Break #3 and Break #4 – Minn Ren and Dorm Girls Reunion

Still celebrating the Brewers’ World Series win, but I’m gonna try to get back on track. I have two more trips to tell you about, and then I’ll return to telling you about Val, because, for some reason, you really want to hear that story.

Thursday, October 1, Hubby and I headed over to Shakopee, Minnesota. Met my friend, who lives near there, for dinner that night.

 Then got up early Friday morning and were off to the Minnesota Renaissance Festival.

Haven’t been there in many years, but it was the same as we remember. A lot of fun, some great people, and cool stuff to look at.

The following weekend, I went west again, this time only as far as Eau Claire, for my dorm girls’ reunion – some of the women I lived with in the dorm when I was in college my first two years. We stayed at a beautiful historic home this year.

We started getting together for our fortieth anniversary and each year the weekend has grown. One thing, though. Because we did get a little wild, we vowed we wouldn’t share many of the pictures on social media. Like the pictures of us dancing with the 21-year-old college boys. Us old hens can still party like it’s 1981.

Distracted Again

The summer of 1982, I was between my second and third year of college. My mom got me a job as a housekeeper for an elderly couple. They had a simple home on the lake, and there wasn’t much to do in the house. Clean the bathrooms, vacuum, cook dinner. A couple times a week, the husband would bring home a piece of meat – a beef roast or pork steak – and I’d call Mom to ask how to cook it.

Mostly, though, I was a companion to the wife, who used a walker on good days and a wheelchair on bad days. Her husband still worked, sometimes out of town for a few days straight, so she just needed someone there around the clock.

On Friday nights, the husband would drive me home for the weekend, and Sunday night Mom would drive me back out there.

When the weather was nice, I’d sit on their dock reading. And in the evening, after we ate supper and I cleaned up, we’d sit in the living room, with the lights dimmed and watch Brewers baseball. And if they weren’t on TV, we listened to Bob Uecker on the radio.

I fell in love with them all. Paul Molitor’s striking blue eyes. Rollie Fingers’ Snidely Whiplash mustache, the equally impressive mustaches that Gorman Thomas and Pete Vuckovich sported. Cecil Cooper, when he stepped up to bat and it sounded like the crowd was booing him, but they were yelling, “Coop, Coop, Coop!”

But I had a crush on Robin Yount. He was drafted by the Brewers when he was only 18-years-old and played his entire with Milwaukee. He stacked up a long list of awards and accolades during his twenty-year career, but no matter how good a player he was, I just thought he was adorable.

Then there was that game against the Twins on July 20, 1982. I hunted all over the internet to find a video of the play which made Robin a hero in my eyes, but no luck.

In the bottom of the fifth inning Twins player Kent Hrbek barreled into second base, sliding hard and high into Jim Gantner. Gantner was sent sprawling and had to leave the game with a deep thigh bruise.

Brewers’ manager Harvey Kuenn was furious about the slide and immediately charged the field to come to his second baseman’s defense. He later said that the Twins player was a “no good SOB for taking a cheap shot.”  

The Brewers would get their revenge in the sixth. With Paul Molitor on second and Robin Yount on first, Cecil Cooper hit a double play ball to second baseman Juan Castino. Castino flipped to shortstop Lenny Faedo for the force and Yount went far outside of the baseline to take out Faedo and knocked him on the temple with his forearm. (Taken from https://brewers1982.com/07/20/brewers-twins-brawl/)

Well, that started an all-out brawl between the two teams, with two players - one from each team - getting ejected after throwing punches.

But to my innocent little eyes, Robn was the hero of the whole thing – defending his players and his team, telling the world not to mess with them, doing whatever it would take.

Then there he was, in Bob Uecker’s jacket, last Friday night, throwing out the first pitch of the World Series in Milwaukee.

There has been so much in my life over the past 44 years. I know I’m not alone; haven’t we all been too busy. And it doesn’t help, with all the TV channels now “streaming” somewhere at a cost, that I don’t remember the last time I watched a Brewers game.

The last game I went to was nine years ago.

We know how their 1982 run at the World Series ended. And we wake up this morning, not knowing yet how this one will end. 

Too Big for this World - Val's Story, Chap 21

I first posted this story in September of last year, but I had to share it again because it is chapter 21 and if you are following along, I didn't want to mess you up.  

