I think about all my grandparents more often than most, I imagine. And I’m grateful to them – and for them.

It was late in February, 1988. We were in college. As mid-term exams were pressing on my schedule, I received a phone call from my parents. Something was wrong with Grandma.

The doctors decided to do emergency exploratory surgery, not so common for someone who was about to
be 88 years old. It was even less common in our small-town hospital.

“Should I come home?” I asked. It was just an hour’s drive.

“No, you need to stay on schedule with your exams. We’ll call you tomorrow and let you know how things are going.”

I thought about Grandma as I went to bed that night. I was thinking about her again when I awoke long before sunrise to go drive my school bus route. She was an early riser, too.

When I returned to our apartment after parking the school bus, I knew something wasn’t right the very moment I drove up; Linda’s car was still outside our apartment. She should have been at class already. She was waiting for me as I walked through the door, and I could tell by the look on her face that something was wrong. Really wrong.

“What is it?” I asked impatiently.

“Grandma made it through the surgery, but she died in the night….your parents called just a little while ago…”
If she said something more, I didn’t hear it. My mind trailed off into that place where past memories play back in slow-motion and the present seems surreal.

I was rewinding to the memories of sitting at Grandma’s modest kitchen table, playing cards together, while her homemade bread was baking in the oven. The candy dish in her living room with the pink wintergreen mints. Walking over to Ann’s Café together for dinner. And how she always called me “Davey.”

If she’d have lived another handful of days, Grandma would have been 88 years old. The church was packed for her funeral on a very cold Minnesota winter morning. My brother and I were among the casket bearers. It was an honor.

Grandma was a tremendous example of hard work, dedication and perseverance. Despite numerous adversities and Grandpa’s early death, she met life head on and chose to live it well. By earthly standards, she didn’t have too much. And yet, she had something extraordinarily priceless that many never own: she had contentment.

I think about all my grandparents more often than most, I imagine. And I’m grateful to them – and for them. And still today, I always think of my Grandma when people ask me if I prefer to be called “Dave” or “David.”

I always respond with this: “You can call me either one. But only Grandma got to call me Davey.”

Remember Well.

Most people, it seems, resolve to do something new or different or better as the calendar flips over to January. And it’s a pretty well-established fact that most resolutions, for one reason or another, aren’t kept throughout the year.

Perhaps, for many of us, we don’t need as many “resolutions” as we need “to-do lists.”

I admit it. I’m a list guy. More than once, I’ve added something to my to-do list – and immediately crossed it off – realizing that I had already completed it, but forgot to put on my list in the first place. Lists, for some of us, can be helpful. Even inspiring.

So don’t make a New Year’s resolution to review your Will. Put it on your to-do list. An outdated Will may not do everything you had intended it to do. And if you don’t have a Will – establishing one with the help of a good lawyer belongs at the TOP of your to-do list.

Don’t make a New Year’s resolution to establish or review Power of Attorney, Living Will and Advance Directives documents. Put it on your to-do list. These important documents allow you to assign who can make decisions on your behalf in the event you are temporarily or permanently unable to do so for yourself, including life-support decisions. Talk to your lawyer.

Don’t make a New Year’s resolution to review the particulars of your life insurance. Put it on your to-do list. If your family landscape has changed due to birth, death, marriage or divorce, your beneficiary designations may no longer reflect your intentions for your life insurance proceeds. Talk to your life insurance agent.

And don’t make a New Year’s resolution to establish or review your pre-arrangement. Put it on your to-do list. Pre-arranging allows you to tell your family what’s important to you regarding your funeral arrangements – and spares the people you care the most about from having to make so many difficult decisions at such a difficult time. Talk to your funeral home.

Everyone seems to understand that each of these elements is important to consider. Yet, comparatively few people actually attend to these items while they still can. From my vantage point as a funeral director, perhaps the most important aspect of each and every one of these to-do list items is this: once your family is finalizing funeral details, it’s simply too late to review, update or change anything. Your overall plan “is what it is” at that point; good intentions simply don’t apply anymore.

If you can make a New Year’s resolution stick, then be resolved to review and update your plan as needed. If you’re not so sure about the success of a resolution….grab a pen and a piece of paper and make a good old-fashioned to-do list. It’s a good time to get to work on your plan.

Remember Well.

