“The course of
true love never did run smooth.”
- Shakespeare
The year 2000 includes time in group spiritual direction
with therapist Maureen facilitating. There is an instance during a group direction
session where Maureen passes the lead along to me as we pray for a fellow group
member. While feeling startled and inadequate at her prompting to have me lead,
I start the prayer for my fellow group member with “I have called you by name, you are mine,” from Isaiah 43:1b.
Turns out, those words are just right for the moment. When
I ask Maureen later why she had me take lead, she said, “It was what I sensed
the Spirit wanted.” I recall this in following years as a significant instance
of listening to Spirit/instinct/self; a touchstone as evidence that I can
actually “hear” and discern what is needed in the moment. [During previous
years I too often ignored my “gut” (call it instincts or spirit or whatever)
resulting in undesirable outcomes.]
I am needing support of any kind, and group spiritual
direction is a gift. In November 2000 I write out a quote of Lois Lindblom’s
about spiritual direction groups:
“The group is a regular
interval for breathing into consciousness and speech
whatever God has been
doing in the depths,
like a whale breaking the surface.”
In August 2001, I journal that I am depressed,
discouraged, that I feel like weeping and want to die. My feelings of
inadequacy, frustration with self, and anger at Gregg on that day are from an
encounter during a card game while on family camping vacation on the North
Shore of Lake Superior.
 |
| family vacation, North Shore state parks |
Gregg said, attempting to be humorous after some probable
stupid-card play on my part, “I won’t bale your ass out anymore.”
Not hearing it as he intended it, I respond,
“Oh, so I get just one chance?”
Though wanting it to be a playful response, my words
indicate deeper feelings of anger and wishing for some revenge.
The kid’s response – mostly Becky – is shock. Becky said
later that she felt sorry for Dad.
I am embarrassed and feel bad. After the card game I
apologize to Gregg.
He says, “I wish I had warning.”
I say, “What, you want me to warn you by saying, ‘Okay,
now I’m going to be mean?’”
I think that’s the stupidest thing he could have said.
I am ashamed and remorseful the next day and ask for
forgiveness.
In October 2001 I record that God is moving me from a
picture of a “wilted” child in a dark room to Jesus leading me down a
hallway/tunnel/birth canal to life toward the banquet hall where Jesus
encourages me to feast and explore God’s castle home.
“He has brought me to His
banquet table,
His banner over me is love.”
– Song of Songs 2:1-4.
Jesus then
has me see the archway opening of the banquet hall to the ‘world’ outside and
sense that I am to reflect the brilliance of Jesus – like a diamond reflects
the light, a blueish brilliant radiant glow to the individuals in the yellow
world where God shines His Son/sun (on the evil and the good, and love desires all to be saved).
A quote I record in early November 2001:
“Let others wrangle, I will wonder.”
– St. Augustine
I’ve often had an internal reaction of “Nope!” when I see
those T-shirts that say, “Life is good.”
I think life is hard.
But I wanna think that God/Divine/Love
is good.
Life does includes many good things. But oh my goodness, life has also
included so much tough stuff, much wrangling.
Yet, how I approach the tough stuff has and
continues to change. My perceptions are key: those perceptions can change.
I want to wonder.
I am fascinated as I observe the definitive dips on the graph-paper readings (dips are indicative of stress, lack of calm, and are not desirable) such as when thinking about the affair, or when in performance mode, or when letting my thoughts drift to Christmas shopping, or when should-ing on or when frustrated with myself. The highs on the biofeedback readings happen when I’m visualizing a comforting environment such as sitting in front of a fireplace, in a meadow, by an ocean, in Gregg’s arms, in Jesus’ arms, or when feeling cared about or nurtured.
The fingers of your thoughts are molding your face
ceaselessly.
-Charles Reznikoff, poet (31 Aug 1894-1976)
On the “life is hard” track, as a reminder that the
thread of alcohol misuse runs deep in my blood, Mom sends her kids an email in
June 2002:
“Dear children and spouses:
I am emotionally upset by some of the things I’ve been
hearing from people that you are saying about me. I believe I have earned the
right to live however I wish in the time I have left. If any of you are
thinking of having me committed you will all be disinherited and what is left
will go to charity. Thank you, Mom.”
Previous to this email, Kaye had talked with Mom after Kaye
had a dream where Dad had called her and told her that Mom had been in a car
accident and killed two people. Kaye had expressed concern to Mom. We siblings
were also concerned about Mom’s drinking and had talked among ourselves. Brent
and Kathy were tiring of community gossip and of picking up Mom from the Elks.
Much drama.
 |
| Adeline Marie Hubbard, late 1930s |
Another couple of “life is hard” stories – rather even, sad
tragic stories - that possibly help reveal some of Mom’s heartache (admitted to
herself or not) and that maybe give a little light into unspoken messages I
picked up in my youth (to numb out, to not feel so much):
** When Mom – Adeline Marie Hubbard Appleseth - was
not yet four years old, her father, Edward Hubbard, died at home on the
afternoon of July 1, 1940. Cause of death was coronary thrombosis, after
getting hit (or so the story goes, by something at work - a can? or a piece of
equipment?) at the Stokely canning factory in Cumberland, WI, maybe early
Monday morn or late in the previous work week. A short newspaper article, found
among Mom’s expansive collection of keepsakes, starts with “Death Comes
Suddenly to Ed Hubbard, Tuesday” and continues,
“Ed Hubbard, 39, died suddenly Tuesday
afternoon, a blood clot in the heart causing death. He had complained of a
shortness of breath for the past day or two but that was all. After returning
to work at the Stokely plant Tuesday afternoon he became suddenly ill and
returned home. Death came about three o’clock.”
 |
| Ed Hubbard, late Jun 1940 |
What’s been passed along
verbally is that Ursula/Grandma had fixed Ed his favorite meal of fried chicken
that day for lunch. After he came home from work in mid-afternoon he laid down
for a nap and died from the blood clot.
