It all began in 1951 when I was born into the family of Jake and Lucy Barndt. I had naturally curly hair (started red and turned blonde), I had big brown eyes and very deep dimples. I remember everyone telling me I looked like Shirley Temple. I was even called, The Little Princess, a movie with child star Shirley Temple. My grandfather called me Cookie because he said I was "as sweet as a cookie". My mom told me it was because it took a cookie to shut me up.
My father worked with my grandfather, Pappy, at their moving and hauling business, A. Paul Barndt and Sons. Dad had other plans for his life (going to college to be a pastor or joining the Marines in WWII) but because the business was faltering, daddy stayed to help his dad. When my Pappy left the business, my dad took over. People working for him at the time were not doing what they were supposed to be doing so dad left the business to my 2 uncles and we moved to Florida. I was about 4 or 5 at the time. His new job was as a cement truck driver with the Rinker company in Palm Beach county. Dad did this work and loved it but again we moved...back to Pennsylvania. Dad worked again at the moving and hauling business. It was never a thriving business, so once again, with dad selling the business just to pay the bills, we moved back to Florida. He was told there was work waiting for him there...but again there was nothing. Several times we would move back and forth. At times we lived in a mobile home and other times with my Grandmom and Pop-pop (mom's parents).
We were what people today would label "white trailer trash" because we were poor. Mom made our clothing out of printed chicken feed bags. If she had enough of the same pattern, all of us wore the same pattern in shirts, skirts, shorts, dresses (well not the boys). We ate ground beef a lot or creamed tuna on toasted white bread. When we had spaghetti we ate it with potatoes to stretch the meal. If there was leftover spaghetti, we ate spaghetti soup the next night. It all tasted great (at the time) to me.
By this time, dad had begun working for trucking companies moving people from place to place. He would pack up their furniture and household items and pack it tightly, without any breakage, into the truck's trailer and off he would go. He would be gone about 2-3 wks and then home for a week or two. He gave mom whatever money he had left from maintaining his truck so he could work some more weeks. Generally, we lived on $25/week. Not a lot for a family of 6...but I never knew we were poor, not until much later in life.
From the time of my birth, I knew mom and dad loved me. Mom was the disciplinarian and could be rather harsh at times. Dad was not home long enough to take charge because when he was home, he slept so he was rested for the next "run". Mom was sick much of the time so either we lived with my grandparents or I helped out with the younger kids. They did not like that and thought I was very bossy. I guess I was, but I was taking mom's job seriously.
When I was 16 yrs old, we moved from Pennsylvania to Florida for the last time. Dad was told there would be a job waiting for him so he could give up trucking (at mom's request) and again, there was no work. So, again, dad drove truck but just in the state of Florida. No more 2-3 wks away, and I was glad. So was mom. I thought he went away so much because we were loud and naughty and he could not stand being around us. He was just trying to care for and support his family, but it did not feel like that.
I graduated from high school and went into nursing. I graduated in 1971 as an LPN. I worked in a hospital and in a dr's office. When I was in training, dad had to have surgery. One day I was called to my dad's room because he was not following the orders of the drs and nurses. I had to explain to him the need for him remaining in bed unless he had help. He was pushing his IV stand all over the room, shaving and going to the bathroom without help, the next day. Times have changed since then.
As time passed, I decided to go back to college to get my RN BSN at a college affiliated with our church. Mom thought it was a stupid idea since I had an excellent job working for $4/hour with no chance of moving up where I worked. Dad supported me but without mom knowing. My grandmother encouraged me to follow my heart and my dreams and if it meant moving to MN to get this degree, then that's were I needed to go. Financially, there was no help from my family. I got grants and scholarships for 5 yrs with only one semester having a loan. Mom would write letters and dad would "finish them and mail them to me...with $20 tucked inside without mom knowing". I graduated with honors. Mom, dad and grandma came to my graduation.
The first time I realized dad loved me was the first Christmas I was gone to MN. I didn't think I could afford the trip but somehow I got the money to go home and didn't tell my parents. When they came in from work, I was sitting at the dining room table. Dad burst into tears and just held me. I was so surprised.
After I graduated, I reluctantly came home with mom and dad in the middle of an ice storm. Mom was panicking while driving my car and dad and I were in their car and pulling a trailer. I cried almost all the way home. I loved MN very much but there was no work available as Christian Education major with an early childhood minor. Women were not allowed to hold the title Minister of Children's ministries. That was a man's role.
