Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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Harvey’s Story, part 1

 The 19th anniversary of the Oklahoma City Murrah Building bombing is fast approaching.
Handsome’s parents Harvey and Judy Wreath were both first responders to this tragedy,
and over these past several days Harvey has been gracious to sit and discuss with me
more of his memories and details from those weeks, many of which I had never heard before.
He also visited the Memorial Museum with Handsome and me,
which was a such a memorable experience.
Internalizing all of this history has made me want to run the marathon even more.

Following is the first in a series of three installments telling his and Judy’s story.

Harvey Wreath 1995
Harvey Wreath 1995

A DAY LIKE ANY OTHER

Early on the morning of April 19, 1995, Harvey was already hard at work at his auto body shop in Moore, about half an hour south of downtown Oklahoma City. The weather was calm and warm, the skies bright. Absorbed in repairing the fender, door, and front bumper of a Chevrolet pick up, Harvey heard an unbelievable boom then felt heavy vibrations. He knew immediately it was a significant explosion and wondered if it could be an oil tank. He stepped outside and saw dark, heavy smoke gulping into the blue Oklahoma sky.

Several minutes later, at 9:15 a.m., Harvey’s police receiver reported a large explosion at the Murrah Building in downtown Oklahoma City. The operator was requesting all officers for help. They were bracing for the possibility of something more. No one seemed to know what was happening.

At this time, in addition to running his auto body shop, Harvey was Police Chief of the town of Hallpark, Oklahoma. His wife Judy was his right arm in every part of life and also served as his police Sergeant. On duty that April morning, Judy heard the same radio calls for help and immediately brought her husband his police uniform. Together they drove in their township’s only patrol car north to Oklahoma City. They prayed together every mile of that drive and in minutes arrived at the gaping, shredded building now veiled in angry black smoke.

CHAOS & FIRST RESPONDERS, DAY ONE

By now Harvey knew it was something far worse than any gas explosion. Upon seeing the enormous wound on the front of the familiar building, he knew without a doubt that it had been a bomb. Harvey and Judy heard layers of horrified screams. They knew people were still trapped. The scene was absolute chaos.

On the north side of the block, Harvey and Judy found a gathering of police cars and, in uniform themselves, rushed to offer their help. Their first task was to keep people away from the building, but crowd control on this morning was far from easy. The people trying to get through the barrier were not yet spectators or tabloid photographers; they were downtown office workers searching for colleagues, friends, and spouses. They were parents and grandparents frantic to lay trembling hands on their babies who had just been dropped off at daycare in the building now laid to waste. Their job of crowd control was made increasingly difficult by the thick, gagging smoke and then by subsequent bomb scares. There was so much screaming.

By evening, the area at Sixth Street was crawling with military personnel, law enforcement, and scores of heavy equipment operators. Martial Law had been enacted but so far was a formality because everyone was already working together. Somewhere deep in the belly of this horrible scene, this fallout of evil not yet understood, a seed of hope was already germinating. Oklahoma was already responding to trauma with intense love and unflinching willingness to reach out, to work together.

True to form for springtime in Oklahoma, heavy thunderstorms rolled in around 8:30 p.m. The weather did not slow the rescue efforts. By 10:40 p.m. every survivor had been brought out of the cruel debris.

Harvey and Judy stayed on site until 9 p.m. that first night then drove home, stunned and exhausted. They had planned to return to the same job the next morning, but at 11 p.m. a phone call came from their friends at the Medical Examiner’s Office. Harvey and Judy were being asked to join a team of people to work in the temporary morgue. Additionally, Harvey was needed as head of Security for the team. They said yes without hesitation, just as they had done fourteen hours earlier.

Neither of them slept well that night. They rose the next morning at 7 a.m. and reported for sixteen hours of unprecedented work and sacrifice, the first of nineteen consecutive days that would change them forever.

 

Thank you for reading!
Harvey appreciates you reading, too,
and gaining a deeper understanding
of what Oklahoma experienced that April.
Please continue to check in for more installments.
XOXOXO

How it Goes

   Last night we celebrated my parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary here at the farm. Loved ones came from near and far to congratulate them and encourage them on a hard earned and really happy milestone. It was a lot of fun and much deserved. My parents are the best and are loved by so many people.

