(01/22/2012 - I am in process of transferring posts from elsewhere, so the sequence is off, but many of the sentiments are current.)
It's been a few months since I've written anything here.
Many of my readers know me from other "places" and are likely aware of what is transpiring.
The last week of June, I had this terribly strong feeling that I needed to go home to Massachusetts for a visit. My wife and I were planning on doing so to be at my niece's wedding the 1st weekend of October. But, I had this overwhelming notion that if I did not go at the beginning of July, there would be someone close to me who would not be there in October.
It was a good visit...even had a spontaneous day with my dad (he's a man of habit, routine and planning). I had been telling him of some of the genealogy research I'd been doing. A name I mentioned sparked his memory...all of a sudden he offers to take a day trip, drive up to the village where my great grandmother (Mary Francis Burke nee Brady) was born. He'd recalled attending the funeral of one of her cousins in 1951, when he was 16.
We spent several hours there (Williamsburg and Haydenville), driving around the area and then we stopped at the cemetery. We found the cousin's grave, along with several others I could match with names in my research notes.
Dad had a bad cough and seemed to tire more easily than usual; losing weight, too. Mom and I worked on him to go see the doctor. He did the week after I returned to Illinois.
He'd been walking around with a pneumonia infection. During the followup for that treatment (at the end of August), they found a lemon-sized tumor in his right lung, located around the pulmonary artery, which had been masked by the pneumonia.
Preliminary treatments started; 2nd chemo was the Monday after the Wedding. Chemo was chosen because there was evidence that the cancer had spread some after the X-ray - MRI - PET - CAT - Blood Panel series was done. When it was just the big tumor, they were looking at targeted radiation. The doctors offered no false hope; when found, the cancer was already Stage 4.
Dad had a good day for the gathering...was alert and engaged during the ceremony (11 AM), ate his dinner and stayed until 9 PM at the reception afterwards. He slept most of the day afterwards and was cranky when awake.
I also got him over to his brother's house, the first time they'd been able to visit in person since July, Uncle Ed has very bad circulation in his legs and can not walk much. I also found my great grandmother Robinson's grave and brought my dad to see her. She died 4 years before he was born.
Things seemed to be going well, but the chemo did little save kick the snot out of him...
Thanksgiving was another good day for him, but he collapsed on that Saturday. (Found out later it was the first of two micro-strokes he'd had.)
I went home again at the beginning of December. Frankly, death warmed over would have looked better. The doctors (with dad's participation) stopped chemo and put him on palliative medications, including steroids to combat inflammation. They also decided to try targeted radiation. By the end of this visit he was well enough to be transferred to an acute care facility. Uncle Ed was doing well enough that he visited dad in the hospital (the day before the transfer to the nursing facility).
Dad was home again after a couple of weeks, effecting his desire to spend the Christmas and New Year's Holidays at home. He wanted my nieces and nephews to remember him at home, rather than in hospital or nursing facility.
They are all old enough (youngest is 19) to have a raft of good memories, regardless.
The radiation did shrink the main tumor, so he was able to be home. My sister and nephews adapted my parents' 4-season porch (just off the kitchen) into a "bedsitter" for him. There is also a bathroom just off the kitchen, so he's got a little "apartment."
Dad had a set back last month, was back in hospital and then the same nursing facility...a lung infection, which did respond to treatment.
He is back home, responding to the continued palliative treatments. (Again, I was later informed by my mom that dad was actually in Hospice, she didn't want me to worry overmuch as I live 1100 miles away.)
Mom says he's happy; got his TV, books, crossword puzzles, just enough company. He's gotten more emotional, she said. I think the illness has just uncapped the feelings he's kept in reserve all his life.
He does have a few goals still; 1st one is this coming Thursday, his 75th birthday. I am flying back to spend it with him. Next will be my parents' 54th Wedding Anniversary at the beginning of June, mom's birthday at the end of June and the birth of his first great grandchild, sometime in July.
At the beginning of December, the doctors gave him 3 months. The way he's not just hanging on, but doing remarkably well...I think he'll make it to holding the child in July.
