A year ago today

Last year at this time I was waking up in North Dakota for a traditional Wheeler breakfast at my grandparents' farm--a pan of homemade caramel rolls and a selection of Grandma's jams and jellies to put on freshly made toast.

It was Grandpa's 80th birthday, and I had flown in the day before to surprise him. We ate our breakfast while talking about the upcoming presidential election. Of all the people I have talked politics with in my life, and there's a lot, my conversations with Grandpa were the ones I always enjoyed the most. He was a steadfast catholic and dedicated farmer who lived almost his entire life on the rural plains of a sparsely populated state.

Grandpa was also an ardent Democrat, but a man who'd only vote for the person he thought could do the job regardless of party lines. It was still early in the election cycle, and Grandpa and I had already made up our minds Obama was the man for the job--much to the dismay of many in our family.

While Grandma washed dishes, Grandpa and I got so busy gabbing about politics we didn't notice her trying to join our conversation. She finally walked over to the table with dish towel in hand and said, just on the verge of yelling, "That's enough talking. It's my turn to say something."

Grandpa and I looked up from our cups of coffee and caramel rolls surprised.

"Well Ma. You have the floor. Speak," Grandpa said.

"Well, you two have already said it all. I guess I just wanted to say I agree," she said.

Grandpa looked at me, smiled his big smile, and said, "She's getting assertive in her old age. I like it."

I think the impromptu conversations like this one that took place before, during, and after meals, are what I'll miss most about Grandpa. They weren't always about politics. Sometimes they were about my career, and other times they were about my love life.

Unlike most women my age, I took delight in talking about my relationships with Grandpa. Maybe because unlike most grandpas, he took an interest in knowing.

It's only been a few weeks since I lost Grandpa very unexpectedly in an accident on the farm, and today is an especially hard day. Even though I'm fairly certain he went the way he always said he wanted to go, fast and without pain, I think about and miss him every day.

An image of Grandpa bringing me solace during this difficult time is the picture to the right. I took it on his 80th birthday last year, the day that started out with the story above.  I remember taking it because the look of complete contentment on his face. He was sitting in the living room he'd built with his dad many years before while taking in his wife, children, and grandchildren all playing games and laughing.

It had been a long and wonderful day of surprises for Grandpa. Not only had his loving wife of more than 60 years planned a huge surprise party with many of his friends and family, but he also received a gift that fulfilled his lifelong dream of a fishing trip to Alaska. I also surprised Grandpa with a video montage of pictures showing the complete and full life he'd lived (full video below).

This photo, to me, encapsulates a quote I read yesterday in the book Mortalism: Readings on the Meaning of Life. I bought the book a few days ago to help me figure out all the thoughts and emotions running through me right now. The quote this picture reminds me of is from the ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus:

"But the wise man neither begs off from life nor does he fear the loss of it. For life does not offend him, nor does not being alive seem an evil to him. And just as he doesn't automatically choose the largest amount of food, but the tastiest dish, he doesn't grasp for the longest span of time but the most pleasant one."

For Grandpa

It's amazing how a person's life perspective changes in the blink of an eye. Two weeks ago I was consumed by anxiety over being reduced in hours at my job and wondering how I was going to make rent and my student loan payments. Then on May 4, my life changed forever with the news of my grandpa being killed in an accident on the farm that's been in my family for more than a century.

I have grown in more ways during this last week at my grandparents' farm than I have any other time in my life, including recovering from the aftermath of 9/11. My grandpa was one of the closest people to me, and I never knew how I would cope with losing him. Now I know, and will probably share more of what I've learned in this last week at a later time. For now, at the request of several family members, I will leave you with the words I spoke at his funeral last Friday.

Lorne Wheeler
May 28, 1928 – May 4, 2009

When I got the news about Grandpa's accident on Monday, I was at work. My boss, sitting on the ground next to me in my cubicle, holding me while I cried, said, "I never met your grandpa, but from all the stories you tell, I think he left this world in a way fitting of him. He left strong and working on the land he loved."

Over the past two years, I’ve been in the process of writing Grandpa’s memoirs for him. As a trained journalist, I'm supposed to be able to sum up a person's story, fitting it all into a few inches of printed words. But when it comes to Grandpa, there's not enough paper in this world that could ever hold the fullness of life he lived.

The names of our family alone would take up several Sunday editions of The Fargo Forum, not to mention the names of the thousands of people whose lives were touched in some way by Grandpa.

We are his story. All of us, in our own way, has taken on characteristics of him that will live on for generations to come.

For some, it's his irresistible humor and robust, hearty laugh that can be heard above everyone's in the room.

For others, it's his incredible compassion and strength of spirit that can put anyone at ease the moment you quietly and gently reach for their hand, instinctively knowing the exact amount of time to hold it.