   Still, of course, it was a terribly bittersweet celebration in the wake of losing Handsome’s Mom. When Judy passed away, she and Harvey were on the eve of their own fortieth anniversary party here at the farm. I don’t think we’ll ever forget that detail. So, as beautiful as the evening was in a thousand ways, it was fraught with difficult emotion. All rooted in love.

   I will tell more of these stores as we go. For now, a sudden insight from video gaming.

********************

   Today after church, Handsome, his sweet Dad, and I went to lunch with Handsome’s sister and her beautiful family. Everyone is understandably steeped in sadness right now. The shock of their Mom’s death is wearing off. The crowds have all gone home. And the pain is visceral.

   In a deliberate effort to lighten the mood and give the kids at the table something upbeat to think about for a while, my husband, “Uncle B” as he is known to the kids, struck up a conversation with our blue-eyed middle-school nephew Koston. About Minecraft.

   Koston is a Minecraft devotee. A Minecraft guru. A Minecraft genius it’s fair to say.

   Uncle B made a few remarks about the difficulty with which his own Minecraft adventure had recently started. He complained good-naturedly about the built-in obstacles and frustrating surprises that come with trying to build something from nothing in this imaginary digital world. He was playfully soliciting sympathy from his nephew.

   Koston, this blue-eyed boy who I have come to love so dang much, grinned just a little, shook his head casually, and said, “That’s just how it goes at first.”

   “That’s just how it goes?!” Uncle B objected with a measure of exaggeration. I couldn’t help but laugh. My husband has a way of slicing through a really thick atmosphere. I love him for this. Some people may interpret it as irreverence, but they’re flatly wrong. It’s nothing but love.

   “That’s just how it goes.” Koston chuckled a little and shrugged one shoulder. I am guessing he thought it hilarious to be giving any kind of instruction to his tall, strapping, accomplished Uncle, the man who is anchoring the entire family right now. Koston’s blue eyes were as clear as Mexico waters, just gazing steadily through his few words. He knows his stuff. Especially when it comes to Minecraft.

   “Okay! I guess!!” Uncle B laughed too and threw up his hands. Then he continued his mocked up complaints and prodding to get his boys to smile for a moment longer. For the most part, it worked.

********************

 
   I just keep wondering about the simple assurance Koston was providing with a grin and a shrug. That’s just how it goes at first. So true. What’s also true is how things tend to get better with time and effort. How the many games we play are still worth playing, no matter how difficult.

   And I keep hoping that everyone has lots of people nearby to give them this assurance when needed. I know I need it. Life is hard. A lot hard. And that’s just how it goes at first. But I believe deep down that it gets better.

Be gentle with each other.
XOXOXOXO

Two Weeks Later, Love Remains

   This is gonna be an unusual blog post. Please forgive me if it’s even more rambly than normal. I want to organize my thoughts and relay them poetically, with some meaning or message, but all I can muster right now are observations and a few cell phone photos.

All you need is love! And treats. Chunk-hi agrees. 

   The last two weeks since losing Handsome’s Mom have in many ways been unlike any others in my life. Daily, hourly, by the moment, life has been unpredictable and volatile. On the other hand, some beautiful, familiar ribbons of love and stability have carried us from day to day. While we are once again broken in many places, the most important things between us have not changed, they have only strengthened. For this I am so grateful.

   The shock is just beginning to really fade. In its place I am seeing pain, confusion, loneliness, and much more. A flash of anger here and there. Judy was so much to so many people, that she is leaving a void no one person can fill. And she is gone far sooner than anyone was prepared to let her go.