It will be an opportunity for us to have a 5 generation picture, as my mother's father is still with us. He'll be 99 the beginning of June and is relatively healthy for his age.
Latest sign of some fight left in him; he wants a kitten.
As for me, I'm coming out of a bout with depression, again. Hard to feel 100% when your dad's on the final leg of the journey...
(...and as you'll read, dad did not make it to seeing his first great grandchild, and now there are three: Parker 29 June 2010, Zoey 9 September 2011 and Naomi 5 January 2012.)
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Stewart John Robinson - an elegy - - 6 March 2010
(Pip note 22 JAN 2012: We buried my dad on Monday 1 March 2010. I was visiting because my mom was going to have a series of small birthday partied for him over the weekend in light of the cancer from which he was dying. I've started to gather my web writing to this new blog, and my dad figures very large in my life and in my heart.)
My dad was born on 25 February 1935 a little before 8 in the morning. My dad died on 25 February 2010, a little before 8 in the morning.
Turning 75 was the last, big goal he had.
He was sitting in his comfy chair, having refused to go to bed the evening before when mom and I tried to help him up.
He was tired of fighting, tired of not being the one to help others, tired of not being able to do for himself those basic things we all take for granted.
I help moderate a list for new members of the AFA, we answer their questions, pose those of our own and like to give examples...I was trying to write a poem of how to know a worthy life and my dad came to mind (this was written several days before he passed - [Copyright 7 February 2010, Steven P Robinson] ). My mom, seeking to protect me, had not let me know that dad was in hospice care. I went home expecting a birthday party, and got a Parting instead.
It is what it is...
He taught me that "woulda," "shoulda," and "coulda" are the three most toxic words in the English language.
Heck, I think think he passed on when he did to make it easier on everyone, as we were gathering for his birthday anyhow.
Here's the full eulogy I spoke at his Funeral Mass, which began 10 AM, 1 March, 2010. Even the priest (who did know my dad a little) thought it was good.
One thing I did not say; my dad, Stewart, was a man of deep faith in the Holy as he saw It, which was Roman Catholic in worldview. He was devout, but he accepted (not merely tolerated) that folks, including his children, believed different. He told me and my siblings so.
----------------------------------------
I try to understand the world around me and do a lot of my thinking by writing poetry.
In trying to understand my dad's life as an example of a worthwhile life, I wrote the following, and a few other observations.
Tell me, Show me...
You can tell a man, but not too much,
Unless he is ready to hear.
You can show a man, but not too much,
Unless he is ready to see.
This is the way the wide world turns,
Between the skies and the waters;
That some will live their life in full,
And others will merely survive.
How does one live a worthy life,
And craft strong Fate and gain good Luck?
How does one know a worthy life,
And speak true words for common good?
It starts at birth in Family,
To parents dear, who'll raise you up,
To learn and grow, to know your Folk,
To find a way to better self.
Among the things from Kin and Kith,
Which shape the thoughts we have of world,
We gain beliefs and points of view,
Which shape the way we face each day.
And as we grow from Childhood,
To Youth, to Teen and then Adult,
We gain more thoughts from wider world,
To goad the mind, become more whole.
But roots we have from Kin and Kith,
They'll hold us fast, if we hold on,
To good, true ways with wisdom's strength,
Take care of those we know and love.
Take hold, take care, be strong, be true,
To learn and think, to speak and do,
In this we'll gain, build up good Name,
For this is heart of worthy life.
And at the end of all our years,
When we tread on that Final Walk,
And stand before our Holy Ones,
Upright and proud, as well we should.
You can tell a man, but not too much,
Unless he is ready to hear.
You can show a man, but not too much,
Unless he is ready to see.
This is the way the wide world turns,
Between the skies and the waters;
That some will live their life in full,
And others will merely survive.
My dad was not a survivor, he lived life in full.
He was his own man, who did right by family, friends and community.
He was proud, but not prideful.
He was private, but shared of himself.
