Off to the Pub!

     My husband, Matt and I.....yes I have stopped calling him Bart, have taken on the task of landscaping our front yard all by ourselves, as opposed to hiring day laborers to do it for us.  Hindsight, it would have been all finished last summer and we would just be pulling a weed or two, here and there, whilst sipping our refreshing summer beverages.  But alas, no, we thought we'd save some money and put a little bit of ourselves into our front yard.  At this point, I'd like to dig a 3 foot ditch (6 ft is overkill) and hurl myself into it...I would just need to find someone to fill in the dirt.  No, no, Matt loves me to much.  He couldn't do it.  Hmmmmm. 
     Anyway, I digress.  We decided to mulch in front of the house and around a tree that originally had giant rocks around it.  The rocks were huge!!!  Matt managed to move most of them with the exception of two.  One we just left because we thought it looked natural sitting atop the mulch bed (we just didn't have the energy).  The other, the biggest of them all is sitting in the middle of the front yard like it sprouted up from the ground.  I'd like to move it all the way to the other side of the yard and put at least a third of it underground and perhaps plant some lovely flower around it.....Matt wants to put it anywhere that is down hill.  Every time he looks at the rock he thinks, EMT's, cardiac event, arm pulled from socket, Mary doing a very unnecessary tracheotomy....etc....  We will continue to discuss the matter of the Giant Rock. 
     So now we have mulched completely around the tree (that had the rocks) and I didn't like the way the mulch just kind of oozed onto the driveway, like lava.  I suggested a low rock wall to define it a bit and Matt seemed agreeable (he's good that way).  I purchased the stone from a local landscape retailer and they delivered it right in the middle of our driveway.   No worries, our driveway it a patch work of broken bits of pavement and dirt so nothing to mess up there.
     Matt & I dug right in "creating" our rock wall.  Rocks are heavy and they also sometimes roll.  Always throw them away from you down hill.....otherwise, Murphy's law, they will roll on top of your big toe.   As Matt and I were carefully and strategically placing each stone, it occurred to me that this is sort of in my blood, being Irish and all.  I decided to point that out to Matt.  He said the  Italians have it in their blood too....that is where I vehemently disagreed.  I said, "the Italians create architecture", the Irish are just trying to plant a few spuds but the ground was so rocky, the walls were the fastest way to move the rocks so they could plant and head straight away to the pub.   The could have loaded the rocks into a wagon and had Joey the mule drag them off, but that would have cut into their valuable pub time.

"Jesus Patty, what the feak our we gonna do wit all dees rocks?  We'll never be makin it to the pub at this rate an I be dyin for cool pint."   "Seamus, I tink we be best pillin' them up like a wall, den we needn't burden poor Joey wit hauling these feakin heavy stones to the water."  "Oh Patty, brilliant tis what you are!  To the pub we will be in no time!  First pint is on me!"

     This is how I pictured it in my head, and I'm thinking I can't be too far off on this.   Anyway, it is kind of ridiculous, the Irish had the stones already in there fields they wanted to get rid of the damn things, the Americans hop into their automobiles and drive to a store to purchase them and put them, on purpose, in their yards.  

Mary Ellard

Innocents Lost

     This Friday the world cried in grief over the loss of many innocent souls and their educators who loved them.   We grieve with their families and try to make sense of what has happened to the little ones, knowing there is no sense to it at all.  

     God wept, knowing it was not their time, knowing they had so much yet to do, and  he sent his very best angels to collect the souls of his children; the angels swept down from the heavens with all the love, care and grace of God to gather these babies and bring them home to his warm embrace and his love so magnificent and comforting, was wrapped around them.  The souls that had gone before them waited to escort these innocents and the adults that tried to protect them, but perished with them, into the hands of God. While they waited, they wept for  us here on earth, knowing the pain and grief that tore though the families that lost their beloved children and for the nation and world that lost their innocents. 
     As we say goodbye, we as a nation must look to ourselves and ask; how can we prevent this from happening again?  We must be thorough and diligent in our search for answers knowing that each time a tragic event like this occurs, it imparts a terribly toll on humanity. 
     We all must safeguard and take responsibility for all our children.  
     As we continue to grieve, a fitting tribute during the Holidays, would be to extend a hand to those that are hurting, to reach out and embrace a stranger, to perform random, annonymous acts of kindness and generosity, to watch over and care for one another; through love and forgiveness we can find healing.
   Mary Ellard   