   This is a time everyone relies on God to fill the gaps in our hearts, and He does, if we wait. We all try to be of service to each other, to be used in any way He asks. Preparing meals, cleaning, laundering, driving, listening, praying, organizing, repairing… Anything. But the grief is so ongoing, so revealing of a love that is deep and forever, that no tasks we perform from day to day really feel like enough. So we just keep trying.

brightontheday

   Handsome’s sweet Dad, Harvey, is staying with us at the farm for as long as possible. I hope to share lots of his stories as time passes. He is wonderful, and many days I feel like I love him as much I love his son. We really appreciate having him here, and I only hope the togetherness is as good for him as it is for my husband. The farm had been filled with dozens of other beloved visitors day in and day out for the past two weeks, so now the three of us will begin to discover a new daily routine. I know already that everything will be different. That’s okay.

   God is so good. I don’t have to look too hard to find hidden blessings, special skinny little silver linings that take the edge off the pain, but I also feel incredibly guilty enjoying those gifts. The circumstances under which they have been sent are so hard, and most times as daughter-in-law I feel like on onlooker, sometimes even an intruder into a dark, terrible, intimate family room. I loved Judy very much and admired her perhaps more than I ever realized, but my grief is completely different from everyone else’s. That’s probably normal, I don’t know.

Marci, thank you for this rare photo.

 

   The Tiny T love story will continue. I don’t feel like writing it exactly, but last week I was really surprised to learn that my in-laws had been reading the series together and had even started making guesses about what kind of woman T would end up with. So, especially because I love my father-in-law so much, T will return pretty soon. I missed the 31 day challenge again, but the love story will keep going for as long as it needs to.

   The farm is torn between cold and balmy, between new life and a deep, chilling slumber. Several of us noticed with lots of wonder that the forests were all lush green until the day after the funeral. Now every branch is bearing as much gold, crimson, and russet as green. Still, though, the apple trees have been blooming again, like it’s spring time. The herbs are still growing like it’s June, except for the tell tale seed spikes begging to be collected. And we harvest peppers and tomatoes, day after day. Kind of amazing.

Apple blooms in autumn?

   The horses have already found their thick, fuzzy winter coats. Chanta is so silky right now, so tempting. When I need to cry I go to the middle field and lay across him, combing my fingers deep through the gold and white hair all over his big belly, and he wraps his neck over me.

   Today my baby brother and I will be preparing a fortieth wedding anniversary celebration for our parents. It’s a wonderful occasion, and I’m so excited, but of course it’s bittersweet. Judy passed away just hours before we were to celebrate forty years for her and Harvey. See? Life is so wildly extreme. So all over the place. We must be limber and strong.

   As I finish writing this, the late morning sun is streaming passionately through the big east window. Mammoth plants and flowers from the funeral are everywhere, gilded now and illuminated by the fresh new day. Really pretty and really sad. Just like every other detail lately. The living room is absolutely pulsing with color and light, and I have no idea what to do about that.

   Thanks so much for all of your kind words, for all of your prayers. Every single speck has been relayed to the family.

   There is much more to say. I don’t know when I will write again, or about what, but for us life goes on. Love is steady and reliable, stronger than ever. There are dishes to rinse. Beds to be made smooth and comfortable. Animals to feed. Aprons to sew. There is plenty to do. And once again, for this I am so grateful.

Work is love made visible.
~Khalil Gibran
xoxoxoxo

Milestone, Miracles, and a Goodbye.

   Today was my sweet Momma’s birthday. Her double-nickel birthday, to be exact. Handsome and I joined her and my Dad, my baby brother, our nephew and his friend for dinner in the City. We ate a Tex-Mex feast on a very sunny balcony. So very sunny. Really hot. Like lava. The sun set in a curvy line behind the biggest skyscraper downtown. My nephew was confused.

Feliz Cumpleanos! 

   We had the best time. We always do, really. I love my family so much, and I know I take them for granted. I feel nauseous sometimes to realize how many days have passed since I’ve seen them, or weeks. Or months in some cases.

   Tonight we teased my Dad about how many wounds and scars he has on his arms and legs at the moment. To say he is accident prone isn’t quite right; it’s more fair to say that he has an abject disregard for his personal well being and never ever stops working. Physical work.

