Saying Goodbye...It's The Hardest Thing

 Years ago I happened upon a little British show called Top Gear. There were several things that drew me to the show. Of course, the cars, but they also had excellent cinematography. If you doubt me, check out the years between 2004 and afterwards (I'm sure the episodes preceding 2004 are excellent as well, but I found the show a few years later...). Even my wife loved watching--and she's not necessarily a car person.

All those things help add to the show, but the genius behind the show's success is because of three people...Jeremy, Richard, and James. I know in the history of comedic teams, duets flourish, but on Top Gear, it's the trio.

The boys were fired in 2015 and created another show on Prime TV. They called it Grand Tour. They tried to follow the previous show's format, but eventually it devolved into a season of epic adventures across the world, and next month...apparently...it all ends.

Bummer.

To say they'll be missed is an understatement, at least for me. The chemistry between the hosts is almost impossible to duplicate. We've known them for decades, at least their TV personas. I know there's no way we actually know them, but they connect on on such a personal level, they seem like they'd be a blast to chill out with.

Those of you who enjoy and watch the show know exactly what I'm talking about. BBC struck gold when they assembled this amazing team.

Seriously, it's time. Nothing last forever. After more than two decades they are closing the book on this chapter of their lives. Yes, I'm sad, but also happy they are able to pursue other ventures. It's rare when people create such art disguised as entertainment. God speed, boys. You done well.

Saying Goodbye...To The Vibe

 In a matter of weeks, our family went on a buying spree...not for clothes or food or pet supplies. No, everyone living in our house (except me...) bought a vehicle. That's the fun news. The sad news was saying goodbye to a couple of vehicles that served our family well for almost fifteen years.

That's longer than most pets live.

The car we traded in was my beloved 2004 Pontiac Vibe (really, a Toyota Matrix...). I loved that car. It was my second Vibe, nice, compact, reliable car. Three of our four kids learned to drive in that car. It brought me to my brother's house through a blizzard, and it survived hitting (and killing...) a deer. It always started, except when the battery was dead, and it never left us stranded.

Yes. it had problems. The driver's side window shattered more than once. I even replaced the door, but it didn't fix the problem. The catalytic converter was dying, and we destroyed the AC in its last year with us. We didn't exactly trust it at freeway speeds, but around town when you don't need to be able to roll down the window and you don't need all-wheel drive and you don't need air-conditioning, it was still a great ride.

But, it was time. What makes me most sad is the car has most likely seen its last owner. Sure, it could give some high school kid a ride to and from school and possibly a date. But, we traded it in and I don't know what happens to those cars.

We relied on that car so many times in the past decade and a half. The car was my friend, a tangible thing that offered comfort and safety. I know people have emotional connections to their vehicles. It's natural, and for me, this is a perfect example of how that happens. Our time with our Vibe has come to an end. It completed its mission, and did a damn fine job doing it.

Oh, we also got rid of our van, but that's another blog post.

Give Thanks...The View From A Hill

 Yesterday, my wife and I got in the car and drove north, then east, then northeast. When we stopped the car the temperature outside read -3˚ and we found ourselves in Bern, Idaho. Everything we saw, the mountain ridges, the valley, was completely covered with a blanket of white. Yes, the sun was shining, but it wasn't warm enough to melt anything. 

We got out of the car and entered the church. Two hours later, we left the church and drove to the Bern Cemetery. Even though it warmed up significantly, it still hurt to deeply inhale, but all those issues faded away by simply looking east.

It was spectacular.

Of course, I would rather have not have had to be there, nor would anyone else who made the trip. Such is the way of things.

I'm sure I'm not alone when I say cemeteries fascinate me...not to the point of stopping and checking out a random cemetery when I'm driving by. The cemetery in Bern is located on a western-facing hillside. It's long and thin and the road encircles the gravesites. And the view to the east is amazing. I'm grateful for the dedicated pioneers that settled the valley and those who remain. I'm grateful they chose a beautiful place for a cemetery, and I'm grateful to be able to gather with family and friends to honor a wonderful soul.

Give Thanks...The Love And Support Of Others

 Two weeks ago tomorrow, my sister collapsed at work. A week ago tomorrow, we held a funeral to say goodbye.

How fast things can change.