So with that in mind, I worked for a pittance at a Greek Orthadox Church in town teaching Kindergarten. I was not allowed to pass on my ideas or thoughts to the director because I did not have a Master's Degree. I lived with Mom and Dad until I got a job working as a teacher in an elementary school. When I was able, I moved out. Dad and mom lived by themselves. My siblings were married or pursuing their careers and I had my life teaching. It was like we lost touch with each other.
In 1994, I moved to Indiana. I worked odd jobs until I got a job working in a nursing home on an Alzheimer wing. I went home in June because I missed my family. Mom was fine when I saw her but 2 months later, she was definitely not fine. She had had cancer prior to this about 10 yrs before. Now she coughed with every breath. The oncologist she chose to go to told her she was an ex-cancer patient and just had a cold. I moved back home Dec. 15, 1994 to take care of my mom during the last 6 wks of her life. I promised her I would make sure dad was taken care of and had food and was left alone. She passed away Jan 8, 1995...and that's when all this really began.
The first year was horrible. Every day I would come home from work, call dad to see how he was doing. He was retired by now but was mowing lawns in the mobile home park every day. It helped supplement his income but also kept him busy. But at night, he would call me 2-3 times a wk to say he was going to the ER because his heart was hurting. Most of the time they kept him over night and sent him home the next day. Every Sunday, I cooked a big Sunday Dinner and had him come to the house to eat. I made sure he had many meals left over so I was assured he was eating every day. This continued for 20 years.
Then fifteen months ago, dad began falling. He might lie on the floor 10 or more hours until he could get to his phone and call me when it was no longer dark in his house. He fell 3 times and finally, my brother and his son took dad to a trauma hospital to be checked out. They checked him for strokes, tumors in his brain, muscular disorders and nerve disorders. After about 2 wks, he was transferred to a Rehab center. He was told there that he either needed to be in a nursing home or move into a place where he was not alone. My one brother had moved to TN and my sister in PA was going through her own difficulties with health and my other sister was in N. FL. Dad said all three of those places were too cold for him. My other brother only had one bedroom so his house was ruled out. That left me. In February of 2015, dad sold his earthly belonging, downsized his tools and other loved articles and moved into a room in our home. He seemed to be comfortable and the transition was pretty well taken. What was hard for me was cooking every night and getting up early enough to fix him breakfast. We learned to live together fairly easily after not living together for almost 30 years.
I learned much about my father in the past 15 months. I saw (though I knew it) how much he loved his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He loved and honored his family as well as his neighbors. He had, prior to losing most of his sight) read the Bible through, cover to cover every year. He made it a practice to pray for every (and I mean every) person he loved and cared about as well as those who needed to know the Lord or were having difficulties. If he fell asleep while he was praying, he picked up where he left off when he woke to go to the bathroom. I learned just how giving he was with his neighbors. If he had clothing or shoes which he no longer could use, he gave to others who could use the things. He gave food to his neighbors he knew were struggling to make ends meet. When there were birthdays or anniversaries, he slipped $10-20 to the recipient. If someone had a need, he helped them out, even if he wanted them to pay him back. My father was a Godly man. I knew he was a Christian, but there was more to it. It took the Bible literally and lived it out. No he was not perfect, but he aspired to please his Lord.
We ate our meals together as a family. He did not like it that we had been fixing a meal and eating it in our bedrooms while watching tv. Meals were to be eaten as a family (except breakfast...because he got up very early.... and I....well let's just say, I wasn't there for breakfast). He liked going out for breakfast if he had lab work to be done or a drs' appt. He always wanted to go to his favorite breakfast place and he would ALWAYS order 1/2 order of biscuits and gravy. The girls working there thought he was cute and referred to him as their boyfriend. They knew immediately what he would order. My dad was a man or order and orderliness - almost OCD, but not quite.
