Author: Denis Wilhelm

Letting Go

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Yesterday there was a memorial service for my cousin Jerry. Jerry was only 63 years old and died of a massive stroke a week before. At the visitation his siblings appeared shell-shocked. And rightly so; just two weeks ago we were all together at a family reunion and Jerry seemed the epitome of health and fitness. At the reunion Jerry and I talked about how nice it was to be together as a family at something other than a funeral. Two weeks ago…

And now here we are at his memorial and it just seems surreal. Earlier this year Jerry suffered the loss of his daughter Jennifer. She was only 30 years old. One of his sisters suggested that perhaps he hadn’t recovered from his broken heart but I doubt that caused his stroke. Still I wonder??? And at the service yesterday I couldn’t help but imagine the pain his wife Susan and surviving daughter Alison were now bearing; not to mention his  mother, sisters, and brothers. I’m ashamed to admit that I have this perverse habit at funerals of imagining myself in the grieving parties place -maybe others do it, too. I wonder how I would feel if it was Deb (or God forbid one of our kids)? How could I go on without her (them)? The pain and sorrow seem insurmountable.

But somehow we manage. We human beings are a pretty resilient species. Somehow we put one foot in front of the other and carry on. We grieve. We cry. But we live on. We must learn to let go.

Let go! How many times have I been told to just “let go”? Let go of anger. Let go of pettiness. Let go of jealousy. Let go of pride. It’s not easy. But letting go of  “bad things” is easier than letting go of the “good stuff”. But we must do that too. 

Letting go of Tyson when he left for the Air Force was difficult; I drove home alone with my heart breaking and tears streaming. Letting go of Bess after we delivered her to her dorm in Madison was painful; Deb and I rode home in silence, neither of us able to look at the other. On Bess’s wedding day I felt I was letting go of my little girl but I knew she would never leave me (not really). Moving back to Missouri and leaving Blake in Wisconsin at the University; feeling certain he felt abandoned (and feeling guilty and sad all at once), that was tough. But during those times of “letting go” we knew that we would be together again. Even when Tyson was deployed to Iraq we somehow knew our prayers would be answered and he would “come home”. But death – the final surrender. How do we let go? And yet I know that we have no choice. It will happen to each of us.

Yesterday one of the ministers that spoke at Jerry’s service said we all have a God-sized hole in our hearts and when we get to heaven it is filled. Maybe we needed to let go of Jerry so he could have his heart filled but it seems to me that his loved ones had the holes in their hearts made larger by his loss. Still it’s comforting to think about Jerry with his trademark smile enjoying a beautiful eternity with his daughter Jennifer and his dad, my Uncle Les.

But God if you’re listening (and I know that you always are) I’m not really ready to let go and I imagine that Jerry wasn’t either.

Peace,

Denis

Loss of Innocence

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Yesterday my two granddaughters and I spent the day together. First we went to the park where we encountered a Day Care Center that was using the park for a day camp. The place was overrun with 10 or 12 year-old boys that wouldn’t share most of the playground equipment. We were clearly outnumbered and outmaneuvered. And the adults were either clueless or careless. Either way, we sort of played around the perimeter of the place until it just became too much work and then we left for lunch.

After lunch we went to the swimming pool. The pool is a community pool at my daughter Bess’s subdivision, and while “private” it is a community pool so there are other swimmers there that we don’t know – strangers if you will. 

We all warn our kids about strangers – you know those scary adults that look creepy and lurk around unsuspecting little children: STRANGER DANGER! But yesterday we encountered another kind of stranger. This one was probably about 4 or 5 years old; a little girl in a Disney swimsuit. She seemed nice enough in the “baby pool” with her limp blond hair and little half-smile. That was until she opened her mouth. And then out it came: “Hey let’s play shark!” Anna, my three year-old granddaughter responded, “But we can be friendly sharks, okay?” Then strange-girl shouted with a snarl, “NO!” Anna and Charlise were kind of taken aback by strange-girl’s response. The next thing that transpired was an exchange of names. I couldn’t quite make out all the words but the demon-child said very loudly, “Anna’s not a real name – Annie is a real name!” Anna tried to reason with her but to no avail. I’m not sure what strange-girl had to say about Charlise’s name but I’m sure it was unkind.