In January 2017, Pam talked with
Maxine, daughter of Vi (Ursula’s sister) and Ed Decker, who also lived in
Wisconsin. Pam relays that:
Maxine said he
died from a heart attack. The death record says he died of coronary thrombosis
and possible work exhaustion. It was during the canning run, as Maxine called
it. The busiest time of the canning factory was end of June to end of July.
Maxine didn't know anything about getting hit in the head by a machine. She
said he passed out at work and they brought him home to rest.
While grandma
was checking on him she had her back turned to him and heard him
"expire" and breathe his last breath. When Vi and Maxine arrived at
the house to help with the children (I know this conflicts with another story
about the girls going to the neighbor's), she said grandma was sitting in the
chair crying. Adeline was withdrawn and frightened. Rosie was being held.
Grandma’s pastor
wouldn't do the service for Ed's funeral but grandma asked the Swedish Lutheran
pastor who agreed and the service was performed in a funeral home.
 |
| Emma's 75th, with her children |
Not too long after Ed’s
death, Mom’s mom Ursula moved her and her younger sister Rosie back to
southwest Minnesota where they lived with Ursula’s mom Emma and her brother
Adolph until 1944.
** Adeline’s grandmother, Emma Charlotte Eckhardt
Hartfiel, died on April 21, 1946, after being accidentally shot the day before
by her son Adolph.
 |
| Emma Eckhardt Hartfiel, 75 yrs old |
Mom was 9 and Rosie was 7 years old. The girls and Ursula resided on the Just farm since March 1944 after Ursula married Paul Just, less than two years before this incident.
The 1946 newspaper article, entitled “Gun Accidentally Takes Life of Tyro Woman” tells the story:
“…a 22-calibre ‘unloaded rifle’ in the hands
of her son Adolph, mortally wounded 75-year-old Mrs. A. A. Hartfiel, Tyro woman.
She was taken to the Montevideo hospital where an operation was performed to
remove the bullet. Death ensued Sunday afternoon, however in spite of all that
medical and surgical skill could accomplish.
…Adolph, a skillful hunter and expert with
firearms, started to putter around with a 22-calibre rifle which had been left
with him by a friend several months before, for repair.
 |
| Adolph Hartfiel |
Being
unfamiliar with the gun, Mr. Hartfiel inserted two shells in the supposedly
empty magazine and stepped to the kitchen door to test it, after some work on
it. After firing the two cartridges the young man turned around facing his
mother, gun still in his hand. None of the three people present recalls hearing
a report, but suddenly Mrs. Hartfiel called out to her son, “Adolph, what have
you done to me!”
The
shocked children and their visitor could not believe it at first, but it
developed that the gun had three shells in the magazine, evidently there when
the gun was left with Mr. Hartfiel, and that somehow one of them had been
worked into the shell chamber. Automatic rifles are tricky and are sometimes
discharged without touching the trigger. It will never be known how this
accident actually occurred.”
- ** My dad’s dad, Edward Appleseth died on March 28,
1955. It is yet another shooting story: in his early 60s, Edward Appleseth was
turning the reigns of the produce business over to his sons. Jean (dad’s
brother Walt’s wife) speculated that less work brought on some purposelessness and
depressiveness. There was enough “acting crazy” or behavior of concern that it was
suggested to Ed to get help.  |
| Ed Appleseth |
Ed went
voluntarily to the mental health facility in Willmar in early spring 1955.
While there he had shock treatment.
Ed returned and seemed to be doing fine.
One night, after a late March Sunday afternoon visit from Ruby (Dad’s sister)
and her husband Dennis from Dawson, Ed excused himself to put away his gun.
An article in the Clarkfield
Advocate entitled “Ed Appleseth, 61, Local Business Man, Passes on” reports
“Clarkfield
business firms closed their doors Wednesday afternoon out of respect to Edward
Appleseth, one of Clarkfield’s older business men, who passed away about 1:15
Monday morning following a gun shot accident in his home the evening before. "Ed" as he was best known, had spent a great deal of time of late hunting, was
either cleaning his 22 rifle or just putting it away, before retiring, when the
sad accident happened, about 9:30. He was taken by ambulance to the hospital
where he submitted to surgery, but passed away shortly thereafter. His wife and
little grandson were in the home with him at the time of the accident.”
 |
| Appleseths -- Summer 1955: kids in order youngest to oldest George, Ruby, Walt, Annie (mom), Ester, LeRoy, James |
My source
(that would be aunt Jean again), tells the story that Johnny (James and Vicki’s boy)
found Ed late evening March 27, 1955.
Somehow Walt learned quickly of the accident (Was Walt at the house?
If not, did dad’s mom Annie call him? Did Dad notify him? Dad was living at
home at the time, but I don’t know if Dad was at home that particular evening;
possibly he was out with mom as this is just a few months before they were to
be wed).
Jean says Walt came running home, saying, “Dad’s been shot!” They all
went to the hospital in Clarkfield. As the minister was talking with Ed, Jean
heard “No” yelled by Ed and wondered if it was to the question “Accidental?”
For a long time the family wondered if the shooting was accidental, when I
talked with her in the early 1990s the family thought the shooting was not an accident.
No comments:
Post a Comment