Linda often has a fragrant candle burning in our home. Wispy spring and summery scents enjoyed for the past several months have been recently replaced by the warm and inviting scents of autumn. As the snow falls to stay, the aromas of evergreen and Christmas cookies will usher in the holidays.

The candle’s flame can often be as captivating as the scent released while it burns. Dashing to and fro as it will, the flicker of flame seems to have a life of its own, as silently it goes about releasing its light and fragrance about the house.

This year marks the sixth annual Candlelight Service of Remembrance we host each December at the funeral home. It is held in honor of the special lives we’ve been privileged to help “Remember Well” during the past year. The message and meaning conveyed in this special time of remembering – and the precious flicker of each special candle – is truly profound.

In honor of all the special lives represented each year, I wrote a brief poem that we share at each Remembrance Service. Perhaps if you light a candle in your own home sometime throughout the holiday season, or into the coming year, this verse may prompt you to give special thanks for those whose lives have helped to shape your own . . . even as the candle spreads its light and color and fragrance throughout your home.

MY LOVE LIGHTS A CANDLE

My love lights a candle
For all the world to see
The world won’t always understand it,
Yet it means so much to me.

The candle represents the life, you see,
Of someone that I love,
Its flame burns bright and beautiful
Inspiration from above.

The candle, just as life itself,
For a season brightly shines
With color, flame and fragrance,
Bringing joy to other’s lives.

Yet as this candle burns so bright,
Its very life it claims
And one day, when it shines no more,
It shall rest, though not in vain.

For other flames has this flame lit
In other’s lives to shine…
I am truly blessed and privileged
That one of them was mine.

Love lights a candle . . . pass it on. And Remember Well.

Most of us prefer to live in the present, enjoy each day. Me, too, usually. However, as the holidays approach, I allow myself the privilege of some reminiscing; bring up some pleasant childhood holidays past.

Among my fondest is the memory of Christmas Day at Grandpa and Grandma’s farm. I grew up in a small rural town in Minnesota in the 40s. Grandpa and Grandma lived about eight miles south of town, which seemed a long distance to me.

There were no cell phones, and poor telephone service generally, we would call the farm when ready to leave our home. “Why,” you ask. Because the quarter mile drive from the road to their farm was a snow ridden dirt path, which crossed a rickety makeshift bridge over a creek. But, thankfully, we would leave our 40s something Ford on the road, and Grandpa would meet us with a grain wagon hitched to a lovely team of horses. We’d clamor into the wagon with our presents and dishes to pass and proceed up the dirt lane to the sound of sleigh bells, singing, “Over the creek and thru the fields, to Grandmother’s house we go.”

In the kitchen, the old cook stove stood proudly with his tinder box along side filled with wood and corncobs. It hummed slightly and shook a bit as the fire burned inside. It was a busy day for the old stove, producing bread, many pies and tasty meats. A meal fit for any princess!

Presents were small, inexpensive and usually homemade, but that didn’t matter; the greatest gift was the love that permeated every nook and cranny of that old farmhouse. Of course, at twilight we loaded up in the wagon and Dan and Dolly pulled us back to the road, happy, full and content. A true Currier and Ives Christmas!

This holiday season, I would like to invite you to reminisce a bit about your youth. Share it with your loved ones, and keep that warm memory close to your heart. All of us at 50+ Lifestyles Magazine wish you a VERY HAPPY HOLIDAY SEASON, filled with fond memories and the enjoyment of making some new traditions with your loved ones.

To be totally honest, I don’t remember much about kindergarten. But, I do remember my teacher. I remember that we got to take naps. And, I remember that we did something special for Thanksgiving.

I suppose we made some turkeys by outlining our hand on fall-colored construction paper. We might have had some shocks of corn and a couple pumpkins in our classroom, too. Probably made a pilgrim hat as best we could.

My most vivid kindergarten memory, however, was making Thanksgiving Soup.

Each student was asked to bring a particular vegetable: carrots, potatoes, onions, celery, peas, corn. Our teacher brought in a big stock pot, filled it with meat and broth and put it on the stove. (We actually had a stove!) We sorted the vegetables into groups, and then she told us something about each one before washing, chopping and placing each of the ingredients into the stock pot.

We learned a little bit about vegetables, I guess. They start as seeds, which are planted and grow in the ground. When they’re done growing, they’re harvested. And they’re supposed to be good for you.

But, we also learned some important life lessons from making Thanksgiving Soup as kindergartners. Some of it made sense even then….and some required a little time to sink in until we became adults.

