On Saturday, July 1st, I left early in the morning to go run the Palisades Lake trail with a friend. I’ve wanted to run this trail for years now. And now that I’m training for a Spartan, I thought it would be good training. My friend Jill agreed to do the Spartan with me. She used to be big into trail running, so she was easy to convince.
We left at like 5:30am and got to the trail just after
6:30. It was a beautiful morning, pretty
quiet on the trail on the way up to the lake.
I didn’t bring my headphones. It
seems rude to bring headphones when you’re running with friends. But the reason I didn’t was because it seemed
out of place out there on the mountain.
We had a really great run.
A lot of it was in silence, just the shuffling of our feet, and the
rushing of the river (used to be just a stream but this year everything is so
full!) I felt really good running, no
pains and no fatigue. We took some
pictures and they were beautiful.
On the way back down, I was feeling so energized and thought
to myself that I’m getting all the energy from the living things around
me. The rushing water (I love hiking by
water!!) The trees and wind. I was totally caught up in the feeling of
nature and working out my body the way it’s made to work, if that makes any
sense. I think of exercise as a
spiritual experience a lot of time. Some
people might not get that. My mind
wandered to the articles I saw recently about the Breathatarians, which I think
is totally stupid and they are liars.
But I definitely feel energy from the world around me. (Just not enough
to feed me instead of actual food.)
My point is, I felt very ALIVE! And grateful to be alive and
well and able to enjoy such beautiful things.
As we pulled into Idaho Falls afterwards, I got a phone call
from Carol, my dad’s wife. Wait, let me
back up a bit. Earlier that week she had
called to tell me they were taking my Dad into surgery for a large hernia. She seemed very calm about it, like it was
routine. But I had warning bells going
off in my head. Surgery? He is not very stable as it is. But what can you do? So he went in to surgery on Wednesday I
believe. She called Thursday telling me
that he was not really waking up. He was
only semi-conscious, had missed some of his meds, which made his muscles tense,
so his jaw was clenched shut, which meant he couldn’t take his meds. He was also not getting any pain meds because
he was only semi-conscious and couldn’t open his jaw to take pills. It wasn’t going well.
I didn’t freak out.
We all knew his days were numbered and he seemed to be just enduring and
not actually enjoying life at all. He’s
always good-natured when I’m around, but those things he used to love have been
long gone for awhile now. So I planned
to head down to Utah Saturday or Sunday to see Dad, but also to support Carol.
When she called on Saturday morning, she let me talk to the
hospice nurse. Now, the hospice nurses
were optimistic that they would come in and get him through this painful
recovery, but that he may get back to his normal. When I talked to the nurse, she told me his
vital signs which were all very normal and stable. She told me they were giving him liquid
narcotics whenever he showed signs of pain.
And that they were going to come see him every day. That was all.
As I got home and started getting cleaned up I started
thinking about Carol and that I want to do something nice for her. So my mind wandered to birthdays, looking for
an excuse to get her a present. And I
realized that July 1st IS her birthday. That day.
So that made up my mind. I would
drive down that day and see her and get her a gift and a nice card. I would support her since my dad wouldn’t
really know I was there.
It took a few hours to get me out the door, with Ryan taking
Dylan out to lunch for his bday, and me trying to get Kaden down for a
nap. I headed over to Deseret Book
looking for a book that would be a nice read for someone going through
grief. No romance, no tragedy. I settled on The Orphan Keeper. I really enjoyed that one. I got her some chocolates and a card and was
sitting in my car about to write her a letter in the card when my brother Brian
called. He told me Dad was gone.
A bit shocked, disappointed, sad, I let it sink in. Then remembered this is happening on Carol’s
birthday, and I felt so sad for her. I
just started driving. I told Brian I
would call one of the other boys, so I called Jeff while I drove.
It was a strange drive.