Jeanette's Journey

My name is Mary Gordon, and the reason I am writing, on behalf of my sister Jeanette, is to

give people a view from the administrative/financial end when a loved one has

gone through a horrific experience leaving them unable to care for themselves,

let alone any of their financial matters. It boggles



Jeanette was in a car accident on November 10, 2011, and after walking around for 5 days with a fractured spine, was admitted back into the hospital where they performed emergency surgery on her neck. When she woke up from the surgery she was wearing a halo that was bolted into her skull and she was paralyzed from the upper abdomen down to her legs.

Since then, despite a two month major setback in a skilled nursing facility, she has been making progress every single

day. Some days by leaps and bounds, other days small yet significant advances.

We all knew Jeanette could do this….. there was no doubt.

There continues to be no doubt.

We lovingly call it "The Jeanette Factor".



As time has gone by and Jeanette goes through the various stages of her recovery, unfortunately, reality comes barreling in.

There are only 30+ days left of her skilled nursing benefit on her insurance which means when that ends we will need to pay out of pocket (est. $500 p/day). The facility she is in now is a sub-acute rehabilitation and they are phenominal!!!



We would love for her to stay there longer, even after the benefit days run out, but they do not accept Medicaid at all.

We would need to move her eventually to a facility that accepts Medicaid "pending" and most of all, suits her needs and her goals for her long term recovery. Based on her first hand experience a skilled nursing facility is not what Jeanette needs.



We are endeavoring to get Jeanette into a transitional living facility that provides a safe and nurturing environment for people with spinal cord injuries to live; people just like Jeanette, where they learn how to live as independently as possible.



She would be surrounded by peers, all patients under 55 years of age, all trying their very best to learn how

to cope and continue despite their devastating injuries.



Just imagine Jeanette in a place like that… for those of you that know her well, and even those that had perhaps just a brief encounter….she would want to offer all she knows, and all she has, to others and as a consequence, it would help her in her overall recovery!



Here’s the catch…….we are in the process of setting up a special needs trust for Jeanette to protect her life-time savings for future expenses and we cannot file for Medicaid until that is accomplished. We anticipate Medicaid will be applied for sometime in the first week of July and even then it can take a few months for it to be approved.



If Jeanette goes to the transitional home we’d like to see her in, we will need to pay 6 months in advance as per Medicaid guidelines - for those who can't fathom the cost - it would huver in the neighborhood of $80,000.00.



After that 6 months, when Medicaid is approved they will cover the cost for Jeanette to live at this facility.

It is the time between now and the 6 to 7 months, depending on when she gets into the transitional living facility, that we are most concerned about from a financial view point.



Despite having private insurance (thanks to her most giving coworkers!), for now, the medical bills are starting to really roll in and we are starting to purchase some adaptive equipment, devices and other items that will assist Jeanette in her day to day routines….tasks you and I might take for granted like; brushing teeth, washing your face, eating, etc. Even Jeanett'e first love, reading, has been near impossible, up until now.



These expenditures are all eating into her savings which could eventually deplete all the money she worked so very hard to earn throughout the course of her life. We anticipate that her private insurance will end soon, and there is the possibility of Cobra benefits, but that is not certain at this point. Even so, Cobra is expensive and will surely reduce any savings Jeanette

has left significantly.



This our humble request - from a family that does not normally ask for help, to anyone that is able, we need your assistance desperately. Many, too many to mention, have contributed very generously, and for that we are so grateful and touched by your complete selfless generosity, I am emotionally overwhelmed when I think of your gifts; it touches me beyond description. Thank you.



That said, we need to begin aggressively raising funds for Jeanette’s Journey and anything anyone can do to assist in any way is deeply appreciated.



If you are receiving this message it is because you already have made a difference in Jeanette's life and we are going to ask if you can do a bit more.



Katherine will follow this blog with some concrete ideas for small and/or large fundraising tactics. We are asking you to run with it! Form a run, have a bakesale, start a pyramid giving request, a lemonade stand, a canister at work.....NO AMOUNT IS TOO SMALL!