He wanted stability, but accepted difference.
He was reserved, but he trusted.
He loved words, but wasn't wordy.
He was wealthy in the things that matter most.
I am proud to be his son and did well enough to earn his pride in me.
He always seemed to have a plan, and always left on time.
Dad, thanks for stopping by...
(and as I passed his casket on the way back to my seat, I paused, placed my hand over him and said...)
So long, Old Scout, you can walk in the woods whenever you want now...
My dad was born on 25 February 1935 a little before 8 in the morning. My dad died on 25 February 2010, a little before 8 in the morning.
Turning 75 was the last, big goal he had.
He was sitting in his comfy chair, having refused to go to bed the evening before when mom and I tried to help him up.
He was tired of fighting, tired of not being the one to help others, tired of not being able to do for himself those basic things we all take for granted.
I help moderate a list for new members of the AFA, we answer their questions, pose those of our own and like to give examples...I was trying to write a poem of how to know a worthy life and my dad came to mind (this was written several days before he passed - [Copyright 7 February 2010, Steven P Robinson] ). My mom, seeking to protect me, had not let me know that dad was in hospice care. I went home expecting a birthday party, and got a Parting instead.
It is what it is...
He taught me that "woulda," "shoulda," and "coulda" are the three most toxic words in the English language.
Heck, I think think he passed on when he did to make it easier on everyone, as we were gathering for his birthday anyhow.
Here's the full eulogy I spoke at his Funeral Mass, which began 10 AM, 1 March, 2010. Even the priest (who did know my dad a little) thought it was good.
One thing I did not say; my dad, Stewart, was a man of deep faith in the Holy as he saw It, which was Roman Catholic in worldview. He was devout, but he accepted (not merely tolerated) that folks, including his children, believed different. He told me and my siblings so.
----------------------------------------
I try to understand the world around me and do a lot of my thinking by writing poetry.
In trying to understand my dad's life as an example of a worthwhile life, I wrote the following, and a few other observations.
Tell me, Show me...
You can tell a man, but not too much,
Unless he is ready to hear.
You can show a man, but not too much,
Unless he is ready to see.
This is the way the wide world turns,
Between the skies and the waters;
That some will live their life in full,
And others will merely survive.
How does one live a worthy life,
And craft strong Fate and gain good Luck?
How does one know a worthy life,
And speak true words for common good?
It starts at birth in Family,
To parents dear, who'll raise you up,
To learn and grow, to know your Folk,
To find a way to better self.
Among the things from Kin and Kith,
Which shape the thoughts we have of world,
We gain beliefs and points of view,
Which shape the way we face each day.
And as we grow from Childhood,
To Youth, to Teen and then Adult,
We gain more thoughts from wider world,
To goad the mind, become more whole.
But roots we have from Kin and Kith,
They'll hold us fast, if we hold on,
To good, true ways with wisdom's strength,
Take care of those we know and love.
Take hold, take care, be strong, be true,
To learn and think, to speak and do,
In this we'll gain, build up good Name,
For this is heart of worthy life.
And at the end of all our years,
When we tread on that Final Walk,
And stand before our Holy Ones,
Upright and proud, as well we should.
You can tell a man, but not too much,
Unless he is ready to hear.
You can show a man, but not too much,
Unless he is ready to see.
This is the way the wide world turns,
Between the skies and the waters;
That some will live their life in full,
And others will merely survive.
My dad was not a survivor, he lived life in full.
He was his own man, who did right by family, friends and community.
He was proud, but not prideful.
He was private, but shared of himself.
He wanted stability, but accepted difference.
He was reserved, but he trusted.
He loved words, but wasn't wordy.
He was wealthy in the things that matter most.
I am proud to be his son and did well enough to earn his pride in me.
He always seemed to have a plan, and always left on time.
Dad, thanks for stopping by...
(and as I passed his casket on the way back to my seat, I paused, placed my hand over him and said...)
So long, Old Scout, you can walk in the woods whenever you want now...