I was in the car for probably two hours before I realized I had not turned
on the radio at all. I had talked on the
phone a bit to my mom, but mostly just let my thoughts go. I can’t even write what I was thinking about. A little of everything I guess. Sadness of never seeing him again, but I had
just told Ryan recently that I could no longer hear him say “I love you”. Or get a proper hug from him. It’s been so long since he resembled the man
I knew. I cried some, tried to feel his
spirit. I don’t know, it was a long but
peaceful drive.
Talking funeral stuff is not the most fun thing to do. We dealt with some decisions. We spent a
little time with his body. I talked to
Brian and Jeff. Brian had told me that
he was visiting Dad earlier that day, and Dad was not conscious, but Brian
could tell he was in a lot of pain. He
said, “Dad, I hate seeing you like this.
If you need to go, it’s okay. We
will be okay.” Then he said, “but wait
for Carol to get here.” I don’t know if
this made a difference. It seemed so odd
to me that his vital signs were so stable just a few hours before he took his
last breath. So I feel like it did
help. And he did wait for Carol.
Once we got all the arrangements mostly figured out, I went
to dinner with Brian and Jeff. I had
talked to Kevin a couple of times. I
felt bad he was so many states away.
Because being together with people going through the same emotions as
you is nice. We were not melancholy at
dinner. We talked about Parkinson’s,
about the past a bit. We were good. And I knew it was because we all knew that
Dad was ready and he had been so sick for so long. I almost thought the grieving was going to be
pretty simple.
But then I had to prepare a talk, or “Life Sketch” for the
funeral. And I had to let the people in
my world know that it had happened. And
I dreaded that. I didn’t want to say the
words over and over again. I didn’t want
to respond to a million texts from people who love me. So that night, late
after I got home, I posted to Facebook some old pictures of my dad, back when
he was healthy because that’s obviously how I would like to remember him. And these words:
My dad has been battling Parkinson's disease for the past
20+ years. For a strong, hard-working, busy man it has been a difficult
downhill slide. Today his struggle is over. I feel too young to have to say
goodbye to a parent, but I'm at peace knowing he is finally able to stand up
straight and speak his mind loud and clear again. Mortality is brutal
sometimes. But God's plan lets us be with our loved ones again.
#familiesareforever
I naively thought I would be ok. That I wouldn’t be an emotional wreck. But then people started commenting. Most were simple condolences, which were
nice. I felt more from the people who
knew him, friends from Newton and such.
Then there were so many people who had also lost parents that commented
and I felt a connection to them. And a
desire to reach out to them. I did reach
out to my close friend Marci because she had texted me. Of course all my close friends sent texts as
soon as they saw my post. And I
responded to them. I was still trying to
digest all the emotions going on inside me.
And find reasons for them. That’s
how I work. When I can explain why I’m
freaking out, or why I’m so bothered, I can move past it easier. So I was trying to figure out why I was
feeling anger and bitterness along with nostalgia and some happy thoughts. I texted Marci in tears telling her how sorry
I was that she went through this with her mom when she had cancer. And she texted me back. She was there for me, even though she doesn’t
like to talk about it.
By the time I got to church I was calm and collected. I really hadn’t thought through what would happen
if I put a post like that on Facebook on a Saturday night and then go to church
with my whole neighborhood the next day.
Immediately I had two people come up to give me hugs. And of course when people show you too much
kindness, you just break down. What
surprised me was that instead of keeping everything to myself, I had
conversations coming from my mouth without thinking. When someone would say they had also lost a
father, I basically let myself be bold and vulnerable at the same time, asking
them about it, opening up and crying a little.
In normal circumstances, if you start crying in a conversation, the
person gets really uncomfortable. But
instead it seemed to help them open up to me as well. The one thing I heard a few times, was that
you would start to forget the way they were when they were sick and you would
remember them healthy instead. And I
really wanted to believe that. But I had
a hard time because he has been sick for so long. So long.
Ryan did the lesson in Primary, but then went to Elder’s
Quorum. I sat in Sharing Time with my
class. And my head was pounding from all
the crying, or trying not to cry- both give me a headache. Plus it was Fast Sunday. And I was trying not to break down. Kylee saw me sitting there and left her class
to come over to me and give me a hug.