He would cut up by hand, every piece of mail that was junk mail. Even little sales catalogs were cut into bits and pieces. Everything had its place and everything was in its place. Clothes were folded a particular way, his bed had to be made "his" way so he would not fall into the imagined hole in the mattress...his own "butt indentation". He watched the same programs every night unless there was any kind of ball game on. He loved his honky tonk music, as well as gospel "reunions" and polka music. He often called me into his room to listen to a funny "trucker" song. I never understood a word they sang but I would laugh when he laughed because whatever they said held meaning to him. He was German through and through...from his Pennsylvania Dutch accent and words to eating spaghetti on top of a pile of mashed potatoes (which had to be at every meal) and then covered with ketchup. It looked nasty but he loved it. He was a meat and potatoes man for every meal. He was not fond of ethnic cooking so if we wanted something other than what he wanted to eat, I would make 2 meals. A man of habit, he was.....and I loved him as I had never loved him before.
He loved his children and grandchildren calling him just to find out how he was doing or what he had been doing or what the dr said at his appt that day. He said he did not like talking on the phone, but he talked more than I ever thought of talking. He called up old friends from Pennsylvania; called nieces and nephews; he kept up with his 3 sisters (all of his other siblings had predeceased him). He especially kept up with his friend of 79 yrs, Lee "Pretzel". As kids we could never say his last name right. It sounded like pretzel, so that is who he became to us kids. Lee Pretzel. Dad had coaxed him into joining the Marines towards the end of WWII. They thought there would be a month delay before they were called up to go to boot camp but less than 2 wks later, they were in boot camp. Lee was so angry with dad, he did not speak to him for 2 wks. Then when they finished boot camp and were eager to make the Japanese pay for Pearl Harbor, the war ended. There were so many enlisted privates that the Marine authorities didn't know what to do with all of them. Lee was sent to the Panama Canal, which was just being built and dad was sent to another location where he peeled potatoes until he was discharged.
Both men were married but our families never got together for outings or the such. It was not until mom died that Lee came back into our lives. He had always been in dad's life but we as children, didn't see him much. Now, mom had died and Lee came from Alabama, leaving his family to be with dad for the first week after mom's death. He kept dad laughing because Lee was always telling jokes or stories, getting confused, making strange faces, stuttering around until he finally finished his story, which may or may not have been funny, but Lee was and we all laughed a lot.
The two "Grumpy Old Men" took road trips every summer to go to Pennsylvania for my dad's family reunion. Dad, the orderly one, knew where they would stop to rest (no hotel for them), where they would fill up the truck, and at which Truck Stop they would eat their meals. Lee was much more spontaneous than dad. Dad had a hand written itinerary which he copied and gave to everyone involved and it would not be deviated from!!! (I know a preposition at the end). Lee would stop at truck stops and buy airplane models or hats or other things. Dad would go to the bathroom and hop back into the truck and wait for Lee to be ready to move out again. The itinerary was followed precisely...but they had fun, and they did it every year, until dad lost his eye sight.
Somehow, I don't remember how, I got in touch with Lee's daughter, Leanna. She had her dad with her at her home very near us. It was dad's 87th birthday and we surprised him by meeting Lee and Leanna and her kids at a nearby Cracker Barrel. We laughed so much and they were so glad to once again be together. Instead of just meeting that night, Leanna brought him to our home for a Sunday outing and dinner. We heard the same stories 3 different ways and laughed at all of them. That night when Lee went home, we all got a good night's sleep because every muscle hurt from laughing so hard.
As time went on, Dad's health began to deteriorate. He had Congestive Heart Failure and Renal Failure. The doctors walked a "thin line" with medications he needed yet each other affected the other malady. We did ok for awhile, keeping things under control. That is until January. Dad's color was not good and his energy level was becoming less and less. He dragged his feet when he walked; didn't go outside anymore to talk to the neighbors or to ride his battery operated scooter. He looked very tired. His appetite was diminished and he was frustrated with having to urinate so much day and night. He could not get comfortable anymore, whether he was in his recliner or sitting on the sofa or at the table or in his bed. Nothing helped him, not even his pain pills. In mid-January, he came into my room short of breath and said he felt like someone was sitting on his chest. I drove him then and there to the hospital. His heart rate was very low and so was his blood pressure.
The doctors told us after tests were done, dad had had a heart attack. He heart had been weakened by heart attacks through the years and he had even gone through a triple bypass in Miami when it was a fairly new procedure. The doctor told me his heart had been functioning at 35% but now it was at 20%. He was failing. He was sent home but 4 days later returned to the hospital because he had pneumonia. He was breathing so hard and not getting oxygen that the dr sent him from his office by ambulance. He was placed on a pulmonary wing where they watched closely. Because he had a DNR (do not resuscitate) form, no more would be done intrusively. He would be made comfortable. All HE wanted was to go home. The drs encouraged me to have Hospice called in, more for support than anything.