We learned that when everyone contributed to a common goal, we could make something special for everyone without creating hardship for anyone.

We learned that the earth is a precious gift, and, when used properly, can provide good things for our health, our benefit and our enjoyment

We learned that sometimes things “need a little salt.”

We learned that mixing different ingredients together can create delicious flavors that singular ingredients cannot offer on their own.

And, we learned what it meant to wait as the soup simmered in our classroom kitchen, the aroma growing evermore inviting hour by hour, day by day.

After the soup had simmered for a couple of days, our reward was finally realized when we set the table and everyone sat down together to enjoy the culmination of all that we had provided, prepared and learned. And as we prepared to partake of the fruits of our labors, we learned perhaps the most important lesson of all:

Giving Thanks.

And I still Remember Well.

There was a time during junior high when I played my share of chess. Several of my friends, I discovered, were pretty good chess players, and my intrigue for the game intensified as I watched them maneuver – and out-maneuver – one another in matches that were often lengthy and occasionally exhausting.

As I first began to learn the in’s and out’s of the game, the objective quickly became clear: protect your own King while reducing your opponent to checkmate by cornering his King.

At its most basic aspect, the game of chess finds its opponents in possession of an equal number of playing pieces to begin the contest. Each opponent’s pieces have equal capabilities and are placed in identically opposite positions on the board; by all accounts, a level playing field at the outset.

Because each playing piece is both offensively empowered and defensively capable, it is the player’s breadth of knowledge of each piece’s capabilities – and its corresponding limitations – coupled with depth of strategy that ultimately determines the outcome of each match.

Most numerous among the playing pieces on the board, Pawns comprise the entire front line for each player. Limited in movement and comparatively abundant, Pawns are often considered much more dispensable than their higher-powered counterparts in the back row: Rooks, Knights, Bishops, and, of course, the Queen and the King. Indeed, one can lose all eight of his Pawns and still win the match by preserving his singular King.

Of particular interest to me at that time was the fact that the retention of the most powerful piece, the Queen, was not the determining factor in winning or losing the match. Conversely, protecting and retaining one of the least powerful pieces, the King, was the ultimate objective for success.

Two of my friends had diametrically opposed views on the role of the Queen. One couldn’t wait to open up the playing field that would allow his Queen to roam about freely, creating offensive as well as defensive opportunities against his opponent. Quite consistently, he lost his Queen during the match…but only after he had effectively employed her unparalleled capability against his opponent.

On the opposite side of the board, another friend so valued the capability of the all-powerful Queen that he protected her at any cost. Surrounded and shrouded throughout a match, his virtually immobilized Queen was often preserved at the costly expense of numerous other important pieces.

In the end, more often than not – indeed by quite a margin – the player who empowered the Queen to action was the victor in the match. He understood the capability of the Queen. He knew when to use that capability for offense and when to use it for defense…and he never lost sight of what’s really important in a chess match: protecting his King. For at the end of the contest, it isn’t the player whose Queen is standing that wins…but the one whose King remains.

Thus, in the chess match of life, we would all do well to understand the difference between what SEEMS important . . . and what really IS important.

For as someone once wisely noted…when the game is over, the King and the Pawn go back in the same box.

There’s some wisdom in there somewhere. Remember Well.

As we pause and reflect upon Patriot Day this year, we do so on the 10th anniversary of that awful day that forever altered American – indeed, world – history. In 2008, I took my family to New York to “pay our respects,” if you will, at Ground Zero. Following is the article I wrote during that trip, which was first published in the September, 2008 issue of 50+ Lifestyles.

While many things have changed since 9/11, some of which dates the content of this original article, one thing has remained unchanged for me:

I still Remember Well.

Lady Liberty stood tall across the harbor as we boarded the ferry on a beautiful summer morning in Lower Manhattan. Other visitors – seemingly from every corner of the globe – were aboard, joining us to pay our respects, if you will, to this icon that universally defines freedom, opportunity, and yes, liberty around the world.

Approaching Liberty Island by ferry, I couldn’t help but wonder how so many of our ancestors must have felt, watching this awesome statue – and all she represents – come into view as they arrived at this land of the free. Graceful and poignant, she towered over the small island, her polished torch gleaming in the morning sun. It was an honor to be in her presence.