As an element of this site, if you wish to donate now - please do!

If you would like to mail your generous gift - please do (information on site)!



Thank you so much for taking the time to read this rather wordy, but necessary, blog.

And thank you all, thank you, thank you - for all your continued support, love and positive energy and prayers for Jeanette.

We are so moved by everyone’s good will and there are no words to adequately to describe how we feel.



All my very best,

Mary

General Westmoreland Writes That He is Deeply Distressed

For those that didn't know, my father was a writer, a journalist a reporter. I personally think a very good one and others have agreed. People much more qualified than me and less biased than me. Something I've noticed over the years of reading his articles is that, while all of his writing was wonderful, I could always tell when a subject was near and dear to his heart. You could feel his passion in the way he weaved the words so that they would really touch you and move you and cause you to feel what he was trying to paint with the written word.

The following is an example. I was typing all his articles for him so he could put them in book form and I remember typing this one - it stood out amoung many and I remember crying as I typed it over 13 years ago:

General Westmoreland Writes That He is 'Deeply Distressed'

By William Gordon

The earliest photo in the family album shows him as a youngster holding a pet skunk on the summery lawn of his backyard.
There are more formal shots of him, too, portraits. He has a very wide grin, a boyish, ingratiating grin, just a bit mischievous. It's obvious from these that he's all boy.
Ohter pictures show him growing up; nothing formal, just routine snapshots, the kind everybody has of their kids. He looks a bit gangly in these. Never had much weight on his bones. There's one snap of him playing with his dog.
Then there is a long photographic gap. It was as if he was too busy in his adolescence to stop for the camera. These were his best years, his happy, running, swimming, playing years.
After that you find him suddenly in the uniform of the U.S. Army. He has finished basic training at Ft. Dix and the official Army photo of him is just like all those you have seen of your brothers and sons--unsmiling, military cap pulled down over his eyes, his blouse looking as if it had just come off the shelf at Supply.

Looks a Bit Pale

He looks a bit pale in this picture, prematurely serious, a trifle lost in the strange new world of the Army.
Then he is Airborne. And the black-and-white photo of him at the training camp shows a striking change. He's tanned, deeply, and more mature looking. He is sitting on the barracks steps holding a grease-gun. His look is not grim. It's just settled.
Tucked beneath the plastic folds of the album is his personal history recorded on an Army form. It says that his very first job was jerking sodas in his hometown icre cream emporium.
A long interlude puts him in Vietnam. He performs well and comes home safely after his tour.
The next snaps, in color, show him at home on furlough. He is tanding on the lawn again. It is summer. He is in khaki. He is unsmiling in most of the pictures. But in one he has his arm around a pretty blonde girl in Bermuda shorts. In this one he has a trace of a grin on his young face. He is 19.
There is a mimeographed letter on the next page -- the kind the Army wiseacres put out, alerting parents to the return of their son from Vietnam.
"Humor him upon his return," the letter says. "Be sure to lock him up at the first sign of rain as he mnight grab his soap and run nude into the front yard." This being the only way to shower in Vietnam.

Checking for Mines

"Don't get angry if he starts poking around in the flower bed and digging jup the front yard. He's just checking for booby traps and land mines." It goes on like this at length.

The Army sends him to Germany. He spends six months there struggling all the time to get back to Vietnam. He writes letters to high places and finally gets his wish.

While back home on furlough again, all his friends tgry to talk him out of it. He'll have none of it. He is drawn to teh war as a nail to a magnet.

He is back in Vietnam. The next document in the album is a letter of recommendation from his company commander. "He is a man who knows what to do, how to do it, and he gets it done," he said. "His morale, appearance and attitude are beyond reproach."

That was in June. Months pass. Then comes a telegram. "The Secretary of the Army has asked me to express deep regret that your son died in Vietnam as the result of gunshot wounds received while on combat operations when hit by hostile automatic weapons fire. Please accept my deepest sympathy."

This came in the fall. Another telegram followed, giving the local funeral home instructions to pick up the casket.

Presidents Wire

The President of the United States writes, "I have learned with deep regret...."