Thinking about my dad, again...1 May 2010
Well, just over 8 weeks since he died and just under 8 weeks since we buried hm.
The wound is deeper and fresher than I realized, my feelings tested worst than I'd admitted.
I do a lot of my thinking "aloud," by writing poetry.
I wrote this morning, looking to sort things out for myself...
Grey Muse
Through the tears in my soul;
Came the tears to my eyes.
And pale was my heart
As I walked past the Pale
The journey was bleak
As I strode alone
Beneath the wan light
Of an ashy grey sky.
The path was dusty
Though no mark I left
My foot falls were muffled
As if I were naught
Ahead was a sight
The same as behind
From darkness I came
To darkness I trekked
Then off to the side
A spark danced afar
Tiny, actinic
Attracting my eyes
The light seemed to call
Alter your course
Get out of this path
Take hold of yourself
My body felt leaden
Fighting the thoughts
Of turning aside
And leaving the gloom
My Self shrieked at Me
As if the effort
Were causing great pain
Great fear and great burden
But I slowly turned
As I sensed the Right
That following flare
Was best thing to do
The ground seemed to heal
As I left the dust
And finally my feet
Were buried in grass
I looked behind
The darkness was clear
A part of my past
Perhaps journey's end
But something inside
Had known all along
That I still had life
And things I must do
The dark had been quiet,
Calming and kind
The easiest path
For me, myself and I
But that's not the way
I had learned to walk
Not easiest path
But being and doing
The light's where I am
It's where I will stay
Though I know that the dark
Ever will lurk
Through the tears in my soul;
Came the tears to my eyes.
And pale was my heart
As I walked past the Pale
The wound is deeper and fresher than I realized, my feelings tested worst than I'd admitted.
I do a lot of my thinking "aloud," by writing poetry.
I wrote this morning, looking to sort things out for myself...
Grey Muse
Through the tears in my soul;
Came the tears to my eyes.
And pale was my heart
As I walked past the Pale
The journey was bleak
As I strode alone
Beneath the wan light
Of an ashy grey sky.
The path was dusty
Though no mark I left
My foot falls were muffled
As if I were naught
Ahead was a sight
The same as behind
From darkness I came
To darkness I trekked
Then off to the side
A spark danced afar
Tiny, actinic
Attracting my eyes
The light seemed to call
Alter your course
Get out of this path
Take hold of yourself
My body felt leaden
Fighting the thoughts
Of turning aside
And leaving the gloom
My Self shrieked at Me
As if the effort
Were causing great pain
Great fear and great burden
But I slowly turned
As I sensed the Right
That following flare
Was best thing to do
The ground seemed to heal
As I left the dust
And finally my feet
Were buried in grass
I looked behind
The darkness was clear
A part of my past
Perhaps journey's end
But something inside
Had known all along
That I still had life
And things I must do
The dark had been quiet,
Calming and kind
The easiest path
For me, myself and I
But that's not the way
I had learned to walk
Not easiest path
But being and doing
The light's where I am
It's where I will stay
Though I know that the dark
Ever will lurk
Through the tears in my soul;
Came the tears to my eyes.