That is not typical of her.
Sadie, yes. But not Kylee. I thought it was very sweet. When she gave me another hug after an
activity they had done and she was walking back to her seat, I figured I must
look as bad as I feel. And her sweetness
in noticing my pain made me tear up again.
Anyway, Sunday was a long day. Not to mention I had to sort through years of
photos trying to find good ones of my Dad to use on a display table at the
funeral. And I had to sort through old
memories in my head to send to Carol.
And my brothers wrote down their memories too so I could use some of
them for the Life Sketch.
Every time I sat down to write it, I would end up in a bad
mood. Sad, yes. But also a bit angry that I had to
speak. Not the speaking, really. But that he was gone so any of this was
happening. He was only 61! Most people aren’t even diagnosed until
60. Every time I thought about how young
he was, I got angry. Seeing his body
after the funeral home had done their thing to him, he looked so much younger
than any other body I have seen. And his
siblings are all still alive and well and he was the youngest. Larry is 14 years older than him. Alive still.
Sure, not in great health, but better than my dad has been for the last
5-10 years.
Another thing that had me tearing up at random times were
the kindness shown by so many of my friends and family. Little things had me crying and I wasn’t
really sure why. As best I could tell,
it was because my dad was gone, someone that loved me unconditionally and that
I loved dearly. And my friends were
giving me love, reminding me that there were still plenty of people that I love
on this Earth. It’s not the same as your
actual parent, but it’s something. I’m
not used to allowing people to go out of their way to support me or serve
me. I tried to just appreciate the love
and not feel like a burden. I have some
great people in my life.
Throughout the week, I felt a bit disappointed that I
couldn’t feel my Dad around me. I felt
like I should be able to feel him close by, but I didn’t. I thought, maybe he’s busy… Maybe I can’t feel him or the Holy Ghost
because of my anger. And Wednesday while
I was in a weepy state, I decided I needed a trip to the temple. But in the state I was in, I thought I would
just bawl the whole time. I didn’t want
to do that alone. So I texted my friend
Ingrid, who promptly dropped everything to join me in the temple that
night. See, I told you I have amazing
people. By the time I got to the temple,
I was more composed. And I was able to
feel peace without crying. It was
good. I still felt dread at having to speak
about my Dad, sharing some very tender memories with everybody, probably
sobbing the whole time. But I knew that
it would eventually get better. And of
course I am happy for my Dad.
The viewing was Thursday night, and I was off and on a bit
teary. Seeing everyone from Newton
brought back memories. It was a strange
feeling. The whole week I was having
flashbacks to high school. Never before
have I ever wanted to step back into my old life. But I found myself wishing me back there,
just so I could see my dad healthy again for a little while. My highschool group came to the viewing, most
of them traveling all the way from Salt Lake.
They stuck around and chatted with me afterwards and it helped to have
them. I cried a little, I let myself be
vulnerable. I figured it’s better than
holding it all in (especially since it would all come out during my talk anyway).
I woke up the next morning feeling a bit better. I guess you could say I had my game-face
on. The whole “bring it” attitude that I
get when I’m about to do something that challenges me. I’ve learned not to run away from
challenges. I was not excited, but I was
ready.
We stood around for another hour of “viewing” and talked to
more people. The part that always gets
me is when they say the family prayer and close the casket. They do that, which is very emotional, and
then they send you off to the funeral right after to give your talk. I think that is just not the best way to do
it.
So we got ready for the family prayer, and what I realized
was that seeing his body was not making me emotional. He looked good in his casket, but he still
looked strained like he has for awhile.
His poor, broken body. So I
wasn’t trying to hold on to that last vision I will have of him on this Earth,
because I would rather remember him healthy.
But during the prayer, I thought “Dad, I could use your help now.” And my mind went to how Dad would help me if
he were there. And a memory of his hand,
heavy and strong, being set on my shoulder, came so strong it was like I could
feel it. And I knew he was there. I smiled and teared up a bit too.
