My sisters and I have have been communicating a little bit about what we will each say at his service, one week from today. I guess the big concern is that we not duplicate anything. One of the most glaring differences I've noticed was in Bobbi's notes. She claims that Dad referred us to the encyclopedia whenever we had a big question. I already mentioned that I called him Mr. Google long before the internet was ever thought of .
I've been searching through some photos of Dad for the cover of the funeral program. His various expressions bring back actuals stories, some specific characteristics. I think we will use this one, severely cropped:
It was taken in Churchill, Manitoba, where he took me for my 60th birthday to see the Polar Bears. This plane crashed years before we got there, but embodies the thrill of the adventure. It is the only trip I have taken alone with him. What a joy. Dad planned the trip, eschewing group tours. Mom usually scheduled all travel with little left unscheduled. Dad wanted a little looser experiences, so without first night reservations, we spent the night with the "Mayor" of Churchill. Very charming and accommodating couple, who steered us to the all the most important points of interest and the exciting tour across the tundra in a dune buggy to see the bears in situ. That night we went to the "scientific research center" where the Elder Hostel group was cooking and staying. We did eat with them and helped a little with clean up. Dad was very affected by the presentation of a an Eskimo Cree woman, who told her story of being ripped from her parents arms, thrown into dormitories and never allowed to speak her own language again. Her experience shifted his thinking of all the wrongs human beings have committed in this world, hence the photos of the Eskimo children outside his apartment door. After dinner, we went outside to watch the Northern Lights, guarded by men with high powered rifles. For some reason, the plane and the armed guards reminded me of what it must have been like in New Guinea for him during WWII.
We did return to Town for the night, played a game of Scrabble, which I won!!!!! I did beat Dad, one of my proudest moments in my life. I never played with my mother for fear of losing.
Its hard for me to believe that all those synapses in his brilliant brain have stopped communicating with each other. He did know his body was giving out, but couldn't imagine not asking new questions, not designing new solutions for common, silly problems. He had not finished rising what needed fixing.
One of the advantages of being the oldest daughter, is that I am only one that benefitted from the many traditions instituted for us all. Many were not realized for the other 3 girls. One Christmas, we each got a DVD of us as kids. Becky asked if they were all different. The parents laughed and said , "NO." They are all of Berry.
Another wonderful tradition we began was celebrating the big birthdays for each daughter. My 50th, I think, was in Charleston, well planned by Carly Detwiller and enjoyed by many of my friends and relatives. The next big event combined Bambi and Bobbi's 50th birthdays, in Sante Fe. We had a blast. Something big needs to happen for Becky, maybe for her 70th.
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