Okay, at that point both Bess and I were on HIGH ALERT. But the tiny little beast was completely in control of the “baby pool”. We just sat there hapless and helpless. The next thing that strange-girl proclaimed was that, “If you step on those black things (the bottom drains in the pool) it’ll KILL YA!” Well that definitely got my attention! Who was this girl? Where were her parents? And at what point should I intervene??? 

Holy Innocents

Memories of my own children when young came flooding back. And silently I screamed: SAVE THEM! DON’T LET THE BAD GIRL RUIN THEIR SWEETNESS!! I want Charlise and Anna to only be “friendly sharks”; I want them to believe in unicorns and fairies; I want them to love rainbows and bunnies; I want their worst dreams to be ones where the cookie jar is empty or they’ve dropped their ice cream cones.

There’s time enough to grow up and face the harsh realities of life. But please God not yet – NOT TODAY. Please let them remain innocent a little longer. Please!!!

I’m afraid yesterday a little bit of that innocence was stolen by a tiny stranger (who probably has an older brother who plays “mean shark” and tells her name is stupid). And I just sat there dumbfounded while my pure little girls were subjected to what I’m sure is only the beginning of a lifetime of playground bullies, mean girls and other evil. I didn’t like it one bit – this feeling of powerlessness; knowing that strangers will continue to steal little pieces of their innocence. And one day they might lose their innocence completely – gasp!!!

I want to hold them in my arms and tell them all sharks are friendly and that no one will ever hurt them but I know that’s not possible. I can only help them be prepared for a world where everyone is not as beautiful as they are. And more prayers will be required…

Peace,

Denis

Fatherhood (and Grandfatherhood)

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Dear Tyson, Bess and Blake,
 
I love being your Dad. It’s the toughest job that I’ve ever loved. And calling fatherhood a job isn’t really accurate. It’s really a vocation; almost an obsession or a passion. I need to be your dad! You kids (and your kids) bring balance and purpose to my life; you make it (whatever it might be at the moment) worthwhile and meaningful.
 
I’m not suggesting that I’m a great dad or even a good one but I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO BE. And mistakes that I’ve made with you (and there were plenty) I’m trying to make up for with your children. It’s my second chance.
 
When people ask me what age I enjoyed the most with each of you, I always say “All of them.” And it’s true. I loved having babies (even with colic and dirty diapers) because there is nothing sweeter than baby milk-breath and skin so soft that you can barely feel it with rough dad hands. I can still smell of Baby Magic Lotion® after all these years. I loved you as toddlers and pre-schoolers because watching as you discovered new things each day gave me a renewed interest in learning myself. Plus Fisher-Price® toys rocked! I loved your grade school years – the uniforms, the lunch boxes, the report cards – and papers, papers, everywhere! Memories of Cub Scouts, Brownies, First Communions, Christmas Pageants (um-diddle-diddle-um-diddle-eye!) still warm my heart. I loved your high school years; watching you develop before my very eyes from awkward teenagers into two young men and a young woman. I loved every basketball game, wrestling meet, school play and sports banquet and AFS dinner. At the time I didn’t fully appreciate being your Scout Master or the Chairman of The Booster Club but those experiences made me proud of you then (even if I was only Scout Master or Chairman because no one else raised their hand). You were (and are) so smart; so confident; so beautiful. Your teen years -what an amazing transformation! 

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, you were grown and gone! But not really gone (not gone from me). Gone on to do big things, important things but still carrying Dad around in your hearts (I hope). Your adult years – The Air Force for you Tyson and University for you Bess and Blake. And then marriages and careers and other grown up stuff. Now Tyson you’re a Dad, too. And Bess you’re a Mommy of two. How did it happen so fast?

Ty, Bess and Blake

My happiest and saddest times have been as your dad. My greatest joys and greatest heartaches have come from you. But mostly joy and ALWAYS love. Pure love – dad love. There is something almost primal about my need to love and protect you – maybe its self-preservation. I don’t know, maybe when the first dad (Adam?) crawled out of the primordial ooze we were all pre-wired to protect our offspring in order to make certain our species would survive. Who knows?

What I do know is that you three are the manifestation of the love that Mom and I share. Seems almost greedy – to have a love as beautiful as ours and three remarkable children to boot. But I’ll take it!
 