Turning back to face the city, enjoying the panoramic smorgasbord of water, bridges, boats and skyscrapers, my heart was bursting with patriotism and American pride. Families posed beneath the behemoth statue. Strangers willingly handed over expensive cameras to perfect strangers and asked them to take their photo. Discriminations were set aside; different nations and cultures were momentarily united in a spirit of humanity, not separated by ethnicity, culture or race.

Scanning the city landscape once again, my gaze took unexpected pause as a lump formed in my throat: the still-obvious gap in the Lower Manhattan skyline directly across the harbor jarringly outlined the place where the former twin towers had once stood.

And for the first time since 9/11, a remarkable irony occurred to me.

For here, where several generations had once set out to begin anew with a dream of progress, growth, faith and freedom – another generation, in another time, another place and in a very different world – carried out a cruelly masterminded plot of tyranny, malice, destruction and death. Several yards distant, Old Glory flapped in the breeze – a stirring juxtaposition of perhaps the two most poignant icons of American freedom. Silently, I prayed.

The ferry returned us to Manhattan. After walking a few short blocks, we were face to face with the site of the most destructive act of terrorism in world history. Where the twin towers had once graced the skyline of the nation’s Financial District, a cavernous construction site, still several stories below street level, now exists. The site, abuzz with cranes, heavy equipment and construction workers, will be home to the new World Trade Center – and a 9/11 memorial – slated to open sometime in 2012.

Surrounding this now sacred site of American soil, adjacent buildings stand tall against the skyline, boldly declaring the resiliency of New Yorkers… no, of Americans. The construction site, so large it appears as but a sandbox filled with Tonka trucks, is peppered with nearby buildings in various stages of reconstruction, alongside other structures that – somehow – miraculously survived the massive impact of the jets, the thunderous collapse of the towers and the blazing inferno that ensued for days.

Nearby, St. Vincent’s Hospital was a stirring reminder of the first NYC triage center following the 9/11 attacks. Across the street, a chain-link fence, adorned with ceramic tiles hand-painted by children, proclaims a unique memorial to all 9/11 victims.
Innumerable cars, buses, taxi cabs and pedestrians wove a complex tapestry of motion nearby, boldly declaring American determination: determination to overcome, determination to rise above, determination to rebuild.

And then, returning my focus to the construction site, I saw it – an American flag –standing proudly toward the northern edge of the site, a constant reminder to the countless workers who, for nearly seven years, have come to this place daily to rebuild this centerpiece of international trade… and American pride.

The Twin Towers. The Pentagon. Flight 93 in Pennsylvania. Two thousand nine hundred ninety eight people lost their lives that day. Perhaps we were all New Yorkers that day in 2001.

Perhaps we still are.

Let us remember those whose lives were lost. Let us remember their families. Let us remember well.

And let us never forget.

Please join me and others in the Quad-City Area as we “Walk to End Alzheimer’s” on September 10, 2011.

There it was again, starting so very softly. That sound of a songbird, escalating to the harsh sound of a crow. Fern was coming back down the hall to find me. Again. There she stood at my nursing home office doorway. “Please take me home, so I can get supper for my children. They need to eat,” she pleaded. We had gone through this many times already this evening; each time, I’d walk her back to her room and visit with her about her family, help her set her “table” and give her a doll to hold in her arms.

Driving home in the darkness, I was overcome with questions. Why, by some ill twist of fate, was Fern so concerned about her children as youngsters, yet didn’t recognize them as adults? Why was she locked in a time capsule of the past, unable to reconcile with her current environment? Why did she think I was her mother, her refuge, when she was also concerned about her children as young and needing her care? Why?

The whys continue to plague me. Why can’t they find a cause and a cure for the insidious disease known as Alzheimer’s Disease? Why are so many people stuck in their own “time capsules,” struggling to find peace in the foreign world around them? I think about the families, adult children who lose a parent long before their death.

Fern has gone to her eternal reward. But the numbers of those affected continue to grow. Researchers are making some breakthroughs, but it is costly and time consuming. All the while, the clock keeps ticking for these patients and their families.

Will you help the many “Ferns” and their loved ones who struggle with this disease? Yes, you can actually do something to help! Please join me and others in the Quad-City Area as we “Walk to End Alzheimer’s” on September 10, 2011. Registration begins at 8 a.m. at the iWireless Center in Moline with the two mile walk beginning at 9 a.m. The walkway area is paved so you can push a wheelchair or a stroller.

