3/31/2013 Easter 2013

(Wilmington, DE)

Happy Easter!

We started our day by attending church services.  Mom, me and my friend Cindy.

It was a longer than usual service because there were 14 baptisms and communion was given.

The church was beautifully decorated with dozens and dozens of Easter lilies.

After church, later in the afternoon, mom and I went to Michelle’s mothers house for Easter dinner.  Michelle, my sister-in-law, has an older sister, Patty, that I was close friends with all through our school years and after.  We’ve known this family for fifty years.  We know all the kids, the in-laws, the whole family.  It was very comfortable being there as we’ve attended lots of family gatherings with them all.

Twenty five for dinner.  Ham with all salads, baked ziti, several desserts and there was so much food that there was plenty of leftovers for anyone who wanted it to take some home.  We were some of those that lined up for leftovers.  Everything was so good that one meal was just not enough.

3/29/2013 The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives Without Him

(Wilmington, DE)

Yes, I know the title says the first day and that my dad has in actuality been gone five days now.  I look as today as the new beginning now that the funeral is over.  It’s certainly not a beginning we want but one we have to deal with.

I’m confused.  We don’t cry.  My mom won’t cry in front of me and in return I won’t cry in front of her.  So both of us are holding our hurt and raw emotions in.  This can’t be healthy for either one of us, yet neither one will give in and let it all out.  At one point I watched her fill up a little bit and told her to let it go, that its ok to cry but darn if she didn’t suck it up and get past it.  I thought we were suppose to cry.  Aren't we?

I think about him and the fact that I won’t talk with him again while I’m still on this earth.   That makes me so sad but I can’t cry.  I’ve held it in so much this past week and buried it so deep that I can’t get it back to the surface.  Will it ever come out?  A month from now?  Six months from now?

Friends have told me it just hasn’t hit yet.  All the same I feel like the coldest person on earth because I haven’t had that sobbing, heart wrenching, headache inducing, cry yet.  Maybe it will never come.

Today we started packing up his clothes.  I called the Veteran’s Hospital Living Community (nursing home) and asked if they could use pajamas or anything else and was met with an enthusiastic yes!  We figured there could be some men that maybe don’t have families in the area to buy things for them as they are needed.  The lady said they what they couldn’t use would be passed on to the organization that helps homeless veterans.  It just seemed like the perfect match considering my dad’s military career.  It wasn’t a job completed in one day, it was just a start.  Actually, we need more boxes.

I’d like to take the time to thank all you that have left comments, written me heartwarming and  thoughtful emails, sent sympathy cards and called me.  Each and every gesture is much appreciated.

I saw my first sign of spring today.  My first robin.  They’ve been here a while now but I took notice for the first time today.  That said, spring is taking its good ol’ time getting here.  Winter jackets and long pants are the norm when we go out.  It’s just as well, I didn’t pack any shorts and tees anyway.  Mom keeps reminding me that its only March which is hard for me to remember because when I talk with Bob with every night he tells me that its in the  mid-80’s now and 90’s are in the 10 day forecast.  Here it’s the 50’s with the high 50’s in the forecast.  I am so ready for warm weather.

3/28/2013 The Final Salute

(Wilmington, DE)

Another day dawned with both mom and I rising from a nights sleep tired.  We slept better than we had been but this week has just been so hectic, stressful and emotionally draining that a good nights sleep just simply eludes us.

Showered, dressed, breakfast out of the way, it was time to go to the funeral home.  I’ve been dreading this day in the worst way.  Even though it was only a five minute walk to the funeral home we still drove.

We arrived just ten minutes later because we made a stop at the local convenience store first.  Billy and Michelle were already there, waiting for us.

I knew this would be hard, walking into the room where the services would be.  It was my dad’s wish to be cremated so it was decided to have visitation, service and burial all in one day.

We brought with us five photo boards, two trophies, a silver cup he won in a pistol match and his dog tags.  We got busy with the help of the funeral home director setting the boards on easels, displaying the trophies on a small table and he took care of draping the dog tags over the urn.