And Charlise, Anna and Noah?  Well they’re just the icing on the cake!
 
Peace and love,
 
Dad

P.S. One of toughest times for me was when I moved to Wisconsin ahead of you and Mom and we spent most of that first year apart. This songs bring back that bittersweet memory. (The video is kind of lame but the lyrics still get to me).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1yTWauVjwo

Thirteen Children and then some…

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When I tell people that my mom is the 12th of 13 children I usually get one of two responses. The first one (and most likely) is: Wow! Are you serious? The second response, which never ceases to amaze me, is often something along the lines of “my mom (or dad) was one of 14 (or 15 etc.)” or “I knew somebody that came from a family of fifteen (or twenty)”. You get the idea. Maybe it’s true but it always seems a little doubtful. I think some people like to ‘one-up’. I just smile and say, “Oh, that is a big family”. What I want to say is, “Well okay then you win” “Just for the record, it was never a contest!” “And besides, even if your family is bigger it’s not better than ours!”

Mom is now 82 and is one of the ‘little girls’ – her younger sister is 81. All six of her brothers have passed away and three of her sisters are gone now, too. She and my dad are the only couple left in her generation. Her surviving sisters are: two widows and a nun. She also has two widowed sisters-in-law. Being one of the youngest in a large family has many blessings but watching your siblings die one by one is extremely difficult. We have spent the last few years attending a succession of funerals. With each loss Mom confronts her own mortality again.

Yesterday was a happy family gathering: a reunion. The Moellering Family hadn’t had a reunion in 10 years (not counting aforementioned funerals) and Mom couldn’t have been happier. Seeing Mom with her sisters and nieces and nephews made me realize how much of a Moellering that I am, too. I love our family! I’m proud to be part of this clan. We of the 13 brothers and sisters! We of the produce farmer granddad! We of the three aunts that were nuns! We, this big messy Catholic family that sometimes drinks too much, cusses and fights but always forgives and loves one another deeply. We, this fiercely proud group of hardworking, hard-headed, half-French, half-German, Midwesterners.

We are family!

Families. It’s God way of ALWAYS reminding us who we are. We will touch the future through our children and grandchildren. We continue to honor the past with our memories of those that loved us into being. We possess a unique bond with our siblings and our cousins that no one else can share. We are family. We are loved. We are Moellering!

Peace,

Denis

Too Cool For School

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Last weekend while Deb and I were out for dinner with my sister and brother-in-law, I ran into an old friend from high school and it got me thinking …

Remember high school? Of course you do! Most of us spent 4 years there. And some of us seem to have spent the rest of our lives attempting to re-live it or desperately trying to forget it. Either way, it seems that our experiences in high school leave an indelible mark on our psyche. Some would say an emotional scar.

I went to high school in the ’70′s and we had all the usual cliques: the popular kids, the jocks, the brainiacs, the goody-goodies, the freaks, and the geeks. I fell somewhere between the freak-geek categories. I really wanted to be a jock or brainiac but I didn’t really have the goods. And because I knew I wouldn’t (or couldn’t) be popular, I rejected all the normal ‘rights of passage’ in high school. I was a “Rebel Without A Clue”! It was easier to mock the popular kids than to try to fit in. It took less effort to ridicule the smart kids than to study hard and become one myself. I took the easy way out. When you’re a gawky, pimply-faced dork with no athletic ability you are certain to be relegated to one of the bottom tiers of the high school pyramid. So with the inverted logic: “if you can’t join ’em, beat ’em” I spent the next four years working very hard to try to be “too cool for school”.

Looking back after 40 nearly years I now realize that I wasn’t cool at all but my friends accepted me for who I was. And they carried me through some rough years. What’s truly ironic is that my best friend was a jock (and we’re still friends) and the smart kids let me hang out with them, too. No one in my high school was really a badass even though some kids tried to pretend like they were. And those guys accepted me (even if I was a wimp). There were even popular kids that were sincerely nice to me for no apparent reason – I had nothing to offer them. I’m still thankful for their kindness after all these years – thanks Jan, Trish, Alan, Keith, and others…

I met my wife after we graduated from different high schools. I was the hipster-dufus at my school; she was the popular girl at hers. I married a POPULAR GIRL who had been on the Homecoming Court! That changed everything. I realized then that being popular or a nerd only mattered in high school (or at high school reunions). And I became (sort of) popular with her friends, too. Mainly I became confident in who I was and stopped comparing myself to other kids. If someone as beautiful and remarkable as Deb could love me, then I must be truly worthy or just incredibly lucky. Either way – my self esteem took an upsurge. I grew up and I learned to like myself.