Hospice was very good coming in every week to talk to him and check his vital signs and how he was doing. Every week he would tell them he was doing "fine". If he spoke to anyone on the phone, his answer to their questions about his health was "I am fine", but he wasn't. I tried to let my sibling know that dad was failing and it was going to be quickly. At first he would joke with the nurse or try to "hit on her", then he just would answer their questions with one word answers. He did not want a hospital bed; he did not want anyone giving him a bath; he did not want to go to Hospice because "they will just keep me and that will mean the end" and he definitely did NOT want any drugs.
The third week he was with hospice, the nurses noticed his shortness of breath and lethargy. He was on oxygen 24 hrs/day but the nasal cannula was bothering his nose. He would take his breathing treatments grudgingly and would generally fall asleep during the treatment, leaving the mouth piece dangling from his lips. He did not want help. He HATED that he could not do the things he used to do and now could not do. One night after a meager dinner, he laid his head down on his folded arms. After several minutes, I thought he was alseep. He wasn't. He raised his head, looked straight at me and said, "Mother, what is wrong with me?" I had to leave the table because he did not want tears. We had already gone through the list of things he wanted done and what to have for his memorial service. I could not take much more.
Another time, dad had gone to sit in his recliner. I asked him if I could do anything else for him and he answered with "Can you get me a new body?" I told him if I could do that, I'd get one of my own too. He said don't worry. Soon I will have a new body. I agreed but left the room in tears again. I knew the time was near. He was talking less and less on the phone; eating less and less and sleeping more and more. His breathing was rapid and he couldn't seem to get much air into his lungs. At this time, my body gave out and I was breathing like him. I ended up in the hospital on the same floor with the same diagnosis, Congestive Heart Failure. I was worried about dad, crying, short of breath and wanting to be with dad. Hospice had come in and said they were getting him a hospital bed and he didn't object.
I told the doctors they had to discharge me or I was walking out. I was NOT going to be in the hospital when my dad passed away. My sister came down when she heard I was in the hospital and she took over the care of dad, with the help of Hospice nurses who were now round the clock. My niece flew in from TX to help me get the information for the funeral home and the newspaper. We wrote our own tribute; we had a Marine Honor Guard. My nephew, who is in the Army Artillary was able to come home. My uncle and aunt flew in from New Mexico. People were all over and I was NOT to do anything at all. I was told I had done everything for 21 years now I had to let others help me.
Before he got really bad, but knew he was dying, dad had given me directives for the memorial. He wanted my uncle to do the eulogy and my nephew in law to be the "emcee". We joked about having a DJ there. Everything was in order and I wanted my dad to know just how much I love him and respected him. He taught me so much in that year and 3 months. He was strong throughout his life: lifting pianos and heavy furniture by himself. He was independent. He never wanted anyone to have to "do for him". He was fiercely stubborn and at times, immovable about things. He, I saw now, had always been this way with his family. He provided for his family the best way he knew how. He did things so no one would have to take care of his family. He worked hard to make sure we were taken care of and no matter how long he would be gone on trips, he always returned to his family. He was loyal to us. He made mistakes but when recognized, made amends. He loved his family so much, he would have done anything for them.
He lived his life out as a Christian. He helped others; he obeyed when Jesus told him what he should do (ie: helping his father and giving up his own dreams). Life was hard for this stubborn German, but he loved every minute of it. He loved each of his children dearly, and yet, differently because we are all different. He loved my mom exclusively, and she was a difficult woman to live with. He made sure he paid his way in life and helped others when they could not. He was friends with "sinners". He had a dear friend who is a Marine (once a Marine always a Marine) who has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; an alcoholic; thoughts of suicide; etc. Dad loved him and called him his son. He prayed with him and scolded when he knew he was drunk. He was friends with a woman and her brother. She had been with a man who killed himself and then she got cancer and is now dying herself. Her brother lost his drivers' license due to too many DUI's. He loved them and prayed for them. Dad walked his talk...and his talk was given by God.
I learned a lot from my dad in 15 months! I learned I must now be a Marine and be loyal, obedient, strong and independent. Once a Marine always a Marine, even if it is by proxy. I love you dad. I will never forget you!!!! Till we meet again -
Semper Fi!