We were done with the setting up the photo boards, pictures of my dad from his teens to this past Christmas.  Vacation pictures, family gatherings, pictures of him in uniform at pistol and rifle matches, the day he swore me in to his beloved Delaware National Guard.  His life in pictures, spanning sixty five or so years.

Since my dad was a military man through and through we picked out an urn that was just so fitting.  The mahogany box had a panel attached to the front of it that was covered in the dark blue material that Army soldiers dress blue uniforms are made of.  Across the bottom was a red ribbon with the gold braid.  At the top, centered, was the emblem of the United States Army.  His dog tags draped over.  We had asked flowers be omitted so there were vases of roses and fresh seasonal flowers from us and cousins.

Up until this point I knew my dad had died but until I stood before his urn it didn’t seem real.  Now reality was tapping me on the shoulder.  I put it that way rather than reality smacking me in the face because I am, for all intents and purposes, numb.

People started coming for the visitation period.  Lots of people came.  Men and women my dad worked with through the years, extended family, family friends, Billy’s friends, friends of mine and some friends that traveled considerable distances to show us their support and to pay their respect.

Being a Guard member myself and also working for the Guard full time, just like my dad, I knew a lot of his co-workers, people I hadn’t seen in years.  Even though my dad retired just over thirty years ago his co-workers, now retired themselves, still came.  I think what I’ve heard over and over again through the years finally proved itself true, The Guard is family.

I think the most heart wrenching thing to watch at the funeral home was the gesture of the utmost respect.  The Adjutant General of the Delaware National Guard attended the services.  He attends every service of a National Guardsman.  If that wasn’t the case I think he would have still been here today.  He’s known my dad since he was a little boy.  His dad, a Guardsman too, would often bring him to the Armory for one reason or another.  His parents and mine were friends socially and we would go their house when I was just a little girl on a Saturday nights to play cards.  He is, in fact, a lifelong friend.
We watched, as the General, stood in front of the urn and gave a perfect, very slowly executed, salute.  It just tore at my heart to see that, but I never felt so proud at the same time.

Visitation over, it was time for the service by our Pastor.  Our pastor is new to our church, transplanted from North Carolina just six months ago.  I loved hearing him say “Bill” as he talked about my dad.  It came out Beel.  He said all the right words, comforting words, yet ones that drove home the fact that life was going to be very different for the Rhoads family now.

Service over we went out to the cars already lined up with the orange funeral procession placards hanging from the rearview mirrors.

It took us about a half hour to make the drive from the neighborhood funeral home to the Delaware Veteran’s Cemetery.  Our procession was quite long but funeral home people did an outstanding job blocking traffic at intersections so that our procession could stay together.

After everyone got parked we stood at the front of the chapel and the the funeral director called Billy and me to the back of the hearse.  While he was talking quietly to us the honor guard assembled along both sides of the walkway to the building.  They stood there in their dress uniforms, at parade rest with their rifles.

Bill, the funeral director, handed me the flag, folded in that all too familiar triangle.  He handed my brother our dad’s urn.  Together Billy and I led everyone into the chapel, through the honor guard that now stood at attention.

I clutched that flag to my chest, and as I write this, I don’t know how I ever made it inside.  It’s a wonder I didn’t trip somehow because everything was a blur due to the tears that filled my eyes.  This, our final walk together.

Reluctantly, I handed the flag over so that it could be put on the display stand for the service.  Pastor Scott stood at the front and brief service began.  Finished, he stood aside and we knew what was coming next.  We all braced ourselves as we listened for the twenty one gun salute and those mournful notes of Taps.  I felt my mom stiffen in her seat and I understood her reaction completely.

The detail unfolded the flag and re-folded it and with great precision and very kind words presented it to my mother.

It just gets harder and harder.

Afterwards we invited everyone to the Elks Lodge for a luncheon.  My nephew Dusty and a friend of his prepared a wonderful feast for us all.  We talked, we reminisced with our guests, we ate, we laughed and one by one they took their leave.