Dear God

If I die tomorrow

Or a thousand tomorrows from now,

Will it matter?

Will I be changed

Or have changed the world?

Will another moment from eternity of existence

Cause the moon to fall

The oceans to weep

The trees to walk?

But if an extra heartbeat

Brings one smile to a teary eye

If all my heartbeats

Can make another soul sing

Another life less dull

Then my entire being has purpose

And eternity becomes an instant of joy.

By Pat Loehmer (1959-1999), written in 1977

 

My kids both loved their Aunt Patti, with all their precious, still-growing hearts. My baby girl was only three when Pat was diagnosed with cancer and nine when she died. Val never knew my sister when she wasn't fighting that insidious monster roaming her body.

And I never realized how much they were alike.

People think I'm bullheaded and independent, but that was nothing compared to my sister. When she started something, she would dig in her heels and get it done, never asking for help and never backing down. My son, Nick, is like that, too. Me? Not so much, if I start something and it causes me frustration, I'm more than willing to walk away and binge-watch episodes of "Friends".

          Val was just as independent and could dig in her heels just as deeply if she was working on something from her heart. And she was all heart. And so was her Aunt Patti. Both taken way too young - Pat at 39 and Val at 35. Sometimes, I think they were both too big for this world, too bold, too strong.

          And looking back, days after Val had left us, I think they both knew they weren't born to grow old on this planet; God had a plan that none of us left behind will ever understand. But somehow, deep inside, maybe Val and Pat understood.

(By the way, I was 37 when I lost my sister; Nick was 39 when he lost his. Sad, huh?)

Here's the really sad part. Only three of us are left from this picture at our wedding in 1997 - me, Nick and Hubby. Between 1999 and 2026, I lost Mom, both my sisters, and my beautiful daughter. 

Break #2 - Michigan's UP

 

September 21, Hannah, Hubby, and I took off for our annual trek to Michigan’s UP and specifically to the Jampot Bakery, aka the Monks. 

While Poppa was in line waiting to buy goodies, Hannah and I checked out Jacob’s Falls. She was not impressed.

Then we waitied around some more, even though there will be nothing in the haul for the pooch. 

Finally got to get up close to Lake Superior. So beautiful. 

My favorite spot in the Keweenaw Peninsula is Esrey Park. 

Something about it has always felt magical to me. 

Even if I don’t look so excited in this picture with Hubby. 

Not sure if you can read Hubby’s shirt, but he got it a year ago, after tripping on a tree root in the eastern UP. Don’t want a new shirt that reads, “I came, I saw, I fell down some rock stairs.” 

Last stop was atop Brockway Mountain for the breathtaking views.  

We don’t take the steep drive up here every year. 

But when we do, it has always been worth it. 

Taking a Break

           I thought it was time to take an emotional break from telling the story of my daughter and me. I’ve had a crazy schedule the last couple of months; how I had time to continue posting here as much as I did is a mystery to me.

          Between September 16 and October 11, I went out of town four times, for a total of nine nights. Why did I do that? What was I thinking? Who knows. But I did have a good time. Oh, and two of those trips were even out of state.

          Okay, so here is trip #1.

          From the 16^th through the 20^th of September, I returned to one of my favorite places in Wisconsin. The Green Lake Christian Conference Center, where I attended a Writing Retreat with nine other Christian women.

          I found contentment in the familiar surroundings, even if we stayed in one of the huge houses they have for rent, instead of the hotel where I’ve had a room before.

          It was great having my own spacious room and private bathroom.

          I didn’t get as much writing done as I had hoped, but it revitalized me to walk along the lake and explore the grounds.

          The weather was dreary most of the days I was there.

          But nothing beats sunrise over a lake. These are a quarter of the pictures I took that morning.

          But who can look at a sunrise and not believe that God painted it just for us.

Jesus Always Wins - Val's Story, Chap 20

God rescued us from the power of darkness and brought us safe into the kingdom of His dear Son. (Colossians 1:13, Good News Translation)

 How many times over the years had I lain awake in bed at night, wondering where Val was, when she’d be home, how she’d get home? How many times in recent years would I check her location on Google Maps before going to sleep and again at 2 a.m. only to find she was still at the bar? How many times did I wait for the phone to ring or the doorbell to ring?

          The weekend before she took her life, she had been invited to a baby shower out of town with my husband and me. Instead of coming with us, though, she planned to go camping with her boyfriend. But then rain popped up in the forecast, so they stayed home and went to the bar instead. On the way home, Val got stopped for her third OWI.