Today I’m Facebook friends with some of my former high school classmates and many of us have grown children and grandchildren now. We’ve all had many years to “get over” high school but somehow at times I’m drawn back to those days. I suppose there’s something comforting about that shared experience. It’s kind of fun (in a weird way) to reminisce about what once was. Be it geek or homecoming queen; jock or freak, I guess we just all needed to belong. And I for one am glad that I did.

In a couple of years we’ll be having our 4oth high school class reunion. I’m sure that I’ll be way cooler than most of the “kids” that are there but I’m too mature now to tell them so. They’re just going to have to figure it out for themselves. I hear that some of the members of the football team are fat and bald now. And I suppose the homecoming queen’s tiara might be a little tarnished, too.

Me? Well I’m still working on my “cool”.

Peace,

Denis

P.S. Keike it was great to see you!

Business As Usual

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I was in New York this week to meet with customers. That’s my story – it was business as usual. Fly into La Guardia; take the car service to my hotel in Mid-town; grab a quick-lunch; make my appointments. Easy-sneezy.

But New York is never easy. And New York in summer (with all the wonderful tourists) is really not easy. Now I know that for a lot of folks New York is very exciting and a “first time destination” but I’m there several times a year and I’m (usually) on a mission to get there; get it done; get out. It’s not that I don’t like New York – I actually love New York, I just really don’t have time for staring up at the skyscrapers or leisurely walking down 5th Avenue or Times Square – I’ve got to be somewhere; with someone; doing something REALLY REALLY IMPORTANT! It’s just business as usual.

Now what is it that I do actually? It’s a bit of mystery. And I want to keep it that way. Now that I have international accounts, I suppose that you could say that I’m an “International Man of Mystery” (but in the boring world of retail store fixture design, manufacturing, and installation). But that’s beside the point. I’ve “boiled it down” to this – my customers give me “pretty pictures” and I make “pretty fixtures” (no not light fixtures – we build cabinets, counters, racks, display walls – it’s the stuff that the stuff that you suckers – sorry consumers – buy is stacked and hung on). Very important work – without me you wouldn’t experience the joy of relinquishing your disposable income in well-appointed department and specialty stores. You’d be buying your pickles out of a barrel. That’s all I can tell you. How the magic happens must remain a mystery. The truth is: I’m not even sure.

Bryant Park with the New York Public Library in the background

This week in New York one of my customers had a conflict and at the last-minute she cancelled our meeting (we opted for speaking on the phone, which for the record I could have done from St. Louis) so I had a free afternoon. And I walked. I walked from Bryant Park in midtown to Ground Zero downtown. For one sweet afternoon in June it wasn’t business as usual. I actually S L O W E D  D O W N and walked (kind of like a tourist) through some of my favorite neighborhoods (Flat Iron, Chelsea, SoHo, Greenwich Village) and parks (Madison Park, Union Square and Washington Square Park) –  it was such a guilty pleasure!

My day ended with a brief meeting and a great dinner with my best customer (and friend), some great conversation and (a little) wine. Finally we went to a roof top bar on 5th Ave for (a few) drinks. My laugh muscles were sufficiently “worked out”.  That night we celebrated the conclusion of some successful projects. We shared fond memories from the past. And we looked forward to future endeavors. This is how business should be done – in a city that never sleeps, with spectacular weather, with people who you respect and admire, at good restaurants and nice night clubs.

Monday I guess it’s back to business as usual (maybe). But it will remain a mystery!

Peace,

Denis

“You Know What?”

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Charlise ~ The Little Patriot

“You know what?” is my six year-old granddaughter’s frequent question. When I respond, “No. What?” I am usually regaled with any number of astonishing facts (some are even based in reality). I love that Charlise is so full of fun and energy with a heart so big it fills up the room. Every new experience and adventure is met with the same never-ending enthusiam and joy. She just loves life! And she loves to learn new things. Which comes in handy when you’re a kindergartener and you’re expected to learn something new every day. What makes the “you know what?” so much fun for me is the fact that Charlise is genuinely fastinated with each new discovery and is usually just bubbling over with the need to share her newfound wisdom.