For others, it's his sense of duty and diligent work ethic that inspires those around you to press on and press through, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

For others, it's his appetite for adventure, and perhaps his appetite in general, in appreciating the here and now by taking joy in all of the simple day-to-day blessings life brings.

For others, it's his shrewd business sense and honesty that garners the immense respect of those around you.

For others, it's his selflessness and willingness to always be the bigger person who regularly sets aside their own needs for the sake of others.

And in all of these things, a characteristic held by each and everyone one of us in the Wheeler clan is knowing the importance of family. We are big, both in numbers and in love. The reason for this is because of the incredible love shared by two amazing people, Lorne and Libbey Wheeler, whose priority has always been and always will be the family.

So as we move forward with our lives from this incredibly sad time, we can take solace in knowing that Grandpa will always be with us so long as we have each other.

"Love your life . . ."

A little more than a year ago the world lost an amazingly kind-hearted man, and I lost one of my dearest friends. Pete Flitton, the goofy red-head who grew up next door to me, was the kind of man who on his death bed kept a journal of all the troubles of his family and friends. He would take this journal, and in the late hours when he couldn't sleep he would pray. He would pray for their happiness, their sanity, their hearts, and anything else he noticed they needed.

He was a man of patience, a man of selflessness, a man of understanding, a man of love, and a man of laughter. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss him. Even as he was dying of cancer at the age of 27, he would do his best to make everyone around him smile and forget for just a moment the reality of the situation. Even at his funeral, Pete the ultimate Star Wars junkie, made sure everyone got a chuckle by wearing his Star Wars tie.

At the time of Pete's death I was at a very bad place in my life, and spent my days either working my fingers to the bone or sleeping way too much. I had simply stopped living, and was merely existing.

Then one day, as I was frantically getting into my car to rush back to the newsroom to file a story, I noticed a torn slip of paper tucked behind the gas pedal. I thought maybe it was a receipt or a piece of scrap paper I had used to scribble down some directions. Instead, it was a white piece of paper that simply read, "Love your life. -Henry David Thoreau." I sat in my car staring at the piece of paper for the longest time. I couldn't make heads or tails of how it got there, but as I was holding it I got the strangest and most comforting feeling that it was a message from Pete.

The full quote from Chapter 18 of Thoreau's Walden reads:

“However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names. It is not so bad as you are. It looks poorest when you are richest. The fault-finder will find faults even in paradise. Love your life, poor as it is. You may perhaps have some pleasant, thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poorhouse."

Here I was, a completely healthy person sitting in a pile of self-pity and hating nearly everything about my life. For a moment I felt guilty and fool-hearted, but then thought of how Pete would tell me to let go of the guilt and start living. So I did, and wonderful things happened. I even started a gratitude journal, and would write down five things I was thankful for each day. My entries ranged from stuff as simple as a good cup of coffee, to more meaningful things like having a tight-knit family who would do anything for each other.

The point of the journal was for me to not take life for granted, because it's such an easy thing to do when you're caught up in your own head (which is a place where I frequently get lost). Then as the months went on and things in my life seemed to really pick up - a new job, a new car, a new home, a new group of friends, a new love - I forgot about the journal and taking time to be grateful for all the blessings in my life.

Well, as the roller coaster of life kept moving along, some of those great things got tossed around and lost. I again started sinking into a realm of anxiety and depression, and there were days that it took every ounce of my being to get out of bed.

Then about a week ago I got my gratitude wake-up. One of my best friends from high school called me out of the blue and came to visit for a few days with her boyfriend. I noticed they each had a stone in the pockets of their jeans, and I would catch them every now and then holding them and closing their eyes. I asked what the stones were for, and they explained they were gratitude stones. Anytime they felt the stone or were reminded of its presence, they would take a moment out of their day to thank the universe for something in their lives.

Later during their visit we were all on the beach wading our feet in the cold salt water when her boyfriend came running up to me and said he thought I should have my very own gratitude stone. He opened his hands, and there were several rocks he had collected. He told me to choose one. So I did. It was small and gray with white striations all over it. I put the stone in my pocket, and then we all played around in the water and sand feeling carefree and laughing like children.

After my friend and her boyfriend left, I forgot about the stone. Then today as I was fumbling around at work and feeling the drone of the clock ticking minutes from my life, I felt a tiny bump in the pocket of my pants. It was my gratitude stone, and I thought about my friends, my family, my dog, my health, and everything else in this life that I could say thank you for to the universe. Then, when I was driving home, I went to grab my sunglasses from the dashboard of my car, and there was the slip of paper with the message Pete had sent me nearly a year ago, "Love your life."