And pale was my heart
As I walked past the Pale
More thoughts on my dad - Father's Day 2010
My Fathers’ Son
I am in truth my fathers’ son
Born of a long and storied line
Not one of whom was grand or famed
But all became the man I am
In life they strived to build their weal
To help their own, to ward their homes
In life they strived for Kin and kith
That Worth might come and make their name
We find that we have many roles
Which come to us within our years
Child, sibling, partner, parent
Friend or foe, teacher or taught
Upon my hand there is a ring
White gold it is, plain thin and old
It sat upon my father’s hand
A sign of Troth when he was wed
He was a man who seldom spoke
But words he gave were rich and wise
He was a man who seemed withdrawn
But gave of self when need was there
His work was hard, his days were long
But seldom did he stay away
From home and hearth, from wife and kids
He knew his place was in our lives
And as years passed, the world did change
But not his care for family
Nor for his friends, or for his deeds
As he worked in community
He lived to see his children wed
Some well, some not, but all survived
And from this he saw grandchildren
To carry on the long Kin-line
And at the end of all his years
When illness laid him weak and low
He took the hit, but carried on
And sang his last few days away
And as we stood on sacred grounds
Where kin-bones slept beneath the sod
And as we laid him in his grave
My thoughts flew high, and far and wide
I looked to hills he loved to roam
Beneath the trees beside the stream
A place he shared with many boys
My sib and I foremost of these
So long old scout, your time has come
To walk those trails, unseen, unknown
Beyond the bounds of daily life
A new frontier to seek and see
I am in truth my fathers’ son
Born of a long and storied line
Not one of whom was grand or famed
But all became the man I am
In life they strived to build their weal
To help their own, to ward their home
In life they strived for Kin and kith
That Worth might come and make their name
(January 2011 - Dad's Wedding Ring...which was mentioned in this poem...I lost it when I was blown off the road during bad storm conditions on my way to work.
I was trying to dig out the tail pipe, so I wouldn't smother myself by running the engine from time to time to keep warm. My glove came off, as did the ring...)
I am in truth my fathers’ son
Born of a long and storied line
Not one of whom was grand or famed
But all became the man I am
In life they strived to build their weal
To help their own, to ward their homes
In life they strived for Kin and kith
That Worth might come and make their name
We find that we have many roles
Which come to us within our years
Child, sibling, partner, parent
Friend or foe, teacher or taught
Upon my hand there is a ring
White gold it is, plain thin and old
It sat upon my father’s hand
A sign of Troth when he was wed
He was a man who seldom spoke
But words he gave were rich and wise
He was a man who seemed withdrawn
But gave of self when need was there
His work was hard, his days were long
But seldom did he stay away
From home and hearth, from wife and kids
He knew his place was in our lives
And as years passed, the world did change
But not his care for family
Nor for his friends, or for his deeds
As he worked in community
He lived to see his children wed
Some well, some not, but all survived
And from this he saw grandchildren
To carry on the long Kin-line
And at the end of all his years
When illness laid him weak and low
He took the hit, but carried on
And sang his last few days away
And as we stood on sacred grounds
Where kin-bones slept beneath the sod
And as we laid him in his grave
My thoughts flew high, and far and wide
I looked to hills he loved to roam
Beneath the trees beside the stream
A place he shared with many boys
My sib and I foremost of these
So long old scout, your time has come
To walk those trails, unseen, unknown
Beyond the bounds of daily life
A new frontier to seek and see
I am in truth my fathers’ son
Born of a long and storied line
Not one of whom was grand or famed
But all became the man I am
In life they strived to build their weal
To help their own, to ward their home
In life they strived for Kin and kith
That Worth might come and make their name
(January 2011 - Dad's Wedding Ring...which was mentioned in this poem...I lost it when I was blown off the road during bad storm conditions on my way to work.
I was trying to dig out the tail pipe, so I wouldn't smother myself by running the engine from time to time to keep warm. My glove came off, as did the ring...)
Life lesson from dad, and then, to Asatru? (Original 11 June 2010)
Hail all;
I have been corresponding with a fellow with whom I have had good words for several years.
He lost his dad within the past few days and I have been trying to guide him through this leg of life's journey.
One thing I wrote, I think is appropriate to the discussions we've been having about our worldview...
"We fill the hole by fighting onward, by building and by leaving our Family Name in better shape than when our fathers gave it to us; that is the duty we owe." - Steven Stewartsson
Our Name, is not just ours, but our parents', their parents', and on back...it is our siblings', our children's, their children's and on forward...
A Name is a weighty part of life's Burden.
I'm old enough, and come from a "conservative" enough background, that I was taught to never dishonor the Family Name, to always live my life so that our Name was a source of pride, of smiles, of glad tears, not shame, or scowls, or sorrowful weeping.
My dad told me he was proud of the way I've lived my life thus far...he was aware of my beliefs, and my foibles.
