is the saddest part for me. At one point, she ran out of the house in the middle of the night in her nightgown and ran down the block to the church. The police had to bring her home. For a little while after that, my parents tried to bring her to Watertown to stay with us on the farm to give DeeDee a little break since she still had to care for Grandpa and maintain the apartment buildings by herself. I was responsible for keeping Grandma company and entertained and feeding her meals when I wasn't in school. It was after that, the doctor suggested they try shock therapy for her and they admitted her to the hospital. As you would expect, shock therapy did nothing to help the disease and after she returned home, she just continued to get worse and worse. I remember feeling heartbroken when I would hear her lying in bed and just crying out for her Mama. It was one of those times that I became rude to my grandfather the only time in my life. Mom, Dad, Bill and I were all in the living room of her house. They had pulled out the studio couch (aka  Hide-a-Bed nowadays) for her to lay on which meant Grandpa had to get off of his spot on the couch. Mom was trying to make sure Grandma was comfortable and kept asking her if she was okay, while Grandma just cried. Grandpa gruffly said, "She's fine!" Irritated at my grandpa for being so abrupt and, seemingly, unfeeling for my Grandma, I looked at him and rudely said "How would you know? You can't feel what she's feeling!"  At that outburst, I was on the receiving end of a reprimand of my own from Bill for talking to our grandfather so disrespectfully. I suspect I was sent out of the room at that point, as that's the end of my memory, although the rest of it is still vivid. Grandma passed away in April, 1965, just two years after we had begun moving to Wisconsin. Grandma, Grandpa and DeeDee are all buried in the Spring Lake Cemetery in Aurora, Illinois surrounded by other Haag/Hansing relatives.

The truly crazy, interesting part of the story of my grandparents has begun to unfold since 2013. My mother had always wanted to find her birth parents, but never wanted to look while her parents were still living. At one point, she started to write a novel beginning with her vague memory of the orphanage she lived in. She was told the following about her pre-adoptive life: 

• She had a twin brother who passed away of whooping cough in the orphanage
• She had several older brothers and sisters
• Her father was a traveling minister who died trying to catch a train to go to his second parish on a Sunday between services
• She and her twin were put in the orphanage to be cared for while their mother worked to be able to better care for her family
• When the orphanage informed her mother of the boy's death, they told the mother that they had both died
• Every year, Grandma Hill took Mom on the train into Chicago to visit "a lady" until the day she asked who that lady was. They never went again, but she had a book of Cinderella that was given to her by the lady that was signed "Virginia."
• She was actually a year older than she had been told her whole life up to the time she married my father and had to get a copy of her birth certificate!

Some of that is truth. Other parts are false. Since 2013, Josh, Brooks and I have been working whenever we can to try to unravel pieces of my mother's past. Here's what we've learned

• Mom was indeed a twin; the second born; Baby #5 of 5 born to Alice Gustafson Voorhees. Her twin brother, Elmer, died on his 2nd birthday (according to Illinois Deaths and Stillbirths Record) and was buried in Arlington Cemetery.
• There were 3 older siblings. Eleanor (Johnson) appears to have been born out of wedlock to Alice and was listed in census records as a border. (Not an uncommon thing for illegitimate children, I've been told). After Alice married Ted Victor Voorhees, she had 2 more children before the twins on May 1, 1921. The twins' birth certificates have only Voorhees and the word "Deceased" for the father's name.
• Ted had varying occupations in census records, one being a minister. We have a photo of a newspaper article about Rev. Ted Voorhees and I have a copy of a book he wrote. He used magic to teach about God...quite a different take on religion!
• Using census and selective service records, Ted was still living in the east until he died in the 60s. He had a second marriage and on that marriage license he claimed his first marriage ended in divorce in March of 1920.
• No divorce records have been located. Were they really divorced and accurate records weren't kept? Did Ted walk out on Alice in 1920 and consider that his divorce? Did Alice get so upset with Ted when he left that he was "dead" to her? Did Ted come back and have a final fling with Alice five or six months after he left? Or, did Alice produce two more illegitimate offspring, give them Ted's last name and put them up for adoption? I know Alice is my true grandmother, but is Ted my true grandfather???
• A man named Bernard Ward reached out to me after finding that I had Ted Voorhees in my family tree on MyHeritage.com . Ted was his grandfather and told me that there were family rumors that he had a first marriage, but the family never spoke of it. His mother had passed away, but her two sisters were still living, but he refused to give me any contact information for them, as he said they are elderly and it would be too upsetting for them.Census record!s show Ted having three daughters (Virginia, Jolinda and Marilyn) which fits the information Bernard gave me. Time to try to track down the sisters myself!

Family History. Such a fascinating topic with so many different directions to take to learn about ancestors. In addition to the confusion with the Voorhees line, there is much to learn about the Staffeldts, the Zielkes, the Hansings and the Haags with their eastern European connections; and then what of Orlando Hill? What was his story? So much to learn and it doesn't seem like there's ever enough time to dedicate to it! When I was younger, I wondered how "old people" could spend so much time on their genealogy! Now, I know!!!