Tag: mom

My Father-in-Law’s Ethics

D. Michl LoweLeave a comment

My father-in-law, Larry, is an interesting man. I have a significant amount of respect for him. Much like my own father, he comes from a background where he invested a lot of time, effort, and diligence into providing a stable and good life for his wife and kids. 

I hesitate to call him a self-made man, in that I assume many people assisted him throughout his life in achieving what he has, not the least of which would be his amazing wife, but still, I would say he is as close as they tend to come. 

Anyway, my mother and father-in-law are moving, and my wife and I abandoned two of our children to head up to Rochester, NY, to help them finish packing to be ready for the movers to load everything up and get their things into the new house in Columbus, OH. So for the past three days, my wife has been in the house, packing away items in boxes and wrapping them in paper to protect them. I have meanwhile been in the garage with Larry. 

At one point, we were finishing power washing some of the more oversized items in the garage when Larry announced he would go and till the garden with the rototiller. I was confused. To be fair, I am not a mechanical-minded person, and my father-in-law is a master-mechanically-minded person. So I will default to his expertise, but this didn’t make sense to me. So I told him, “Larry, why are you going to till the garden? This isn’t your house now; you aren’t going to plant in that garden”. 

In my mind, this was a waste of time. He was leaving this place, starting a new life. In many ways, it was going to be a better life. It brought him closer to many of his kids and grandkids; the new house would be better in nearly every way. So why waste time tilling a garden, he would never use? He looked at me and said, “It will look nicer for the new owner if it’s tilled.” 

And was no other explanation. I could have just taken it as is, but my mind wouldn’t let that explanation rest. Throughout my time helping Larry pack away his things to prepare for the move, we have been cleaning the garage as we go to the point of vacuuming the baseboards at the edge of the concrete floors. Now I wouldn’t leave a filthy house for someone to buy, but it’s a garage; to me, that’s a naturally dirty place expected to be a little dusty. 

But I think several ideals are in place in my father-in-law’s mind. He is a generally kind man who wants to do kind things for other people, even people he doesn’t really know; like those buying his home. The other ideal, though, I believe, goes a little deeper. He is proud of his home and the life it represents and for good reason. This home, in many ways, represents his and Carolyn’s success in raising a family and providing for them in the manner Christ has called parents to do. 

I have seen many parents who have failed at that calling. Because of drugs, alcohol, failed marriages, unresolved mental health issues, etc., they have failed in their calling to be good parents and spouses. I can’t tell you the number of kids raised by grandparents or single parents because one or both biological parents have failed to step up and do what needs to be done. In essence, to grow up. Now I realize many extenuating circumstances in many people’s lives have led them to where they are, many uncontrollable. 

However, I think I understand why my father-in-law tills the garden for the new owner of the house he is selling. He understands the value of what he is selling and wants to present it so that it shows the value it truly has. It is a memorial stone to a life well lived.

D. Michl Lowe

Side Project: My Forgotten Youth

D. Michl LoweLeave a comment

So I took a break from writing the fantasy book that I have been working on and wrote something different. I woke up last night at 3:00 a.m. and had a book idea ramming itself into my consciousness. The idea wouldn’t go away. I had to write down the general idea. Below, I have written out the rough introduction to the book. I don’t plan on stopping work on the fantasy book, but I just needed a break. In my mind, this will be a very short book, less than 200 pages for sure. A middle-grade book, I think. We will see. In my head, this book is dealing with some heavy issues kids are dealing with even today. My current working title is My Forgotten Youth. Enjoy.

Introduction: The Abnormal Life

You don’t really question the things that happened to you as a kid. To you, it was just how life was and that was normal. It’s not until years later that you start to understand that your childhood might not have been completely regular. Example: My mom once told me that my father was a famous magician. I asked her why I didn’t have a dad and she said that he was busy working in Vegas and that the entertainment company that employed him wouldn’t let him take time off.

It made sense to me at the time, that my dad was a magician; too important to come and visit me. I told all my friends at school, and when they got old enough to realize it was a lie, they let me know, harshly, over and over. It was 1990 and I was eight years old. My mom would often disappear for weeks at a time, that was normal. My grandma and I would always order pizza when she knew mom wasn’t coming home. I got to the place where I hated the very smell of the stuff. Mom continually traveled up to Detroit with her boyfriends; sometimes just for the weekend, and others, for a month at a time.

We lived with my Grandma Susan. She had a little trailer that my grandpa had left her when he died. That was years before I was even born though. We all lived in Sissonville, West Virginia and my mom and Grandma had their own rooms, but I had the hall closet. It was big enough that my twin mattress could fit, but that was about it. 

One morning, I woke up before I should have. Not sure why, but something seemed wrong. Sometimes you wake up because of a noise, but you think you just woke up naturally. It was one of those times when you feel like you slept for a long time. I was wide awake. There was the sound of clinking dishes in the kitchen and I walked in, the footed pajamas I wore had a hole for the big toe on each one, but they still made a soft shiff shiff as they slid across the linoleum floor. 

