Worst Christmas Gift Ever?

My father-in-law was an interesting man. Highly intelligent, but a bit quirky.

Early in my marriage to his son, I learned this lesson. Normally my mother-in-law did the shopping, but one year, for reasons unknown to me, he took it upon himself to go out and buy additional gifts for everyone. Of course he decided to do this late on Christmas Eve once all the "real" stores had closed. There was a discount store near their house called Zayre. They sold cheap stuff, not Wal-Mart cheap, think cheaper. 

So he did his Christmas shopping and came home and wrapped all his goodies. Using is regular technique this meant no bows and our names written in black Sharpie on all the packages. 

On Christmas morning, we arrived at the house and amid much flinging of paper, I was handed a large, squishy package clearly from my father-in-law, although marked as "From Santa". When I opened it, there sat before me a 12-pack of Zayre brand toilet paper. I kid you not. 

My husband and I had been married 1 or 2 years at this point, and I was still unsure of my place in his family. And to be perfectly honest, his father scared me a bit. Not in the "he's going to haul off and hit me" way, but in the "he's so smart, clearly I'm missing something here" way. 

I stood with my package of toilet tissue, trying to determine if there was a hidden message here, finally stuttering out a thank you. His response was, "I figure you can never have too much tp".

As I watched others open their gifts from him, I felt a bit better. My brother-in-law had received windshield wipers that didn't fit his car. 

I never knew what happened that year and I don't remember another gift from that Christmas. What I do know is that by the next year, my mother-in-law was dead, killed in a car accident. And all the women in the family and extended friends, got diamond and sapphire tennis bracelets. 

Yep, that was my father-in-law in a nutshell.

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On Loving Myself When I'm Different

I have a picture of the way I think I am supposed to be. It is based on my family of origin, my upbringing, my experiences, and my environment. Unfortunately most of it is not based in the reality of who I am.

If I had to describe myself, I would say I'm a short, overweight, opinionated, sometimes angry introvert. What I think people want me to be is a slightly taller, slim, pleasant, soft-spoken, kind-hearted extrovert. I can pull off aspects of that persona for brief periods of time, but it is extremely tiring.

I know there are times in life when we all have to adopt certain personas to survive the current situation, but there is a part of me that resents it so much these days. Maybe it's all the digging, fighting, and struggling I have gone through over the past few years to try and unearth my real self. Maybe it's just getting older and being tired of expectations that are placed on me. 

I played the dutiful daughter-in-law last week at my father-in-law's visitation and funeral. A lot of it was genuine and who I truly am. But there were times when I knew in my heart I was playing a role while racking my brain to come up with the right things to say. Smiling as people told stories about Pop, while I'm remembering the rest of the story in my head. Listening while the speakers at the funeral recounted episodes that showed one thing from their perspective, while making me think the complete opposite.

The thing that's bothered me the most through all of this experience (except for the obvious pain my husband and children are feeling in the loss) is my own inability to cry. 

This man who died a week ago Saturday, who I had known since 1983, who had been my father-in-law and the grandfather to my children, and I can't summon up a single tear for him. 

There was a brief shifting in my being when I walked into his home the day he had died. That realization that he wouldn't be there anymore. A dampness on my lashes as I said my own final farewell to him before they closed the casket. Realizing how much had been left unsaid. A momentary catch in my voice as I did a reading at his service. And that's all. 

What kind of person knows another being for 30 years, yet can't shed a tear at his passing?

I talked with my husband about it. He's not bothered by it. His father and I had a rocky start to our relationship. He wasn't particularly impressed by me, and I thought he was arrogant and caustic. Plus he flat out scared me. Over time, we came to a detente, but it never really moved much beyond that.

I tried to fill the matriarcal shoes when my mother-in-law died, but I didn't have the wherewithal to stand up to my father-in-law. So we struggled for years with holidays and family traditions.

Over the past few months, as his health declined, I tried to take care of him by cooking for him, visiting, and doing laundry. He was not an easy man to help, and I often felt rebuffed. So I struggled along, trying to help him as best I could.