I can’t remember the last time that I was that happy to learn something new. What would it take to get me that excited? When did I stop wanting to know more? When did my brain get full??? I’m not sure but I think that I’ve lost my desire to learn new things. I don’t really believe it’s true that you “can’t teach an old dog new tricks”. I just think that most old dogs like me would rather not be bothered. I suppose I’m sort of at that “lay in the sun and scratch” phase of my life – let the puppies play fetch.

But being with Charlise renews my soul. She gets me excited about learning. Her zeal is contagious and I want to take part in her knowledge quest. So we’re learning some things together. And she’s teaching me some new things, too. And occasionally I even teach her one of my old tricks.

But with all this learning she’s losing some of her wide-eyed innocence. She’s a big girl now but it seems like only yesterday that I held her in my arms for the first time. And there’s a little bit of me that needs that baby girl back in my arms. I love her so much!

“But you know what?” She’s also learned that sometimes Pawpaw needs to hold his girl and she allows me that sweet pleasure. She also humors me with games that she’s outgrown (because she’s so smart). We still “hunt” for wild chihuahuas up on the terrace even though now she knows that there really are no such things; she just can’t break my heart, so she still plays along. And that’s what REALLY breaks my heart – that she pretends because she thinks I still want to hunt for wild chihuahuas (and I do). Which lets me know that she loves me, too.

“And you know what?” This growing up stuff is hard work – especially for sappy Pawpaws. But I’m learning more and more each day. For instance, I was informed that I looked very patriotic on Memorial Day with my blue shorts, red shirt and white hair – who knew?

Peace,

Denis

We Remember…

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Three years after the Civil War ended, Decoration Day was established as a time for the nation to decorate the graves of the war dead with flowers. May 30th was chosen because it was believed that flowers would be in bloom all over the country on that date. It’s now called Memorial Day and is celebrated on the last Monday of May.

Memorial Day today seems in many ways to be just another 3-day weekend. Of course you will see red, white and blue paper plates and napkins at backyard barbecues. You might also see some flags in the front yards of some homes. And of course, there will be memorials in most cities.  However it seems to me that too often Memorial Day has just become the summer kick-off. School is out. Vacations begin. Swimming pools will be opened. Cold beer, grilled burgers, corn-on-the cob, watermelon and ice cream will be served. All of this is good stuff but it misses the point.

My son is a Master Sergeant in the Air Force and he has seen the horrors of war. Brave men and women like Tyson take up arms and “do their jobs” everyday. Their mission is to protect our way of life. And they do this without question and often at great personal hardship. As a citizen I appreciate and applaud their sacrifices and service to our nation. Tyson is one of the lucky ones – he’s survived two deployments in Iraq. Unfortunately many others have perished.

Of course I love my son and I am proud of him.  I also love my country and am proud to be an American.  But I hate war.  And I would ALWAYS choose diplomacy over conflict. Even a “just war” kills innocent people. War is not pro-life; war is never a good answer. But regardless of my political beliefs, I believe that all Americans should honor the men and women that have given their lives in performance of their duty. In defense of freedom; in the eradication of terrorism, in the protection of human rights; these men and women deserve our respect and remembrance.

In 2000, to ensure that the sacrifices of America’s fallen heroes would never be forgotten, the U.S. Congress created “The National Moment of Remembrance Act”. The National Moment of Remembrance encourages all Americans to pause wherever they are at 3 p.m. local time on Memorial Day for a minute of silence to remember and honor those who have died in service to the nation.

So this Memorial Day, in between the barbecue and the beer and playing in the backyard, I will take a moment (or two) to thank the brave men and women that have served our nation, especially those who have died.

Peace,

Denis

P.S. Thanks Ty!

MSgt. Tyson Wilhelm is currently serving in Korea

Gardening – it sounds so much better than “pulling weeds”…

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This past weekend we finally got around to working in our gardens and flower beds. We’ve had an especially rainy spring and other than mowing the lawn between rainstorms we hadn’t done any real yard work yet this season. The task seemed overwhelming.