   My nephew quipped, “Grandpa’s not really a handyman; he must be in Fight Club.” In addition to his numerous bumps and bruises, this would explain why Dad’s not much of a talker. No worries, because the rest of us love to talk. Love it.

********************

   Earlier today, before this heat and this laughter,  Handsome and I attended a funeral. A friend of ours buried his mother. She was older than mine, but not that much. She seemed too young to be gone, except that she had endured a long, difficult illness and her release was a blessing.

   Hearing our friend’s grief to say goodbye to his Mom was deeply moving. It softened my heart in unexpected ways; and it certainly made the hours I spent with my own Momma tonight extra sweet.

   He and his brother both read beautiful poems they each had written to honor their Mom, and the whole room held our breath together then sobbed gently.

Me with Momma on Mother’s Day last year.
She taught me to love gardens and gardening.
She has a carefree, affectionate gardening style, 
and this is one corner of her paradise in Oklahoma City.
Those blue and purple flowers behind us? Larkspur.
She cut them all and brought them to our farm in large buckets 
early the morning of the wedding we hosted last May.
That’s how she is.

   I also exchanged some loving notes with my first born today. I cannot overstate what a miracle this is, this recent trend between us. And soon I want to describe the journey from despair to joy in full, but not tonight.

   That’s all I really have to say. Just that life is full of reminders to love more deeply and appreciate each other more fully. I received my reminders today.

   Happy Birthday Momma, I love you so much!!

   And friends, please say some prayers for the peace and comfort of our friends Trent and Carrie and their family. Thank you!

Love your people.
Anticipate Miracles.
xoxoxoxo

 

Dad’s Double Nickel

   Last week my dear ol’ Dad passed a milestone. Not a kidney stone, thankfully. A milestone. He had a birthday. So my parents, my youngest brother Philip, our nephew (who is recently driving, FAINT!) and his best friend Matthew came to the farm to celebrate Dad’s double nickel birthday! Our other nephew Koston, from my husband’s side of the family, had been spending a few days at the farm (I need to tell you all about that soon) and he actually helped me prepare the family meal!

   We sat down to the table and shared a giant lasagna with all the trimmings and laughed and laughed and laughed! Then almost immediately after dinner Dad sliced his birthday cake, a butter pecan layer cake with browned-butter cream cheese frosting.


Please note Dad’s strategically placed napkin-bib. 
He thought perhaps the cake was all for him?

   We sang to him and asked if he feels any older. He answered in the affirmative. We spent what little weeknight time we had left watching hilarious videos and laughing some more. Being with my family and laughing is on my sparkly list of favorite things to do. Seriously, it feels so good. And I love to see my parents happy and worry-free for a few minutes. They deserve so much more of that.

My sweet Momma and my Baby Brutha from exactly the same Mutha, Phil.

   The older I get the more I am keenly aware of what a gift it is to have both of my parents alive and in my life, loving me and spending time with me. Handsome’s parents are very much a part of our life, too, and we are so grateful for this. Looking around at our friends, I see more and more people who have lost one or both of their parents by now, so these family events are golden to me. Big holiday occasions are also fabulous, but my soul is nourished by regular doses of easy get-togethers and homemade food.

Koston, 10, eternally dorky me, and Dante, 15. 
I cannot even tell you how much I love these guys.

   To finish his birthday celebration, I would like to tell you a little bit about my Dad, about why I wish you could have a Dad like mine…

********************

   He played with us all the time growing up, and he helped entertain my friends when I had birthday parties. In fact, as my friends got to be of the “crush having” age, lots of them had crushes on my Dad. This is actually rude, ladies, and weird, but it is nice to have a Dad everyone likes.

