The most important thing I learned from my daughter was that children would
always surprise their parents. By the second half of the 20th century, the
notion that a child would simply follow its parent’s example and live a similar
life was ludicrous. The world was changing too fast.
John
Sent from my iPad
On Apr 13, 2019, at 16:15, Lawrence Helm <lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
Yeah, I don’t know how that works. I had no intention of influencing Sean or
Scott when they moved in with us – along with their sometime near-do-well
father. I thought I was fairly surly much of the time, but Sean thinks I’ve
been a good influence on him; so does Sean’s father. ;-)
Lawrence
From: lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx [mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx] ;
On Behalf Of John McCreery
Sent: Friday, April 12, 2019 11:56 PM
To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: [lit-ideas] Re: [lit-ideas] RE: [lit-ideas] Life’s Stains
Sounds like you were a good example for Sean.
John
Sent from my iPad
On Apr 13, 2019, at 14:44, Lawrence Helm <lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
No, but I have kids from a previous marriage. I feel responsible for being
an example even at my age.
Susan wanted kids when we got married, but then her disease which had been in
remission recurred. But she had nieces and nephews.
Susan was very close to her sister’s two daughters and the one older son.
Her brother Bob and his two sons lived with us for several years. She helped
the younger son, Scott, whose mother was probably on drugs during the
pregnancy. The older son, Sean, attached himself to me back in the days when
home computers were in their infancy. I would come home from work and fiddle
with software, programs and hardware and he was looking over my shoulder the
whole time. I enjoyed that and encouraged him. Whenever he made I
suggestion I took it seriously. Susan noted that he was always talking me
into going to Radio Shack.
When a local business asked the principal of Sean’s high school to send them
their best computer nerd, they sent him Sean. In the course of helping this
business he became fascinated with starting businesses, started several of
his own, now lives in a gated community, collects expensive cars, and travels
regularly around the world. He helped me quite a bit after Susan died, as
did my son.
Lawrence
From: lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx [mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx] ;
On Behalf Of John McCreery
Sent: Friday, April 12, 2019 9:55 PM
To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: [lit-ideas] Re: [lit-ideas] RE: [lit-ideas] Life’s Stains
What Lawrence says.
Lawrence, did you and Susan have children?
John
Sent from my iPad
On Apr 13, 2019, at 11:15, Lawrence Helm <lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
A touching story. One of Susan’s brother’s committed suicide. No one looked
for a reason. He was an alcoholic and drug user. He was also regularly
depressed. His girl-friend found him and tried to save him before she
discovered he was already dead, and so later had to explain, in
semi-hysterics why she had blood all over her dress. One theory is that he
killed himself by accident. He had a 44 magnum revolver and may have played
Russian roulette when depressed, but no one knows for sure. He was not an
individual anyone would ever term “squared away.” But his sisters love him
and mourned him for a long time.
In our complex societies it is difficult to lead lives that aren’t flawed on
some way, sometimes in many ways, but if our kids see that we are trying to
do our best and have the perseverance to struggle through difficulties we can
at the very least set these as examples for them. Our kids can’t help but
see us as examples.
From: lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx [mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx] ;
On Behalf Of Lionpainter
Sent: Friday, April 12, 2019 5:43 PM
To: Lit-Ideas Forum <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Subject: [lit-ideas] Life’s Stains
Peeking in on the History: Suicide is Painful.
What totally different stories we all have
Through this journey in time.
My cousin called yesterday and reminded me of
Our Grandpa today. She wrote her story, in
Her first published novel by Schribner from years ago.
It was a wonderful novel, one of so many.
But fiction. I lived the non-fiction version.
And later that day Dad stopped by and we talked
More. I needed refreshing of some of the details.
He remembered it all much the same.
Yes, I remember my Grandpa, Dad’s Father,
Before the suicide at 83. I lived next door
To both Grandma and Grandpa for many years.
I knew Grandpa, but not nearly as well
As my beloved Grandma. I would walk with them,
Have lunch with them every other day,
And listen to those times when they spoke
English, though there were many languages
Used when they were together. A form of block
To the others, we knew.
I remember listening with them on
Saturday to their radio station of Hungarian music.
I knew Grandpa then,
But as quick as a snap,
That memory became a stain.