So this is my explanation as to why I was able to give my
talk. I felt like I did better than I
expected. I did tear up a few times, but
not so much that I couldn’t talk or see.
I think it went as well as I could have expected. (Although I did forget to mention one small thing,
whoops.)
Here’s the talk I gave:
“Terry Lee Goodsell was born to Lawrence and Elizabeth
Goodsell on January 18th, 1956 and died July 1st, 2017 at
the age of 61. He has three older
siblings, Diane, Larry and Jerald. He grew up here in Newton and he loved the
town. He was free to roam the town, the
fields and even cross the bridge to Cache Junction. When he was just 8-years-old he started
working with his father early in the morning moving sprinkler pipe. He was a willing helper as he went around working
for the neighbors or the city on plumbing or other projects with his Dad.
He worked hard and saved up enough money that at age 16 he
bought his dream car, a ’69 Cougar XR7.
Earlier that year he had been helping a friend restore an old
Mustang. Once it was ready they took it
for a test drive. As teenage boys often
are, they were reckless. They hit a
patch of ice going over 100 miles an hour on the main street here in Newton. He was in the passenger seat, and the car
wrapped around a tree on that side. He
had a skull fracture and severe head injury and took weeks to recover. That didn’t lessen his love for cars. Over the years we had lots of cars and
trucks, but you would never catch him in a minivan.
He was very devoted to both the town of Newton and his
parents. After marrying my mom, they
built their house just around the corner from his parents. Dad was very handy and he helped build our
house, later finishing the garage and the basement with a little help.
Dad could fix almost anything. He knew plenty about cars. He also knew about plumbing and much more
around the house. When he would come to
visit us in Idaho Falls for the day, he was always finding something that
needed fixing, whether it was a door not shutting properly or a toilet acting
up. I’m sure some of the time we came to
him with questions, but he loved to jump in and help fix it.
He always worked hard, providing for us. He worked a handful of jobs. I remember him working on the farm for Norval
Jones – my two highlights were one day when I got to help feed calves and
another day I got to ride on the hay bailer with him. My brother’s were much more involved than I
was. At the age of 8 or 9, Dad had them
go to Norval themselves to ask for a job.
Dad was always teaching life skills.
I remember him working the night shift at Thiokol, but then
he got his backhoe and was able to start his own Business. Terry’s
Backhoe. He kept his business license on
the fridge. I imagine he was pretty
proud of it.
His business was successful and his boys worked right
alongside him. He taught them how to run
the backhoe, but Dad had the touch. He
could dig a flat square hole for a septic tank or a level trench for drain
lines. Brian said, “He would sink that bucket inches away from me or another
pipe already in the ground and I never worried once that he was going to hurt
me or anything else.” He was good at what he did. He was called in many times to fix mistakes
other operators had made.
He worked in the freezing cold and the heat of the
summer. And I never heard him
complain. When he would come in on
particularly snowy or cold days, he would start to take off his boots and all
his layers, and he would sing. Every
time. He sang “Let it Snow.” It always made me smile.
He did find some time to play as well. In the years that I can barely remember, he
used to hunt and fish. He brought home
geese, pheasants and Hungarian partridge in the Fall. In the winter he went ice fishing and brought
home trout.
He enjoyed cross country skiing, racquetball, riding his
bike. He grew a large garden and I would
love to go pick fresh peas. He really
enjoyed his garden. As if that wasn’t
enough to keep him busy, he also volunteered as a first responder and
firefighter for many years. The sounds
of the police radio were common in our house, and often followed by Dad running
out the door and peeling out in his truck.
That was just normal.
He was very close to his parents. Growing up we spent a lot of time with
them. They vacationed with us, spent
holidays together. Grandma always made
dinner at noon and we were expected to be there. Dad always was. He would send us kids down in the cellar to
fetch potatoes or canned goods for grandma.
He took good care of her. When
Grandpa was living at Sunshine Terrace, he took her there to visit every night
but Wednesday, because that was fire drill or EMT night. He took her grocery shopping early every
Saturday morning so they could beat the crowds.