Pride and shame, our two-edged social sword.
One of our great concepts, surviving all these long centuries, lightly covered, but never buried.
I have been corresponding with a fellow with whom I have had good words for several years.
He lost his dad within the past few days and I have been trying to guide him through this leg of life's journey.
One thing I wrote, I think is appropriate to the discussions we've been having about our worldview...
"We fill the hole by fighting onward, by building and by leaving our Family Name in better shape than when our fathers gave it to us; that is the duty we owe." - Steven Stewartsson
Our Name, is not just ours, but our parents', their parents', and on back...it is our siblings', our children's, their children's and on forward...
A Name is a weighty part of life's Burden.
I'm old enough, and come from a "conservative" enough background, that I was taught to never dishonor the Family Name, to always live my life so that our Name was a source of pride, of smiles, of glad tears, not shame, or scowls, or sorrowful weeping.
My dad told me he was proud of the way I've lived my life thus far...he was aware of my beliefs, and my foibles.
Pride and shame, our two-edged social sword.
One of our great concepts, surviving all these long centuries, lightly covered, but never buried.
A poem from my youth - Poul Anderson - F&FS 1958
Ballade of an Artificial Satellite by Poul Anderson
Thence they sailed far to the southward along the land, and came to a ness; the land lay upon the right; there were long and sandy strands. They rowed to land, and found there upon the ness the keel of a ship, and called the place Keelness, and the strands they called Wonderstrands for it took a long time to sail by them.
Thorfinn Karlsefni’s Voyage to Vinland
One inland summer I walked through rye,
a wind at my heels that smelled of rain
and harried white clouds through a whistling sky
where the great sun stalked and shook his mane
and roared so brightly across the grain
it burned and shimmered like alien sands.-
Ten years old, I saw down a lane
the thunderous light on Wonderstrands.
In ages before the world ran dry,
what might the mapless not contain?
Atlantis gleamed like a dream to die,
Avalon lay under faerie reign,
Cibola guarded a golden plain,
Tir-nan-Og was fair-locked Fand’s,
sober men saw from a gull’s-road wain
the thunderous light on Wonderstrands.
Such clanging countries in cloudland lie;
but men grew weary and they grew sane
and they grew grown - and so did I -
and knew Tartessus was only in Spain.
No galleons called at Taprobane
(Ceylon, with English); no queenly hands
wear gold from Punt; nor sees the Dane
the thunderous light on Wonderstrands.
Ahoy, Prince Andros Horizen’s-bane!
They always wait, the elven lands.
An evening planet gives again
the thunderous light on Wonderstrands.
Thence they sailed far to the southward along the land, and came to a ness; the land lay upon the right; there were long and sandy strands. They rowed to land, and found there upon the ness the keel of a ship, and called the place Keelness, and the strands they called Wonderstrands for it took a long time to sail by them.
Thorfinn Karlsefni’s Voyage to Vinland
One inland summer I walked through rye,
a wind at my heels that smelled of rain
and harried white clouds through a whistling sky
where the great sun stalked and shook his mane
and roared so brightly across the grain
it burned and shimmered like alien sands.-
Ten years old, I saw down a lane
the thunderous light on Wonderstrands.
In ages before the world ran dry,
what might the mapless not contain?
Atlantis gleamed like a dream to die,
Avalon lay under faerie reign,
Cibola guarded a golden plain,
Tir-nan-Og was fair-locked Fand’s,
sober men saw from a gull’s-road wain
the thunderous light on Wonderstrands.
Such clanging countries in cloudland lie;
but men grew weary and they grew sane
and they grew grown - and so did I -
and knew Tartessus was only in Spain.
No galleons called at Taprobane
(Ceylon, with English); no queenly hands
wear gold from Punt; nor sees the Dane
the thunderous light on Wonderstrands.
Ahoy, Prince Andros Horizen’s-bane!
They always wait, the elven lands.
An evening planet gives again
the thunderous light on Wonderstrands.
An editorial comment on our political process...
...in particular how we choose our elected "leaders."
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