Mother was the only one there
That could clean up the
Red walls and ceiling of splattered brains.
Scrubbed, washed, bleached
But she just couldn’t get beneath and between
The cracks.
Crevices filled with
Human tragedy.
She didn’t want Dad to see it,
But it wouldn’t all scrub away.
It didn’t matter. It would all be taken and gone in a flash.
They were taking it from them the next day.
Mother was a strong and forcefully
Country woman, with an apron and
A switch for her sassy young only child.
We had our troubles getting along.
I respected her strength that day though.
Tough old bird that she always was.
I heard her tirade at Dad.
“You will destroy that gun now!”
Argue, screaming, threats and anger
Arose up the steps, as I listened from the
Doorway.
He always won any disagreements before.
She won this time and I heard him
Hammering at the steel and cursing through the tears.
My job the day of his death was to hold Grandma, said Dad,
When he quickly came and got me from school early.
On that solemn drive he said that I needed to distract her
As they took what was left of him
Away. “Try to talk to her so she won’t hear the scrubbing
And washing and emptying and weeping... or the rooms
Full of police and strangers.
She was limp sitting and staring off from her spot
On her sofa.
She was just limp.
I walked in and took my coat off and sat beside her.
Hugging her.
All I remember is her repeatedly saying,
“Joe, oh Joe, No, no, no.” over and over again.
The next day she had her stroke...it took her speech
Away and she was helplessly paralyzed for the next *9 years.
Grandpa was right. She did go live with Uncle Joe, eldest son,
Just as he imagined, for awhile.
That quickly she and Grandpa were
Gone from my world for several years.
Then for some unexplained reason
She came back to live a
Few miles away from my Dad, the youngest son
And Uncle Ed, the Middle brother, in
A big white building with a little sign,
Glenn Haven Nursing Home.
After school I would ride my bike there,
Scurry up the back flight of stairs where the nurses
Let me in to be with her for a few hours.
The Nurses were kind to us
And seemed pleased to see me.
I would hold her hand, and talk to her of my day,
Read her my poems and quietly sing her songs.
It was clear that she knew that I was there.
She would squeeze my hand with each story or confession.
Her eyes were alive, and she still felt like my Grandma.
We were all afflicted in some way by the day
My Grandpa died.
After her stroke, she never said another word
Except “Bunda...Bunda”
It was all she could say and none of us ever knew what
“Bunda” meant. I’ve looked that word up in many languages.
Always nothing.
God awful day and time for her after almost 55 years
Of a good marriage and stable home.
Life is hard and the ends are almost always
Unexpected.
Why would a strong good man do that?
Today Dad reminded me of the why.
They had taken his house away after 50 years
By Eminent Domain for a paltry sum- not the whole neighborhood,
Just 4 houses and land for a planned government housing complex.
Grandpa was 83 and he tried to find a new home for them,
But he couldn’t get a mortgage at 83,
And he didn’t have enough savings to pay cash.
He had lost hope.
Lost faith.
He thought she would be better off with the money
They had saved and she could go live out her days with their sons.
Bad plan. Positively wrong and irreversible.
It was the way of his family...His Father had done the same
In the Old Country.
Dad said he had a heart condition also and feared his
Potential illness would eat away all of the money. Money.
Throughout the years I would visit Dayton and ask Dad to drive
Me by their old house...well, at least the flat blank space they had
Left. For years, almost 50, nothing was built.
It was like a scorched burned land just in that space.
The rest of the old neighborhood stood strong.
I tried to recall my streets where I walked to school;
Orient myself. It took work each time through time to see
A recognizable tree or building. Always left there unsatisfied.
When the Internet came to have Google Earth,
I would plug in the street address to watch
And see if the scorched flat land had ever
Had the government put up housing. They hadn’t.
We hoped we ended the curse and cycle,
My Mother and me...At least so far. Mother is gone now
And Dad is 98 and slipping away a bit...
He walks tall when around others,
But as he sat before me,
He seemed to melt into the chair,
Neckless and tired.
I asked him how he felt about
His life. He looked at me and smiled and said,
I’m here, still. I’m still here. *Twinkle.
Sherry Painter, March 21, 2019
http://www.siennamuseum.com ;
"When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to
everything else in the Universe." --John Muir
“The Privilege of a lifetime is being who you are” —Joseph Campbell