Gen. W.C. Westmoreland writes that he is "deeply distressed."

Gov. Hughes expresses "heartfelt sympathy." He goes on to say that "the people of New Jersey realize that they owe an unpayable debt of gratitude for the great sacrifices your son has made for his country and in the cause of freedom."

There are elogquent letters from generals, from New Jersey senators and congressmen --"Distressing"..."there is no more poignant grief..."

The captain of the soldier's company writes: "Your son was killed instantly in the first few seconds of contact with the enemy while on a search and destroy mission." This letter, too, goes under the plastic in the black album.

The family is disbelieving. They do not think their boy died this way. Dead, yes, but not this way. And they are proven right.

A month goes by and the company commander writes again. "After investigation of the battle, the study revealed that we sent some erroneous information to you... We found that your son did not succumb in the initial burst of enemy fire. But rather, he fought fiercely against an overwhelming enemy force for a period of 30 minutes which allowed the remainder of his comrades to escape an otherwise hopeless situation."

And a week ago, another letter came from the U.S. Army adjutant in Washington. "I have the honor to inform you," he said, "that your son has been awarded posthumously the Bronze Star Medal with First Oak Leaf Cluster for heroism."

Other Documents

There are other documents and articles in the album which the family wants to serve as a memorial for the soldier. There is a letter sent to him in a pink evelope from his sister. It's stamped in red ink "Verified Deceased, Return to Sender."

And there are the boy's shoulder patches and insignias, Christmas cards he sent, newspaper clippings reporting hsi death, and sundry other momentoes of a boy who died at 20.

But what stands out is the cold-looking Army document announcing his death and the diffident-looking photos of him playing with his dog on the lawn of his home in the summer, with the leaves all green and young behind him.

All my love, Dad

It's been a little over 3 months since my dear father passed away, and the pain over losing him has intensified over time. I'm not certain if I was in shock for a period after his death...it was so sudden, but I can say with certainty that not a day goes by that I don't miss him terribly.

My family has some difficult decisions to make regarding his estate and we will be gathering during the Easter weekend to discuss some of these decisions, one of which is what to do with the house we grew up in. While I love the house, it's the home I truly loved. It's what my father created and how he was the anchor and now the anchor is not on this earth and we are just floundering around trying to make sense of how we feel in the aftermath of his loss. I can only speculate how my other siblings feel based on what I feel, but it is incredible grief that comes in gut wrenching waves, when it repeatedly dawns on me that he's not here and won't be coming back. I'm pretty certain my siblings are going through similar experiences and I am so sad for all of us.

As part of the decision making process, my sister Katherine, who is the Executor of the Estate, ran through some of the numbers with each one of us individually so that we could come to the table somewhat prepared. With me, she went over all the accounting on the phone, while I reviewed a spreadsheet that she meticulously prepared. What she might not have realized was that I was crying while we were reviewing the numbers....I was looking at these numbers and thinking that this is not my Dad, this is not what he was all about. He was an incredible father, human being, with human flaws -very few and he wore them humbly. There is nothing he would not do for his children, nothing. If I asked him for his arm, he would have replied, "how much do you need darlin?" I'm sure if you asked any of my siblings they would agree.

We are our father's legacy. Everything he believed and what his life exemplified, is in us all. It was always Dad holding us all together and now it needs to be each of us holding each other up and trying to do right. This is what he would have wanted us to do. We as a family have a very important decision to make that transcends numbers and property, it is, what I believe,our father's last wish. That as a a family, if one of us is in trouble we ask in one voice, together "how much do you need darlin?" When all is said and done and the numbers are gone, the property divided we only have left the decisions we made and our own personal knowledge as to whether or not the decision was the right one.

I believe my father is here with me and with my brother and sisters...I feel him all around me and my hope is that someday, I can be a quarter of the person he was, a little more selfless, humble, decent, and to be the parent to my children the way he was a parent to each one of us up to the very end of his spectacular life.

Thank you Dad for everything you have given me and continue to give me. You will live on in each one of us and your messages will continually surface throughout my life to my very last breath. I hope I make you proud and smile in heaven and say in your soothing voice that has calmed me too many times to mention during my life, "that-a-girl Mary".