I rarely find working in the yard therapeutic. I know folks who swear that they can’t wait until they can “get their hands in the dirt”. But usually it just seems like work to me and this time was no exception – ugh! I started by pulling the “run-away” mint that my next door neighbor planted several years ago. According to Neighbor Bob (who is one of the nicest and most sincere guys that I know) he had no idea it would spread like wildfire and take over our side yard as well as his. Well at least it pulls easily and smells nice. Then there was a dead holly bush to remove. There were dead heads to cut-off of the peonies and hydrangea. And while Deb was pulling weeds out of the landscaping in the front yard, I “girded my loins” and made my way to the dreaded terrace.

If you squint your eyes it doesn't look too bad

The Terrace – sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Our backyard is terraced upwards and is full of shrubs, trees and perennials planted by the previous owner. She planted for seasonal color and variety – so we have red bud trees, jonquils, daffodils, and crocus; followed by lilacs and forsythia. As spring continues we see crabapple tree blossoms, daisies, peonies, iris, roses and lilies-of-the-valley. As summer approaches so do the hibiscus, tiger lilies and day lilies, along with the crepe myrtle and hydrangea. Fall brings the aster and the burning bushes in all their glory. Amidst this entire splendor are WEEDS. Miserable, lousy, rotten, stinking weeds!

I take a two-thronged approach toward weed control. I pull the good-for-nothing invaders (until my hands are sore and I’ve exhausted all known curse words) AND then I try to smother them with mulch. The weed-pulling and mountains of mulch are only temporary solutions at best. I’ve tried weed-killer sprays in the past but I usually only end up killing flowers or the occasional shrubbery. After a weekend (or two) of working at it ‘The Terrace’ usually looks okay from a distance. And that’s good enough for me. But of course the process needs to be repeated throughout the growing season.

I’ve come to the conclusion that people with BEAUTIFUL GARDENS must be mentally ill masochists who have nothing better to do with their time than to make normal people feel inadequate about their failure to control the weeds in their “poor excuse of a garden”. Because no matter how many gardening magazines or how-to books I’ve read or shows I’ve watched on HGTV, I still find myself pulling weeds. They never show the “behind the scenes” photos in those magagzines or on the Home & Garden shows of the poor slob that’s got sweat dripping down to his garden clogs. You’ll never see Martha Stewart slathered in calamine lotion because she’s mistakenly pulled poison sumac with her bare hands – she’s got some flunky doing that grunt work.

So as much as I’ve tried (and I have tried) I have yet to derive any bucolic pleasure from gardening. It’s just hot, itchy, back-breaking, weed-pulling work. Lately I’ve been toying with the idea of green asphalt or indoor-outdoor carpet. And who decided which ones are weeds and which ones are wildflowers anyway?

This coming weekend I’ll be “gardening” again – of course that just means pulling more weeds…

Peace,

Denis

Travis

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Today is my son-in-law Travis’s birthday. He’s a gem.

Not only is Travis a good husband and father, but he is a good man. And I love him, too. The way that he adores and treats Bess; the way he loves and protects Anna and Noah; the way he remembers to thank God for his blessings each day; makes me realize that I have the best son-in-law in the world.

Travis is always the first to step up and help out, regardless of the need. He brings tireless energy and fun to even the most mundane tasks. He is selfless and is totally committed to his family (I’m lucky to count myself among them). He is a devoted husband, father, son, and friend. He teaches Anna and Noah each day by his example, and I am thankful for his  love, patience, and gentleness toward them.

On the less admirable side: it turns out that Travis and I have a lot in common (which I think is funny; he might find it frightening) – bad puns, lame jokes, (some would say) annoying habits, the ‘need’ to be right about EVERYTHING, attention deficit disorder, laughing too loud at most times, innapropriate (again subjective) comments, and the lack of a brain filter – (it’s okay to think it but you shouldn’t always say it).

Anna, Bess, Travis, and Noah

Travis,

You are exactly the kind of husband I want for my daughter and you are exactly the kind of father I want for my grandchildren. Plus you are my friend and my son-in-law AND in that order. I can’t imagine life without you and all of the blessings that you have brought to our family. 

Happy Birthday!