          Instead of it being a wake-up call, the drunk driving ticket only reinforced her need to drink, and she spiraled out of control. When I talked to Dr. Katie a few weeks later, she told me that Val’s blood alcohol that night had been 0.2. The legal limit is 0.08, and a level of 0.3 to 0.4 is lethal in most people. 

          That Friday night, the demon in her head, which was pushing her to drink and telling her that her life might as well be over, told her to pick up the gun and pull the trigger. He thought that he had won, that he could take her away with him.

          But after an agonizing Saturday of making phone calls, I was in the shower the next morning when God came to me and said, “NO!”

          He clearly told me that the devil had not won, that in that final instant, Jesus slayed those demons that had been wearing her down and announced to Satan that he was done. And Jesus took her gently in His arms and carried her to heaven.

          Why He couldn’t have just carried her back to me, I do not know.

          The only thing I do know is that my baby girl had a heart for caring for others, immeasurable love, a spirit which was a little wild, and a smile more beautiful than sunrise over Lake Superior. I know that the devil was after her for half of her life because he knew her amazing qualities, and that scared him, so he kept assaulting her. But in the end, Satan never wins.  

          This is how I have faced each new day moving forward: Satan never wins. Jesus always does, even if it’s not in our time or in our way.

          And over the following weeks and months, I would need to keep returning to that resolve.

August 22, 2025, 11:55 pm - Val's Story, Chap 19

“Was it a drunk driving accident?” was the first question I asked the two officers standing in my yard. With Val’s years of drinking and the two OWIs she’d gotten in the past, a tiny part of my brain had expected the police to show up one night with that news.

          “We can’t tell you what happened, but we know it wasn’t a car accident,” the uniformed man answered.

          “Did she drink herself to death?” That was always the second possibility I thought of, especially after spending that week with her in Africa, where the amount of alcohol she drank daily would have killed most people.

          “I don’t know, but here is the number for the officer who is working on her case.” He handed me a slip of paper, one that had been ripped from one of those small spiral notebooks cops always write in on TV shows.

          “Okay.” What else could I say at that moment?

          “If there’s anything we can do for you, please call our department.” I think he gave me his business card, but I don’t remember seeing it after that. I only remember that slip of paper with that phone number on it.

 ~~~

 “Unfortunately, it looks like she killed herself,” was what the officer on the phone told me once I told him who I was, who my daughter was. Probably not exactly what he said, but it was the last thing I expected.

          Jim and I had crawled into our queen-size bed with the cat and the dog after the county deputies left the house that Friday night. With trembling hands and waves of nausea, I had called the number on the slip of paper.

          “How?” I asked next.

          “She shot herself with a small-caliber handgun.” Again, I can’t recall how he phrased it, but that’s what I heard, that’s what my beautiful, crazy, alcoholic daughter had done.

          He gave me the number to the coroner’s office so I could get more details.        

          Dr. Katie took my call and was the sweetest stranger I talked to during the ensuing three-month ordeal of finalizing her death certificate. I asked her for every detail, telling her I worked in the medical field, I knew anatomy, and had seen blood and guts. I can’t share the specifics that she told us.

She did ask if Val was an organ donor. I looked over at my husband, my cell phone on speaker. He shrugged and nodded at the same time.

          “I’m sure she was. That’s the kind of person she was.”

          “Good. Then I’ll ask that team to call you. As you probably know from working in the medical field, they can only harvest a few of her organs at this point, but they still use her skin, bones, and all kinds of tissue.” Yes, Dr. Katie told me what those tissues were, and I have the list in the big envelope that the place sent me. “I’ll have them call you yet tonight if that’s okay.”

          It was after one a.m. by then. “We’re not going anywhere, and we won’t be going back to sleep.”

          Nearly an hour later, the organ and tissue procurement office called. He asked all the questions that are asked before a routine blood donation, and many, many more. I was on the phone with him until three a.m. He said that everything they harvested from Val’s body could affect the lives of up to one hundred people. And that they would do it with the utmost compassion.

          I believed him, but I also believed that as precious as my daughter’s body was, it was now only her body, a shell. Her spirit and soul had moved on. And as much as I wanted to believe that she had moved on to heaven, my heart ached for confirmation. And for peace.