I love you Pop.

My Fathers Daughter

I was driving home from work today thinking about what a crazy couple of weeks I had and thinking to myself that I have to call my Dad and fill him in on all the things that have been going on.

I would tell him that Gabby is healing fine from her gallbladder surgery and we can just put that behind us, but she missed so much school and there is a lot of school work to catch up on. We were in touch with the guidance counselor and she has been a huge help in rallying the teachers so Gabby doesn't get to anxious about how behind she is. I would tell him that me and Matt were doing everything we could to get her caught up.

I would see how he is doing with all this snow and I'd ask him what he's reading. I love to hear him talk about the books he's reading because it makes me want to run out and get a copy of the book. Or he might tell me what he's been up to, going out with his lady friend, projects around the house - we might even touch on some of the latest political news which always makes for interesting conversation.

I thought, I have to tell him what happened to my Dad and how my whole world just crumbled and everything else that was going on just didn't matter. My dear father passed away and I am walking around lost and I'm not sure what to do. I want to scream so he can hear me. Scream and cry until I'm so tired I just sleep and forget it all and then when I wake up it's all just a horrible dream. I can't tell him this, because it is him that has left this world and left a void that I wonder if it can ever be filled and will I ever feel normal? I'm driving home and when it dawns on me I can't call him and I'll never be able to call him again. I can't catch my breath because the loss is overwhelming and I'm scared and I'm so incredibly sad. I'm a grown woman with my own family and I just want my Dad... It was so nice to talk to him every weekend and I look forward to our phone calls. It was never considered an obligation....it was a pleasure and I looked forward to our conversations. I always hung up feeling loved no matter what and I left with some bit of knowledge that he gave me.

As time goes by I believe I will be ok. All of us will be alright because my father lives in us all. I might not be able to talk to him on the phone but I will be talking to him all the time. I will constantly ask him what he would do to be sure I am doing the right thing.

I remember one day a long time ago, sitting on his bed having one of our chats and I asked him about his father. "Hey Pop, what was your Dad like?" He looked down in a very thoughtful way and when he looked up his eyes were watery and he shook his head and said, " He was a great man. A great man.." I think I now know how he felt at that moment...to think the world of someone and to lose them.....

Someday if my kids ask me what Pop Pop was like I know I will tell them the same thing. "He was a great man, a great man".

Dad

I believe I let too much time go by between blogs. I probably lose a few readers along the way when I do that, not that I had a lot to begin with, but that doesn't diminish the value of each and everyone on of you. You know who you are.

If you will indulge me, I'd like to tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl, let's call her Mary. She adored her father to the ends of the universe and back again, still does and always will. Most of what she knows to be true, she learned from him.

He is a strong man in character, and seemed so big and invincible when she was young...I guess all adults then seemed big, especially when your 3 foot tall. A gentle man with an intuitiveness about people and humility that is just breathtaking. He is an amazing listener with abounding empathy for people and their human conditions and situations. She thought he hung the moon, she still thinks he hangs the moon and always will.

Mary adores her father...when she is upset or sad, she needs to hear his voice, because it calms her as only Daddy can do. There was never a time she didn't feel his love through a look, gesture, word. She adores him. Mary would sit with him in his room and they would talk about everything and everything he has to say is precious and important. She stores all these wise and important gems in her head and she uses them constantly in throughout her lifetime, his lessons spill from her mouth to her children, spouse, friends, co-workers, siblings..

He is a smart man...very, very smart. Mary hopes that maybe someday she can be like him...wise, humble, giving, generous...she aspires to be all these things because she loves her Father for all these qualities and wants to be more like him.

As Mary got older, the conversations continued over the phone... she didn't feel like herself if she didn't talk to her Dad at least once a week. He is always there for her and she can still feel his love over the phone. She adores him.

Then came the day Mary's father became ill. It is hard for Mary to accept...because he is her Dad, he can hang the moon, she adores him. She hopes she can make the pain go away with her sheer will and love for him....she prays...she prays...she will continue to pray because this is her Father, this is a wonderful gentle man that is good to the bone and should not be in pain.

She loves him and thinks he can hang the moon - I love him and I'm pretty damn sure he can hang the moon.