Form a team with your family, grandchildren, friends, card club, coffee bunch or co-workers. Raise some money as a team to turn in before the walk begins. Every dollar will help us meet our $85,000 goal with special activities for children.

For additional information and instructions, please call Linda White at the Alzheimer’s Association in Davenport at (563) 324-1022. I will be so happy to see you participating that day, and you will feel great for doing so. TOGETHER WE CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE!!! Please CALL LINDA today – you’ll be glad you did! And THANK YOU for participating!

Dee Deuth, CSA

Dee Deuth, CSA is a Pre-Arrangement Specialist and Family Care Director at Weerts Funeral Home in Davenport. She is serving on the Event Experience Committee which is planning the Walk to End Alzheimers on September 10, 2011 at the I Wireless Center, Moline.

Flooding and heat waves and road construction, oh my! The summer of 2011 has indeed been memorable in many respects.

If you ask most Midwesterners about the “dog days of summer,” most would probably say that this occurs in late July and into August.

Ask any kids what August means to them, and they’ll typically bemoan that it’s time to head back to the books. As classes get underway in most area schools this month, the driving public should remember that students and school buses will once again be out in full force on our area roadways. And with a significant number of major road construction projects still in the works throughout the entire Quad Cities area, we will all need to be alert as we’re driving out there – especially so in the school zones.

School buses deserve special consideration on our roadways. Bus drivers are responsible for the safe operation of a large vehicle while overseeing and transporting some pretty precious cargo – our students. As a school bus driver myself for three years during my college days, I have a special respect for these drivers and the special work that they do!

Whenever you see a school bus, be sure to remain alert and be prepared to stop when the amber lights begin to flash. When the red lights are flashing and the stop arm is extended, motorists on either side of the stopped school bus MUST stop until the flashing lights are off and the stop arm has been retracted. Anytime a school bus is stopped and the red lights are flashing, it means that a student is moving on foot nearby.

Also, remember that the Crossing Guard will be out near intersections where students must cross the road on their way to and from school each day. School zones have reduced speed limits for drivers when school is in session, so be prepared for those reduced speed limits to become effective again as classes get underway.

And, as the road construction continues, all motorists are reminded to be cautious in these work zones, too, as construction workers are often working right near the traffic lanes. (Growing up in Minnesota, we always joked that there are really only two seasons there: winter…and road construction!)

As we roll into the dog days of summer and the beginning of another school year, let’s be extra safe on our roadways!

Most are probably familiar with the common saying that goes something like this: “The only two certain things in life are death and taxes.”

Indeed, among both generations and centuries, it seems that we can scarcely do more about one than the other.

When speaking to groups on various topics, I often interject a little statistic that has alarmed – and humored – many people: 10 out of 10 people die. Laughable, perhaps, on one side of the coin, it is a stark reality on the other.

That death is a certainty for each of us is the stark reality I witness daily as a funeral director. Unlike the well-known co-conspirator “taxes,” death knows no boundary of income, socioeconomics, marital status or number of dependents. It can be neither mitigated nor avoided with the help of good advice or even good planning. Indiscriminate and universal with respect to age, gender, race, religion and ethnicity, death, we have come to understand, is as common as it is certain among mankind.

Linda’s Dad died one year ago this month. Several times since, I have found myself caught off-guard when I see his pictures in our home. These photos can still whisk my mind into an earlier whirlwind of his cancer diagnosis, the numerous trips back to Minnesota, the eventual stroke that claimed his speech, the peaceful moment he slipped from the earthly into the heavenly, and the funeral events that celebrated his imprint on his family, his friends and his corner of the world.

For twenty-two years, I’ve found myself coaching and guiding families in their similar whirlwind experiences. Among the most basic elements following the death of someone close to us is the notion that we can never really be “the same.” And yet, by honoring their lives and their memories, we create new and meaningful ways to find meaning in living without their physical presence…and this, in turn, helps us to find our “new normal.”

We sure didn’t pack away the pictures of Linda’s Dad in a box since his death. On the contrary, we’ve placed several in prominent places so we DO see them each day. As we reflect, remember and reminisce on her Dad and his life, we’ve found that we laugh about some memories, and we still cry about some others . . . and this alone, unlike the proverbial “death and taxes” adage, creates neither a diminishing nor deflating effect, but rather an empowering experience as we honor his memory by learning to live a “new normal.”

There sure isn’t much any of us can do to change the reality of death and taxes.

But, we can choose to find a new normal . . . and Remember Well.