I can't imagine few things as tough as losing a family member. In my immediate family, we had five people. Now, only two remain. After my sister's heart attack, we found rather quickly that the prognosis was not good, so we prepared for the worst, And when the worst was confirmed, we proceeded with funeral plans. We made public the announcement.

Then, the comments...the love and support...came flooding in.

Simply put, I was overwhelmed at the responses. I heard from life-long friends, many that knew my sister personally. I heard from many who have never met my sister, but knew only me--all offered their support and condolences. Even a simple emoji response to a post on social media meant so much for me and my family. 

I am so grateful for everyone who reached out, who offered kind words of love and support. It means more than I can adequately express. 

After the final words were said at the gravesite, my brother's family broke out the lanterns. Children and adults (of course, I can only speak for myself...) loved watching the beautiful lantern ascend into the heavens. It was a fitting end of an experience none of us wanted. I hope I always remember the outpouring of support from everyone, even if I cannot thank you personally. I hope you know it meant the world.

Give Thanks...Being Able To Support My Sister, One More Time

 Tomorrow we'll gather to remember my sister, her life, and try, albeit, unsuccessfully to express what she means to us. Growing up I attended scores of funerals--that happens when your oldest aunts and uncles were born before the First World War. I attended as a child, but they didn't have a lot of personal meaning for me. Many of the people I hardly knew.

Naturally, as I've gotten older, funerals mean more to me, and the older I get, the tougher they become. Tomorrow, I'm entering uncharted waters. I've said "goodbye" to both parents, and a few cousins...never to a sibling.

My sister's funeral is tomorrow, 2pm (viewing 12:45 - 1:45pm) at the Farmington Russen Mortuary. If you want to attend, more information can be found on my sister's obituary. You can access it by clicking: HERE.

In twenty-four hours, it'll be over. There will be some comfort in that, but the only comfort that comes after going through something you don't necessarily want to do.

I can't thank everyone enough for the comments and heart-felt condolences from so many of you. So many people reached out, even if it was as simple as an acknowledgement from a social media post. It helped us beyond my ability to say. Please know your prayers and kind words were appreciated. 

It's strange to say I'm grateful for a funeral, because I'm not. I wish we didn't have to go--that it wasn't needed, but I am grateful to have known Tara and to call her my sister. I'm grateful that will be able to gather as a group of family and friends to say goodbye.

Gone...Just Gone

Today was the first time in over fifty-three years I woke up in a world in which my sister was not a part. It's been a surreal experience since Monday when we learned of the incident that took my sister's life. Yesterday, there was hope, but after we found out the details, the hope dimmed. The human body is not designed to survive what she went through. A test performed last night confirmed what all of us knew...no brain function...no way to come back from that.

She was surrounded by her children when they last breathes came, then stopped. 

And just like that, she was gone...just gone.

Why is it that some with the biggest hearts have those hearts fail them? If you knew my sister, you knew she was a caring person, sometimes to a fault. She wanted everyone to be happy...an impossibility in an imperfect world, but don't tell her that--she'd only try to not only change your mind, but prove the impossible possible. It's ironic her heart gave out...one of her best qualities.

Of the three of us, my sister took our mother's passing the hardest. Maybe it was that mother-daughter bond. Maybe she was my mom's favorite. Maybe it was just the way it was. If there's any consolation in this, it's that she's with my mom and with our father whom she barely knew. The thought of her being with him, getting to know our dad...what a wonderful gift.

As I woke up, the dreams fading and reality setting in, I thought of the word, "gone." When my brother called with the news we already knew, he said she was gone. The words "passed" or "died" have such specific meanings...they're definite, specific, final. But "gone" is different. People go places. Mom's gone to the store. Son's gone to college. To me, it means there's a returning, albeit implied, but it's there. My sister's gone, only not coming back in the world we think we understand.

But, maybe she's not gone. She's not gone to her two children and their children. She's not gone to cousins and aunts and uncles and two her two brothers left behind. She's in the smiles of her granddaughters, the laugh of her grandson. When my brother and I and our families meet up on Memorial Day at the Farmington City Cemetery, even though they'll be three names etched in stone instead of just our parents, she'll be there.

I am going to miss my sister. She had some tough times in her life, physical, and otherwise. She was much too young to have this happen. There was so much life ahead of her, but such is the way of things...life has no guarantees.