This day was over.  It was time for us to continue on in our new normal.  I hate this new normal.

I miss my dad.  Very. Much.

3/25–3/27/2013 Three Days–Total Blur

(Wilmington, DE)

Monday:  Today we went to the funeral home, mom, me and Billy.  I thought this would be so hard but the director asked all the right questions and at times we actually laughed out loud.  Somehow I never thought laughter would be heard within those walls but I came to the realization that death is very much a part of life.
So many decisions to be made, more than I ever imagined.  This has been an eye-opener to say the least.

This doesn’t feel real yet.

Mom and I are so tired.  Good sleep isn’t coming.

Tuesday:  Lots of phone calls made today, letting friends and family know what has happened.

Our first look at his obituary in the newspaper.

In the evening mom and I went through all the family photo albums and picked out pictures of dad.  Billy and Michelle did the same thing at their house.

We picked out two trophies dad won for the Pistol and Rifle teams he was on during his National Guard years.

We went through a box of ribbons and pins, picking out unit insignia that would give a small indication of his 42 years in the military.

We found the picture taken of him swearing me in the National Guard.

We needed to go through these albums.  We played a lot remember when and we laughed a lot.

Wednesday:  We need a sense of normalcy.  So we did normal everyday things.  We went to the grocery store.  We went to the bank.  We did laundry.

There was one out of the ordinary task today.  I taught mom how to pump gas.  She had never, ever, done it before.  Years ago gas station attendants pumped the gas (and washed the windshield and checked the oil) and then my dad just did it.  If it was running low and she noticed it she just told him, we need gas and he’d go fill it up.  We’ll pump gas one more time before I leave here just to make sure she can do it.  I was dumbstruck when she told me she didn’t know how.

Wednesday evening we went to Billy’s to make up the photo boards for the funeral home.  It was fun but sad at the same time.  Fun to tell the stories that went with the photos but sad because we had to do this at all.

William F. (Bill) Rhoads Memorial Service Info

LaVon Baker, back here with you again with more information.

Snookie's dad, Mr. William F. Rhoads will be memorialized on Thursday, March 28, 2013, at 2:00 P.M. at

Delaware Veterans Memorial Cemetery
Bear, New Castle County, Delaware
2465 Chesapeake City Road
Bear, DE 19701
(302) 834-8046

The Rhoads family requests that in lieu of flowers, memorial gifts be sent in memory of

William F. "Bill" Rhoads
to
First Baptist Church
901 E. Basin Road
New Castle, DE 19720

or to the charity of your choice. Please ask your charity to send notice of memorial to:
 
Mrs. Bill Rhoads and Family
8 Poplar Ave.
Wilmington, DE 19805

Please continue to keep Snookie and her family in your prayers. She is very appreciative.

With heavy heart...

Dear friends of Snookie and Bob Quinn,

 

I am LaVon Baker and it is with a heavy heart that I am here to inform you, for her, that Snookie's dad has left his earthly home and gone to be with his Heavenly Father. The undetected blood clot in his brain caused him to have a massive stroke and there has been no brain activity since that time a few nights ago. This sudden and unexpected stroke and the passing of Mr. Rhoads is so hard on the family, as you can imagine, and they appreciate so much your prayers for strength and comfort.

 

Cards of encouragement and sympathy may be sent to:
Snookie and Bob Quinn
8 Poplar Ave.
Wilmington, DE 19805

When there is more information, I will post it here. Thank you all so much for your love and friendship of Snookie and Bob. We love them so much. 

Snookie will read your words of comfort in due time here. An outpouring of your love will mean so much to her when she is able to be back online and read you comments.

3/24/2013 The Worst Day of My Life

(Wilmington, DE)

Once again mom and I got out of bed tired.  Too much is happening too fast.  Thoughts race a million miles a minute around the clock.  The stress level for both of us is maxed out.  I’m sure my brother is experiencing the same thing,  however, he is our rock right now and is masking his stress and emotional being for our sake.  As much as I’m trying to be strong for my mom I’m not doing the job as well as he is and I’m ok with that.

