Birthdays

My mom posted this photo today, with the caption "He is still making me smile." Yep, even though he took the leap across the Great Divide on Leap Day, we still feel his presence. I was grocery shopping last night, and saw a jar of Taco Bell salsa on the shelf, and I imagined I heard him laugh right next to me.

I loved hearing all the stories about Dad as the family gathered in Kentucky. One of my favorites was in a display at the funeral, a framed printout of a 2007 blog entry by my sister Monica. It was one of which I had only a glimmer of a memory, since I only lived with him for two of his birthdays. (Although I think I might have lived there for the sewing machine birthday.) Just to continue the tribute to this great man, here's the story of the unusual way in which he liked to celebrate his birthday:

"Most children get excited for their own birthday; it's your turn to be lavished with attention and gifts. However, my father's birthdays were more thrilling to me than my own, because he always got exactly what he asked for. SERIOUSLY.

Let me explain. One year it was a new sewing machine for my talented mother. Another year, it was an ice cream maker for the whole family. The best was the year that it was seven blue pairs of roller skates in each size of the children old enough to skate. My parents rolled up the woven rugs, and the entire downstairs of our home became our roller rink for the night! These gifts make perfect sense, because that is my dad--always putting the needs and happiness of others first."

I also was reminded that his favorite flavor ice cream was neapolitan, as there were enough flavors to please (almost) everyone. (One granddaughter admitted she didn't like neapolitan, because the strawberry tainted the chocolate. You can't please everyone!)

There were many stories told of my Dad's selflessness, but this was one of my favorites.

Proud to be the 11th of 10 Children

Today's service was a great tribute for the man at the epicenter of this blue-and-white clad swirl of humanity. The entire center rows of pews were filled by 80 family members, a visual representation of a life spent devoted to family. He would have been uncomfortable to receive such attention when he was alive...he probably would have snuck out for a Taco Bell run...but we wrapped him in layers of love and memories before we laid him to rest.

Hug the next loved one you see, smile at the next stranger you meet, and help the next person you know who needs help. Rinse and repeat ten thousand times or more, and you will have lived a rich and beautiful life like my Dad's.

RIP, Gene Wach. I hope they have hot sauce in heaven. : )

Surreptitious Gifts

Funerals are sad family reunions with splashes of happy, bittersweet, grateful, etc. thrown in as stories are shared. This one has been exceptional in that regard.

After the viewing today as we gathered at the house, my foster sisters told the story of how my foster brother, who was married with young children while attending dental school, told my foster dad that something was wrong with the gas gauge in his car and he needed him to look at it, as it always read full and he was afraid of being stranded somewhere when the car ran out of gas because of a faulty gauge.

Turns out his dad was going over to his place at 3AM on his way in to work at the airport and taking the car and filling it up. That was quintessential Gene...charity performed circumspectly (with a dash of humor thrown in.)

On the way to the viewing, my foster mom unveiled a similarly surreptitious act that benefitted me, one that went way beyond free gas.

"You were never our foster child," she told me.

I figured she was speaking metaphorically. She wasn't.

Turns out when the social worker visited for the home inspection as part of the foster home licensing process, they were informed they couldn't be licensed because they had too many children in the home for the number of bedrooms. So they had a judge sign guardianship papers instead.

I continued to live with them, thinking they were pretty special because they'd become foster parents just for me. I had no idea how special.

I knew they were experiencing financial hardship at the time because Flying Tigers, the freight airline he worked for, had recently cut all wages to the 10 years previous pay level as part of a desperate bid to avoid bankruptcy. (It didn't work.) He was supporting a wife and 10 children on $26K/year. But I felt good that they were at least receiving ~$236/month for me from the county.

Well, no they weren't.

Guardianship didn't come with compensation from the county.

"I keep telling you that we considered you one of ours," my foster mom said.

Make that "my mom said."

Feeling awed, and speechless. These two truly are Latter-Day Saints!

A Sky Full of Stars

Listening to Coldplay's "A Sky Full of Stars" as I gazed out the airplane window at Cassiopeia and the North Star above the cloud layer covering the Carolinas as I approached Charlotte in the pre-dawn hours, with many more brilliant accompanying stars than I normally can view even from northern Idaho, it struck me that this was yet one more unexpected gift from my foster dad...I never would have been seeing this incredible celestial view if I weren't on this journey prompted by his loving presence in my life. 

Thanks, Dad, for the stars, and for keeping me calm during the turbulence by imagining you had signed off on the maintenance log yourself. : )

A Servant's Heart

My foster dad passed away in his sleep on Monday at age 75. I'm catching the red-eye out of Lewiston to Louisville, KY tonight to pay my respects to someone I only lived with for 18 months, but who helped fill a very empty hole in my heart when I came to his family at age 16 with nowhere left to go. He and his wife became foster parents just for me. If that doesn't make you feel special when you're a foster kid who's been told by her social worker that there are no families who want to take you in, I don't know what else would.

He was an amazingly gifted mechanic who fixed airplanes and taught others to do the same. He worked for Flying Tigers and UPS, and they would sometimes fly him half-way around the world to fix an airplane that nobody else could. He had the heart of a servant; he commuted several hours a day in awful traffic to LAX and back, and still managed to fix my car or someone else's, not to mention leaky faucets and bikes and toys and anything else that needed fixing, before he'd get 5-6 hours of sleep and be ready to do it all over again.

He spent 60 years with his sweetheart, DeAnn, who mirrored his servant's heart perfectly. He was mischievous and a great tease; he had 50+ grandkids, and called them all "George." He taught me how to fix a flat and use a tire gauge and change the oil and check the fluid levels and clean the battery terminals in my car so I wouldn't be a helpless female. He was as honest and dependable as the day is long, and the world needs more like him.

I can't say as I'll ever be as patient or kind or giving, but I'm grateful to have had his influence in my life. Here he is at my wedding with his wife DeAnn (who looks as young as I did at age 22, even after having 10 kids!) and the youngest 8 of his 10 kids.

Tomorrow at this time I'll be en route from Seattle to Charlotte, NC, where I connect with my flight to Louisville. I'd like to think he trained at least one of the mechanics who worked on the planes I'll be aboard. I'm looking forward to seeing the dozens of family members who will be there, even though I wish I was seeing him at the end of the month for a family wedding in Seattle as planned instead of saying farewell to him...our father, who art in heaven... in Louisville.