Dad was always there for me.
I can’t even count the number of times I called him because I locked my
keys in my car (at least three), or my car broke down (at least three). Or in college when I had appendicitis and
needed to go to the hospital for emergency surgery. Or when I burned up my engine trying to get
to St George and he had to come down there and pick up my friends and I. Then he lent me his bike to get around
because my car was a mess.
He picked up Kevin and I another time when Kevin’s car broke
down. Here’s the story “The gas pedal
suddenly dropped limply to the floor and the engine idled. The cable that
linked the pedal to the engine had broken. We had to call Dad and have him come
pick us up. I didn't know what we were going to do with the car, but he told us
to take his car. He wired up some cord to the broken cable and managed to drive
the car home by pulling a string instead of pressing the gas pedal, in an old
manual transmission car. I don't remember how the car got fixed, but I imagine
he fixed it.”
Dad was there for me through the toughest parts of
life. When I moved away from my
childhood home, moved away from him, he cried with me. When I came back to visit, and it was time to
leave again, I had a complete breakdown.
Crying, hyperventilating on the floor, life was over. Dad pulled me onto his lap, even though I was
too big for laps at that time, and even though I know his heart was breaking
just as much as mine, he rocked me and told me stories to calm me down.
When he told me he was sick, he held my hand with his stiff
fingers, and we cried together again. He
asked me to help him be strong, but comforted me at the same time while I
grieved the loss of the tough, active man I knew.
He was there for my wedding, when my babies were blessed and
baptized. He was just always there for
me. I kind of thought I was special, you
know, being his baby girl and all. But
it turns out he was there for a lot of people.
He served so much, but he did it quietly. There were times he did jobs for people he
knew couldn’t pay him. And of course,
there was the many many years we played Secret Santa to Deese and Gailen on Christmas
Eve. He kept that one very secret, he
never wanted them to know it came from us.
Every year, even when money was tight.
He let us kids be involved as soon as we were old enough to keep it a
secret. I remember walking over there in
the dark and freezing cold many times.
He was constantly teaching us. He taught me how to drive, how to check the
oil in my car. He always changed the oil
in our cars right in his shed. I didn’t
realize this wasn’t normal. He taught me
how to start a garden. Taught me how to
cook dutch oven potatoes, though not as good as he did. He taught me to avoid debt. He taught me the value of a good days
work. He introduced me to 80’s soft
rock.
This story is from Jeff. “One morning the Roto Rooter was
out at a jobsite to drain a septic tank. There were two guys running the truck,
one in the hole on the end of the hose and the other was running the controls.
It could suck or blow to break up the solids, there was a clog and the guy on
the controls turned it to blow and it blew the contaminates everywhere. The guy
in the hole jumped out, speckled with disgusting stuff, and spits a mouthful on
to the ground. I cringed and looked at Terry he leaned over and says, “that is
why you should go to college”.
He taught the boys some backhoe skills, and farm skills, and
work skills in general. But he also taught
them the value of working hard and doing a job right and well. Selflessness and
helping others. Being on time for work and any other appointments you may have.
Being polite when you really want to yell instead. He was all those things all
the time. He was an amazing example to us and an amazing father and person.
My parents divorced when I was young, like 11. But I don’t remember there being any anger or
contention in our home. I realize this
may just be my perception and not completely accurate. But I’m okay with that. I like it the way I remember it. That’s how Dad was, though. Always thinking of other people first. When he got sick, he didn’t tell his mother
because he didn’t want her to stress about him.
I’m not sure he ever told her.
He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease at a surprisingly
young age. The average person isn’t even
diagnosed until 60. As the disease
progressed, he became more of a homebody.
He was uncomfortable being in public with his disabilities and the risk
of tripping or spilling was enough to keep him home. I imagine he was pretty lonely. But then there was Carol. She came along and suddenly he was getting
out, going to restaurants every weekend.
Traveling to spend time with grandchildren (he has 8). Even making trips to Wendover. He had joy again. They were married in 2007 and he told me all
the time how much he loved her.