Maybe later on the tears will fall, inconsolably. Maybe I've just become too much of realist where relationships are concerned. Maybe I'm just different, and I need to embrace that.

So I'm working on loving myself through this time. Experiencing something new and unexpected. Something I really don't like about myself, but trying to be kind in that recognition. Because maybe it's not a bad thing. Maybe it's just who I am.

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imperfect prose on thursdays: I Believe . . .

(My husband found this among his dad's writings, and I had the honor of reading it at his funeral. Byron was a physicist and professor of real estate and finance. I never knew much about his personal beliefs, but I'm happy to know he talked with God.)

I BELIEVE . . . 

I don’t know much, but I do believe God made heaven and earth, including you and me, and the rocks and mountains and oceans, and plants and animals and our Earth, Sun and Solar System, and the one hundred billion suns in the Milky Way galaxy and the one hundred billion galaxies in the known universe, and the known and unknown elements and forces  including electro-magnetism, strong and weak forces, gravity and something called  “Dark Energy” that is forcing the universe to continue to expand in violation  of Einstein’s “Law of Relativity”, and the very strange Quantum World of energy bundles  we call Electrons , Up Quarks and Down Quarks (protons and neutrons),  Gluons , and  Matter and Anti-Matter.

It is extremely important to believe in something. 

Man is God’s only creature that intentionally destroys his environment with the intent of doing less, and making life easier by indulging in excess consumption and glorifying in personal power. People of faith respect God’s work and take s care of themselves and their environment.

Prayer is fundamental!  Talking with God is the most important thing a person can do.   It is a direct communication without the noise and influences of other people.
I ask God for guidance and help with those things beyond my control and promise to do my best to solve the problems I can control.   
I believe someday I will be Reborn into an afterlife called Heaven . . . or just maybe it’s another Universe of God right under our noses . . . and will be with my one and only lovely Lisa! (his wife who died 24 years ago)  

That’s what I believe, and why I talk with God.  

linking up with imperfect prose on thursdays

Dr. John Byron Pennington

Dr. John Byron PENNINGTON



PENNINGTON, Dr. John Byron Age 80 of Nashville, TN. April 27, 2013. Preceded in death by his wife, Lisa Kaiser Pennington; parents, Clara Gladys Reynolds Pennington and Dempsey Filmore Pennington, Sr.; and brother, Dempsey Filmore Pennington, Jr. He is survived by sons, Dr. Van and Alan Pennington; brother, James "Corky" Pennington; grandchildren, Claire, Sam, Royce and Bryce; and special friend, Kristi Sutton. Dr. Pennington worked as an engineer for NASA, working on the Saturn, Gemini, and other space missions. He later finished his Ph.D. in real estate and finance at Ohio State in 1972 and went to teach at UTN (later to merge with TSU) where he taught until the fall of 2012. Beloved father, husband, friend and mentor. Funeral services will be conducted Tuesday, April 30, 2013.

{this moment}

John Byron Pennington 1932-2013

". . . one of the smartest/funniest/wittiest men I have ever known" 

(Jamie McPherson)

Night

The dark night of the soul is what St. John of the Cross called it. That difficulty in letting go of this world, and moving on to the next. In modern times the term has been used to describe a spiritual crisis caused by feeling separated from God. F. Scott Fitzgerald said, "In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning".

Well, it's 3 o'clock in the morning for our family. My father-in-law is in his final days. As I sit here typing and sipping my tea, my husband sits at his father's bedside wondering how many more days or hours they have left together. As he slips away from us, we worry about him. His physical self -- is he in pain? His emotional self -- does he feel our presence and love? His spiritual self -- does he feel the peace of God?

But we are also consumed by the mundane aspects of dying. Scheduling, traveling for other family members, final exams for our son, starting a new semester for our daughter. 

My husband said the other night, "Can you just tell me when it will happen?" Of course he didn't expect an answer, but this not knowing, this waiting, is so hard.

So it's perpetually 3 AM for us. And it will get darker. But I'm focusing on the rising sun, and knowing it's all temporary anyway. This dark night of the soul will pass.

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