I've been overwhelmed by the outpouring of support and prayers for our family since the news was announced earlier today. It means so much. We now turn our attention to a memorial and all that involves, followed by living our lives without her by our side. Goodnight, Sis. It isn't right and it doesn't seem fair, but I'm eternally grateful you were part of the family and proud to call myself your big brother. Rest easy, and enjoy the family reunion.

Goodnight...To A Giant Of A Man, Mentor, And Friend

 "Elder Taylor."

I was already excited about the prospects. I'd waited a long time to find out where I would be assigned.

"You've been assigned to the Glostrup area--it's in København--and your companion will be Elder Richardson."

The name meant nothing, nor did the location. I knew as much about Glostrup as I did about quantum physics.

Then they added, "Ældste Richardson...han er dyktig at sproget."

That's all I needed to hear. Even my limited command of the Danish language told me that my companion--my trainer--was good at the language. I hoped I'd be paired with someone who would help me improve my Danish.

Turns out I learned a lot more than how to improve my second language from the Ed Richardson.

On Monday, I read a post on Facebook from Ed...he was in the hospital and it was serious. Yesterday I woke to the news that he passed away.

Elder Richardson and I spent two month together, biking and walking the streets of Copenhagen's western suburb. He taught me what it was like being a missionary in Denmark.  I learned that even though we were yelled at, flipped off, spit on, that the Danes were "not" those people. That they were loving, warm, intelligent, and some even wanted to hear what we had to say. We must have looked strange--Ed, a big guy, tall and wide, and me, a scrawny 120 lb kid who looked fifteen-years old. I first met Ed in the spring of 1985...thirty-six years ago. Since that time, I never considered Ed not a friend.

Of course, as lives to, I had little interaction with Ed since. We both began our lives, married, became fathers, and fathers-in-law. We both had struggles and triumphs, victories and defeats.

When someone you know--someone who had a large impact on your life--passes away, a light goes out and you feel it, even though we hardly saw each other in those thirty-six years. When I saw Ed's post of his hospitalization earlier this week, I prayed things would turn out differently. I hoped his constitution would match his personality and rise above. Unfortunately, it was not to be.

Several of those I knew in that distant land decades ago have died. As I search the old pictures, I was reminded of just how many. Now Ed resides in that column, a column we'll all one day join.

Goodnight, Elder Richardson. Tak for alt.

Gracie...20_ _(?) - 2019

Wednesday I made the call. Looking back, that was the hardest thing. Because once that call was made, the decision was final. Sure, we could have called and said we'd changed our minds, but the reality was this...now was the time.

Back in January 2012 we visited some neighbors. Outside their house was a cat. The neighbors love cats so we wondered why this one was outside in the middle of winter. Turns out this cat was a stray and they were feeding it, but not allowing it inside in case it turned out to be sick (they didn't want their animals to catch anything...). 

When I saw that cat, I wanted to rescue it. That's just what we did. We drove down and brought her home. Her name was Gracie.

Today, with tears and broken hearts, we buried Gracie in the yard.

I've only had one pet we had to put down. When I was thirteen I got a dog, Tasha, a shih tzu/little neighborhood dog mix. She was a great dog and lived seventeen years. When we put Tasha down, she was blind, deaf, and her back legs were paralyzed. It was definitely time. 

With Gracie, her physical downfall was much slower. In fact, ever since we brought her home more than seven years ago, she was unwell. In the last year, we noticed a dramatic change. She wasn't the same animal. She was losing weight and not making it to the litter box in time more often than not.

We tried everything the vets told us to do. She got steroid shots again and again. And they helped, but as the vet said, not as long as he would have liked. Turns out, not as long as we would have liked as well.

After months and months of deliberation and hours and hours of discussion, we came to the painful conclusion it was time. The last thing we wanted was for our friend to slowly decline to the point where her suffering went unnoticed. Her condition was inoperable--she would never get better. As her guardian and friend, we needed to do what was best for her. That's not always what we'd like.

Wednesday, I made the call setting up the appointment. Today, as my wife held our little beautiful friend, we said goodbye. We brought her home and buried her in the yard where she loved to explore, in a box we signed. We'll miss your little face and your sweet little spirit. Goodnight, Gracie. Until we meet again.