   Along this vein, Dad was my first teacher of practical jokes. Pranks. Pretty big ones. I’ll just leave that at that.
   He has taught me a thousand or maybe a million things just by example. His style has always been showing, not telling, and I bet he has no idea how impactful that has been over the years.
   Dad’s work ethic is incredible. He doesn’t stop when he reaches an obstacle; nor does he lose his patience when frustrated; he just works and adapts and continues working until something is done.
   Also? He literally* whistles while he works. No lie. But he’s not a very good whistler, but still.
   Dad has always made me feel like he had a special love for me, and he always seemed to go above and beyond to take care of me, personally. I grew up thinking it was because I am the oldest, maybe because he was so young when I was born, or perhaps simply because of my daughterly awesomeness (not). But in comparing notes with my adult siblings I realize we all have felt loved like this. Without ever once saying the word favorite, Dad and Mom made us all feel that way. And you know what? I am not disappointed in the truth. Not one bit. Watching both of our parents love my siblings through thick and thin, whatever the circumstances or special events, has been one of the most eye opening learning experiences of my life. Way better than continuing to believe I’m their fave. 
   Anyway, it is likely that his heart belongs more to the grand kids now…
My Dad in his first months as a Grandpa, 
pictured here with my first baby.
   To my knowledge, Dad has never missed a grandchild’s birthday party (locally, and I am sure missing his California grandson’s candles has hurt). Here he is at my youngest’s 13th birthday party a few years ago. Dad had just shattered his leg terribly and was probably in a lot of pain, but he came to the farm anyway. We delighted in teasing him about his walker, and against his wishes we decorated it. Well, I mean, the kids did. I had nothing to do with it whatsoever.

   My Dad has always fostered creativity, just by being creative himself  You should see him light up over an invention idea, or a new lamp or furniture design! And to help with his creative streak, Dad can operate any machine you give him. A few Christmases ago he and Mom gave me the serger machine from Village Art, our family’s now retired lamp company. Dad vainly tried teaching me how to thread it and operate it, but the truth is I would much rather him just come out and do it for me so we can talk. Not that we would talk. Because of the whistling.

   One lesson I wish I had learned from Dad a lot earlier in life is humility. He exemplifies it and proves it in his life year after year, and it breaks my heart for him.
   Dad is an excellent cook, and I wish I could find a photo of him wearing his chef’s apron and hat.
   Do you know what the invisible ball/ paper bag trick is? Pretty sure my Dad invented it, and if you visit the farm I’ll teach it to you. It’s amazing. Maybe I can get him to do it on video and upload it some day.
   But I do not wish upon you the horror of a knee-grabber. This is serious business, folks. 
   My Dad is a Power Napper, and he has been known to watch entire television shows through his eyelids. Then he looks at you like you’re crazy if you call attention to his sleepiness.
   Also, he is the fastest walking person on the face of this earth. It is because of growing up around him that I am physically unable to take a leisurely stroll anywhere. 
   I don’t know whether Dad is more talented at tile work or carpentry, because he does beautiful work in both areas. But I can say that the fragrance of fresh sawdust makes me very, very happy. It brings me back to childhood in a split second, and I love that.
   I have reached the age where I am thrilled by my parents’ love and romance, instead of being weirded out by it. Seeing them live their marriage in front of us kids, prop each other up, whisper compliments behind each other’s back… I love every bit of it. Can’t get enough of it now. Seeing how much my Dad loves my Mom, and vice-versa, is such a wonderful gift, and I am deeply thankful for it.
   Among the many things Dad has taught me by example is a love of reading. We only have a slice of overlap in genre appreciation, as far as I know, but I grew up watching him recline in a bustling living room with either a newspaper or a paperback perched studiously in front of him. To me this is relaxation. And I love Dad for teaching it to me.
   No matter what the need, no matter how last minute or inconvenient the request, my Dad will help any of kids in any way that is humanly possible. Same goes for his friends  too, I am sure. We probably never know when we put him in a bind, because he is always the same. He always acts with a steadiness that offers us calm. We know he is always there, no matter what.
********************
   I could write and write my love for my Dad, and he deserves it, but by now he is probably rolling his eyes at me a little and feeling itchy to get back to work. So go ahead and go walk fast and get something accomplished, Dad!!! I love you and I appreciate you more than you know. Happy 55th Birthday!!!!!
From Your Favorite Offspring**
xoxoxoxo
* Let’s all pronounce this “lit-chrul-lee”
** JUST KIDDING you titty babies!!! I’m probably not is favorite. Probably.