Right now you’re probably ultra-confused. Well, people spend 60% of their
life being confused. The rest of the time is spent asleep, stoned or making
love. If it’s not one big confusion, it’s a thousand small ones.
How many decisions do you make in a single day? What should I wear?
Should I have Wheaties or Rice Krispies? Should I shop then study, or study and
then party? Do I go to the bathroom or read this paragraph? Will I write my
sister a letter or hire a hitman?
Pat Loehmer (during her
college years no doubt)
 |
| My mom and Pat getting along in 1985. |
Flashback
“I don’t care!” One door slammed.
“We brought
you up better than that!” Another door slammed.
Dad and I
remained frozen on the couch, pretending to watch TV as if nothing was going on
in the house. I stole a glance at him. He shrugged and half-grinned. It wasn’t
like my mom and my sister Pat didn’t get into an argument at least once a week.
I was still
in junior high, while Pat was a hot-headed, hormonal high schooler. She and I
were still best friends. She and Mom? Not so much.
I don’t
remember what many of their fights were about. In general, I believe, that Pat
just wanted to always have her way. Mom would dig in her heels and my sister
would dig hers in deeper. I think they were too much alike – strong-willed and
bull-headed. But I’m sure that’s what got them through life.
 |
| Pat and Val at Lake of the Clouds |
The last
trip that I made up north with Pat was to the Porcupine Mountains in June of 1998.
It was another one of those trips-on-a-whim. This time we took my then
eight-year-old daughter Val along, Pat wearing the body brace she inherited
following her last surgery, the one to get the cancer out of her back. We spent
the night in a motel; camping was out of the question.
Both my kids loved their Aunt Patti.
I can hear their little-kid voices ringing through the house whenever she drove
into the yard. “Aunt Patti’s here,” they’d both sing out.
I think the last time she was at my
house was for Christmas that year. Shortly after that, I started going to her
house at least once a week, usually on my afternoon off. We would sit for
hours, not saying too much, mostly just watching old movies.
One day when
I was there, she gave me two wooden carvings she had done years before, one of
a horse head and one of a complete horse. I was touched and didn’t know what to
say. Another day, as she lay on the couch with an assortment of stuffed
penguins, she made a confession.
“You know I
don’t really like penguins that much.”
“What?” I
asked. “Then why do you have like twelve of them?”
“I don’t
remember where I got this,” she held up a six-inch fluffy tuxedoed bird. “But I
liked him right away. When people found out about him, they thought I liked all
penguins and they just started giving them to me. I wish they wouldn’t.”
“Guilty,”
was the only answer I had for her as perhaps three of the penguins had been
gifts from me. And guilty also because I was able to go on with my life. What
would happen to her life?
“I don’t
mean to be a crab about it. It’s just, what am I going to do with them?”
Maybe she
was just being practical. Her house was so tiny, a hunting shack actually that
had been added onto. Or maybe she didn’t want them left behind.
“Do you want
me to take mine home with me? The ones I gave you?”
She shrugged
and looked out the window.
Even though
I visited that one day a week and saw her at the clinic or hospital when she
was in for her frequent visits, we still called each other on the phone every
night. Always right before or after our mom had checked in with both of us.
It was on one of those nights, that
Mom called me in tears. I don’t know what they had argued about, probably Pat had
spouted off to Mom about something. Mom hung up on her, then dialed my number.
There wasn’t anything I could say, anything I could do. It wasn’t as if Mom and
Pat never fought before. But what if this was their last fight ever?
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| Pat with the nieces and nephews in 1996. Maybe at times, Pat just related better to kids than to grown-ups. |
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