We didn’t go into the hospital right away today.  Billy called the hospital first thing this morning and was told there was still no change, no response.  We went to church first.  Even though our final hours together are few we needed to take some of them and spend them in the Lord’s house.  I think mom needed some sense of normalcy if only for an hour and she found it there.  I’ll be honest with you, I’m not a regular church-goer but being there today just felt right.

We spoke with the pastor and told him what was going on and he assured my mom he would be at the hospital that afternoon.
We pulled into the hospital parking lot and I didn’t want to get out of the car.  Since there was no change, no response, I knew what could and would probably happen today.  I wanted no parts of it.
Billy and Michelle were already there and both looked so tired.
No change.  No response.  Every two hours the tests were performed.  The tests that would tell us if he was coming out of this coma.  The answer was always the same.  No change.  No response.

A meeting was set up for 3:30 with the doctor’s and my family.  It was at this time that Pastor Scott arrived at the hospital.  My mom stayed with him and my dad while my brother, his wife, his daughter-in-law and myself met with the doctors.  Michelle and Brittany are both nurse practitioners and we thought it best that they be there because they may think of questions that Billy and I wouldn’t know to ask.  That said, Michelle would have certainly been included in this meeting anyway.

My dad never wanted to be hooked up to machines to live.  He had a Living Will stating so even though they aren’t truly legal documents it at least let’s the hospital know what his wishes are.
I hated the room we were in.  It was a small conference room and with six of us in there the walls seemed to close in on me.  I hated what we were being told.  Once again, No change, No response.  Oh how I’ve come to hate those words!  The doctor was very forthright in what life for my dad would be like.  There would be no quality of life.  There was too much damage.  He would breathe only because a machine was doing it for him.  He would never enjoy his favorite meals again but be fed through a sterile tube.  He was emphatic in discussions about these matters.  No machines!  We were being asked what we wanted to do.  This is one of the hardest decisions a person can be asked to make.  Although Billy and I knew what was best, and what he wanted, an answer needed to be given and I could only sit there.  Billy looked at me and I looked at him, my vision blurred because of tears welling up.  I could only nod and Billy voiced our decision.

We decided to wait until visiting hours were over, things would be quieter and more peaceful since the other visitors to this ICU unit would be gone.  Besides, we wanted as much time as we could get.
We continued to talk to him throughout the day.  I reminded him of the time he and I went fishing and he told me to throw the anchor over.  I did, with gusto.  As it sailed through the air my dad realized he had forgotten to tie the rope onto this brand new anchor.  His first reaction was to get mad at me.  I looked at him and laughed and then he realized I was just doing what I was told to do.  He laughed too.  Then I caught the first fish.

Billy told him how his beloved U of D Women’s Basketball team was doing as the game was on the TV in his room.

Mom just quietly held his hand.

At six o’clock the nurse came in to do the tests.  The results were no different.  No change.  No response.

Billy got a take out menu from the nurses station and we ordered dinner.  We had to keep our strength up as it was going to be a long day and none of us had eaten a thing as yet.

It was good for us to get away from that crowded hospital room for a little while.  Billy went to pick up our order and we met him in the hospital cafeteria.  We ate. Not a whole of talking went on.  We were all lost in our own thoughts and memories.

Back in his room once again we noticed that some of the machines were shut off.  No more beeps, colorful lines and occasional bells.  Everything was now being monitored in the nurses station.  Some of the IV’s were removed which made it easier to hold his hands.
Time seemed to be flying by now, whereas, before our decision was made the minutes and hours dragged by.

After visiting hours were over we were asked to leave the room for a little while.  I called LaVon.  I told her what was going  on and asked her to take over my blog and Facebook wall. I knew she would write just the right things.

There’s no need for any more detail. 

Tonight I said goodbye to the first man that loved me and the first man I loved.

Dad, I’ll miss you every day and I’ll love you forever.