The sound of my feet caused my mother to drop her little plastic purse on the side of the sink. When she did, amber pill bottles came plopping out on the counter and the floor. She was startled.

“Hey darlin’, what are you doin up?” She asked, smoothing her blond hair back from her face and licking lips that were too dry. 

“I heard something, and woke up,” I said. 

She was fully dressed in a short skirt and some of those fishnet stockings that girls loved to wear in the 80s, but that she was obviously too old to be wearing. Mom was fashionable; MTV was always on when she was home. Her bangs were the poofiest bangs in the whole town. While I always thought mom was pretty, in a “my mom” sort of way, I hated poofy bangs. She quickly picked up the pill bottles and began stuffing them back into the hot pink purse. One of them had rolled across the floor and my bare big toe twiddled it. I reached down and picked it up. It had my grandma’s name on the label.

“Oh,” I said. “This one is grandmas.”

A slight panic flashed across her eyes. “Yes, well I am taking it to get it refilled,” she said.

“Are all of those grandmas?”

She backed away from me and I was confused. “No, these ones are mine,” she said glancing towards the door. “Why don’t you mind your own business, huh? You think you know what’s best do ya? You aren’t the parent here! I am!” She screamed the last part, but immediately hushed herself, glancing towards the hall that led to grandma’s room.

“Mom, are you okay,” I asked, brushing off the harshness of her words. I learned long ago, not to take her harshness with any sincerity.

“I’m fine,” she hastily said, zipping up the little purse. It looked stupid, hot pink and almost rubbery. I thought it was like something a little kid would have, not a grown woman. She brushed tears out of her eyes. When had she started crying? Coming over, she kissed the top of my head. She smelled; sour, like ammonia. Like when our cat’s litter box hadn’t been cleaned in several weeks. Her arms were too thin, I could see the bones in her wrists. She had bruises up and down both of her arms, little scabbed dots all over.

“You be good okay. Listen to your grandma. I’m gonna be gone for a couple weeks, alright. I have a job up in Detroit I have to do. Robert says we can get some real good work this time.”

Robert was the current guy she called her boyfriend.

“Okay,” I said.

What else could I say? She looked back once, then walked out the front door.

I never saw my mom again.

When I Die, Freeze Me And Pound Me In The Ground

D. Michl LoweLeave a comment

My mother used to say, “When I die, just freeze me and pound me in the ground.” This is a great saying and honestly made me really think about what I wanted to be done when I died. Maybe that’s a morbid thing to talk about or think about, but honestly, it’s never been that big of a deal to me. My death is not the end of me. I know where I’m going and while I might not know all the details of what is going to happen, I am ready for it should it come soon. I do not fear death.

So I have been thinking about it for a long time now and I have realized that I am unlike many of my fellow West Virginians. The people of West Virginia value funerals… a lot. It is a big deal here. I however do not. While I understand why these rituals are valued, I myself do not value them at all. Well, let me step that back for a second. There is value to me, in that I see that they help people I care about go through the grieving process. That is valuable to me, but me personally, no.

I believe when I die, if my wife and children are still around (I hope), then I don’t want a funeral. I suppose that if the kids need something then that is fine, but honestly, I hope they don’t spend much money on it. If anything is needed to be done, then just have a picture of me up front at the church and have the pastor preach a short sermon. Then maybe people could bring some pot luck so people could eat and share memories of me, that would be great.

I have seen the bills that funerals leave behind. I don’t want to saddle my family with anything like that when I pass on. I don’t need a fancy coffin. I don’t need a new suit to wear. I don’t need formaldehyde in me to preserve me. In fact, I don’t need anything done to the body besides to get rid of it. That’s not me any longer. I am not in there. Who I am is no longer present with that husk. I am somewhere else, with someone else.

I understand that grief is a part of losing someone. I am okay with the grief, but it has nothing to do with my body. I have spent a little time looking into how to donate your body to science, but it seems like it is a more complicated idea than I first thought. It’s not like being an organ donor, where you just check the box and it’s taken care of. There’s a little more to it apparently. I need to spend some more time investigating it. I would rather allow my body to help future doctors learn than to make it all “pretty” so people can gawk at my body and say things like, “He looks so natural.” Yeah, I’m a fan of that.

Death, for me, is not a loss. Sure I don’t want to have it happen any time soon, there’s still a lot left to do on this plane, but neither do I shy away from it. I’m not worried about it. When I was younger, there was certainly some existential dread going on, but I think that was because I felt like there was still so much left to do. Much of those desires have been fulfilled for me. Let’s look at some of those, I got to marry the love of my life, and our life together has been fantastic so far and as much as I can tell, it will be for the future as well. I have three amazing kids who are already turning out fantastic. Now of course there’s a lot left to do with them, but they are here and will continue to be as fantastic as they are now, I have no doubt. I guess in the end, as my Momma said, “Just freeze me and pound me in the ground.”

D. Michl Lowe