on a sunday morning seven years ago today, i joined the grief club.
i didn’t intend for this post to be about joe barker, but instead about grief, public and private, a subject i’ve thought about a lot. however, the only way to eat a mountain is one bite at a time. so though i’ll return to this topic soon, for today, here’s what i wrote shortly after joe’s death. my dear friend will kerner read this at joe’s memorial; i haven’t heard or looked at it since.
How Joe Lived
He lived in a house with a little dog and a boy .
In summer, when days were long, they sat and watched the sun set.
In winter, when days were short, he’d see to the fire.
Here is a day:
take some pills.
(the boy wakes him and brings them with cold water and half a bite of something sweet to eat.)
Make hot water for tea, read the news, feed the dog, get the boy out the door, shower, shave, dress.
Take more pills.
Pay the bills, cut the grass, chop the wood, change the oil, wash the clothes.
Watch the clouds, Measure the rain.
sit.
rest.
eat.
Stack the wood, clean the car, sweep the floor…
fix what is broken.
mend what is torn.
find what is lost.
pay what is owed.
The boy comes home and a
pot is boiling
the dog is running
the house is buzzing
with their best time
and a chat that had no end.
Every day he read
the horoscope
and the almanac
and the forecast.
Every day he made it all
tidy
and balanced
and square.
(“this is how decent people live”)
Every day he had a list
and a love.
and a life.
One third of an acre
his nest
his farm
his vantage
for the long view.
Never mind the limp and the pills and the doctors; the cough, the pain, the bruise, the blur, the fear, the tests, the blood, the numb, the brace, the sting, the chill, the panic in the night, the bats in the house, the buzzards circling the trees at dusk.
Never mind the clothes dyed black.
He had a sweet tooth and a long list and a fierce love and a little dog and a tidy house that he saw as a farm at the center of the world.
And he had a long view.
In summer, when days were long, they sat and watched the sun set.
In winter, when days were short, he’d see to the fire.
How Joe Died
We renovated our house, after years of planning. Every wall, every pipe, every wire, every stair….gutted, made new.
While we planned, he drew two x’s on a blueprint.
“If I die in the summer, I will be here, and if it is winter, here is where I’ll go.”
Both spots were in a corner, with a view of a fire and the sun.
We planned the house like a ship, with nothing fancy.
We invented an imaginary bachelor chicken farmer named Elmer, who was halfway between us, and settled all bets.
A house where you could see how things worked and how things had been.
And Joe could see how things would be.
So many changes we had no choice but to move out–across the street to the Baumer house. That winter, a year before he died, he practiced death. He grew small and still and rocked with the pain. As the carpenters shaped and squared the house, Joe was precarious, unlevel, and finally to the hospital.
Five days in the emergency room with tubes and machines and beeps; with night nurses and days of tests and teams of doctors.
He slipped away and came back. He said…
” My body dissolved into the light and flew to the center of the universe. I was one with the dance of atoms there. With my mind I could make them flow and leap like water. I came closer to the sun and saw the face of God. I chose to come back.”
Like every other journey Joe took, he mapped this one carefully and checked everything off the list before he left.
We moved back in on the last day of spring. There was still a woodstove to place, a porch to paint, a garden to plan and plant, a pond to dig…enough lists to last a lifetime. In those 7 months, we had friends and family for brunches, and dinner parties, and open houses. We had our first and only Halloween, and Thanksgiving, and Christmas in the new house. We had New Year’s fireworks so perfectly framed by our woods and windows it was as though they were only for us.
The cast and crew of “Sweeney Todd” came for brunch on Sunday, January 11–40 people strong. Joe baked bread and was a charming host, but in the middle of the party he disappeared for almost an hour. After the guests were gone I asked where he had been. He went to the car and came back with two bags from Sears. With Christmas money from his mom, he had ordered a skill saw and a digital camera. I didn’t understand then why he had left the party to pick them up.
The next day the decline began. Joe was pale and thin, weak as water. I came home to take him to the hospital for blood tests and x-rays. Doctor Rebecca and Nurse Sarah came to the house. We talked about hospice and Joe, reluctantly, agreed. He thought I could use the help.
The hospice nurse came and Joe sat up and filled out the forms. He asked how often she had to return. She said “at least every two weeks” and so Joe set a date with her for two weeks later. She was back in 48 hours– “significant decline”. Joe was reluctant to take the morphine that eased his breathing, adamant about no catheter, and still very much in charge. Corey and Kay began to spell me sitting with Joe. Corey and I had one fun Sunday, cooking a huge batch of food to freeze while watching “Flower Drum Song” on TV. Joe would shush us and laugh along as Corey cringed at “I Enjoy Being a Girl” and “Chop Suey”.
Two days later he stood up for the last time. He walked the 7 steps from bed to sofa and sat with me in front of the fire watching a new president come and an old one go. The going was especially sweet.
Two days later–a sudden burst of energy. He said “Bring me my razor and hot water.” The razor shook, but he left this world shaved by own hand.
The next day was Friday and he was weaker still. I sat beside him going through old pictures. He recognized every face and place and name. On Saturday I wrote his obituary. I asked him what to do when he was gone. His voice was weak, but clear:
“Don’t.
Be.
Sad.”
Saturday night we watched “Lawrence Welk”–our weekly ritual.
His kidneys failed, his blood was out of whack, he gasped for air.
He still was in charge. He told me how to help. He asked for what he needed.
I slept on the floor by his bed. Every hour we would wake.
Sunday Morning came.
He wanted to sit up.
I opened the door so he could hear the birdsong.
How did he die?
Joe died with his feet on the floor, his boy by his side, his dog in the room.
Joe died with no pills, no morphine, no tubes, no machines.
Joe died in his house and in his right mind and in charge.
Joe died exactly where he had drawn an “x” and said “here”.
He fought until the last minute.
And then he won.
Corey and Kay came. We washed him and dressed him. I tucked his St. Christopher medal in his pocket. Will and Catherine came. We wrapped him in a sheet and closed his eyes with coins.
The people came with a stretcher and took him away.
I found his last list.
Camera and skill saw were checked off.
As was all else.