I know she doesn’t like to be praised because she’s such a
selfless person, but we are all so thankful for the experiences and time he was
able to have with her. His life would
have been a lot different and a lot more miserable without her.
Matthew 25:21 says “His lord said unto him,
Well done, thou good
and faithful servant: enter thou
into the joy of thy lord.”
I’m positive these are the words my Dad heard when he passed
from this life to the next. And that his
parents were there to greet him on the other side.”
The one part of the funeral where I lost it, where the whole
family lost it, was when the firefighters did the “Last Call”. After the closing prayer, all of the
firefighters and EMTs in the audience were asked to stand. One of the firefighters brought his radio up
to the microphone. It started with the
beeps that precede all their emergency announcements, and growing up in our
home, these beeps were something we heard all the time. Often followed by my dad throwing on his
clothes and running out of the door. So
memories immediately started to flood my mind.
Then the lady on the other end started her announcement, which went out
to every firefighter and EMT in the area.
She said, “All units cache, final call for Newton firefighter and EMT
Terry Goodsell, in recognition of your many years of service and dedication to
the community, we honor you for a job well done. Time out at 11:44 on July 7th,
2017.” It was really quite amazing and
emotional for all of us. He’s been
retired from their service for awhile now since his health has been so bad, but
it was interesting to talk a little to some of the guys that worked with him as
they came through the line at the viewing. They also had a firetruck lead the procession to the cemetery.
Here are the pictures I got from the funeral.
After the funeral, we have to deal with the legal
stuff. And it’s not easy. The boys don’t all agree on anything. I’m afraid it’s going to get a little ugly at
times, but hopefully we can be sensitive and all do our share of the work.
There’s so much about this life that is amazing. And there’s some not-so-fun things too. I’m trying to appreciate the good, while
still not running from the bad. You’ve
got to take things head-on, no sense running away. But I can still enjoy life. Especially since you never know when your
health can be taken away. So I did the
triathlon I was scheduled for the next day after the funeral. And it went well. This was what I posted on Facebook, which got
a lot of responses!
Yesterday we celebrated my Dad's life, 1/3 of which he was
sick. He handled it with grace and strength, and dealt with it for way too
long. It makes me truly appreciate my health because I know it could be taken
away any day. And so I do challenging things and I love every minute (ok, maybe
not *every* minute, those last 8 minutes were a bit rough today). Last weekend
I ran a trail for two hours, this week I swam in the lake in the peaceful morning
sunrise, I ran my fastest 5k, I rode 40 miles on my bike (during which I
experienced all sorts of emotions, sometimes crying hard, sometimes singing
80's music at the top of my lungs, and it was beautiful and healing and
amazing), then today I did an Olympic distance triathlon and managed to get
myself a medal for 1st in my age group 🥇. I'm currently training for
another Olympic, a Spartan, and a 70.3 Ironman. I know I'm a bit nuts, but if
you can move your body, run, ride, jump, climb, hike, etc- DO IT!! Don't take
it for granted. #rigbylaketriathlon #rigbylaketri2017
I wasn’t really trying to be “inspirational”, just trying to
explain to people why I would be doing a triathlon the day after something like
that. I get the feeling some people
think working out is a selfish thing, or prideful- just about body image. But it’s so much more for me. Some of my friends got it right away. Courtney said, “this is therapy- good
job!” And one friend told me that she
felt like she understood me better after reading that.
(I wrote this post soon after the funeral, when the feelings
were all still fresh. It’s been almost
two months since he passed now, and I’m doing much better. That week between the death and the funeral
was a rough one. A roller coaster of
emotions, and me continuing my training just going through the motions. The week following the funeral and triathlon,
the adrenaline finally slowed down and my body crashed. I was exhausted. Luckily it was a much-needed easy recovery
training week and I was able to get some rest.
But now I am good. I can picture
my dad healthy, cracking jokes. Sorting
through all his stuff has been an interesting experience. But mostly good.)
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