home is burning

Chelsea has a car, a Subaru, but it isn’t her dream car, as she explained.

Chelsea: I want a pink convertible like Barbie. That bitch has everything. 

1. They’re annoying

2. They’re fat

3. They shit everywhere

Thank you to everyone who has been there for my Fam. Thank you to everyone who loved my Dad. Thank you to everyone who made the end wonderful. Thank you to every friend my Dad ever had. Thank you to his running buddies and best friends. Thank you!!!!

My Dad’s first not-alive birthday is coming up on December 3. Chelsea and I were talking about how to celebrate.

Chelsea: We should go out to a really expensive meal, because that’s what Dad would want.

Me: We should all get laid.

Chelsea: We should go to Benihani’s.

Me: We should all treat ourselves to a really high-class, beautiful….

Chelsea: ….Cock ring.

Me: I was going to say, “Piece of cheesecake,” but cock ring works.

Chelsea: [Laughing] I just think Dad would want us all to have really beautiful cock rings. 

In case you missed it, here is the Eulogy my Dad’s best friend, Tom Loken, gave at the Fun Roll (Funeral). 

—

Tribute to Bob Marshall

 By Tom Loken

Dear Bob Marshall, Friends, and Family:

Before I talk about Bob, I’d like to say a few words to the Marshall family and Regina, who I am convinced is an angel who was heaven sent.   I don’t have to tell you that you’ve had a hard and challenging task these last 2 years.  But what I do need to tell you is that you did a terrific job.  You were able to honor Bob’s final wishes and keep him home until the very end. – only strong families can pull that off – and – you were one of them.  You gave Bob the greatest gift, and that was your time, presence, and love.  That was all you could give and in the end, was exactly what Bob needed.   Please forever hold your heads high knowing that you gave it your all in Bob’s care.

As many of you know, I’ve been a running partner with Bob for the last 4 years.  So, I thought it fitting to talk about Bob as it pertains to running.  I had the opportunity to go over this talk with Bob a few weeks ago.  Bob wanted you all to know, that this being a political year, Bob approves the following message.

Bob used to keep a running journal and he calculated that we had run over 2,000 miles together.  At 9 minutes/mile, that’s 18,000 minutes.  That’s a long time – for a lot of conversation.  I think we became each other’s psychiatrist.  So, to all of you listening out there today, you’d better be good to me, because I’ve got stories on every one of you.  The good news is… they’re all good stories.  Bob loved you all very much and I know he’s honored that you’re here today.

Well, how did our running days begin?  In the summer of 2004, (at one of our monthly card parties) Bob proclaimed he would run his first marathon in the following spring.  He asked me if I’d mentor him through the training process and I gladly said “yes”.

Thus began our weekly Thursday & Saturday runs that would last anywhere from 2-4 hours.  Our goal was to run his first marathon in less than 4 hours.

Race day finally came.  While in the holding coral, Bob asked me for some final strategy advice.  I replied in a low secretive voice: “Well it’s really quite simple.  You take one step, followed by another step, repeat till finished.”  Bob looked at me, “that’s it?!  That’s your final advice?”  “Yeah, that’s pretty much it, Bob.”  I’m sure Bob thought to himself: “of all the mentors I could have picked in Salt Lake City, I had to pick this guy?!”

We did pretty well that day and made our goal of running Bob’s first marathon in less than 4 hours.  Our time was 3:57.

After that first race, Bob & I would go on to run 2 more marathons together.  Each race, he’d run a little faster and stronger, and I would keep on with my usual pace.

At the St. George marathon in the fall of 2006, Bob ran his best race ever and qualified for the Boston Marathon by 4 seconds.  I think Bob was on the top of the world that day.  Less than 3 weeks later, on Oct 26^th Bob received the news that he had ALS.

Bob gave me a call that same afternoon with the news.  I was stunned.  How could a guy who just qualified for the Boston Marathon have ALS?  After I collected my thoughts I asked Bob how he would face this disease.  He replied, “Well Tom, I guess I’ll just take one step, followed by another step, repeat till finished”

From then on, Bob became my teacher and I became the student.  What did he teach me?  Just about every good human quality there is. Just to name a few: patience, love, courage & acceptance.  But what struck me the most, was his ability to be grateful.  Right from the first day of his diagnosis with ALS, Bob was committed to living each day to the fullest and being grateful for everything he could do and forgetting or letting go of the things he couldn’t.  Each day would mean not being able to do as much as the day before.  But he always cherished and was grateful for his current function.  And, through all his loses, I never heard him complain.

I want to recall a few things Bob did after his diagnosis.  In January, 2007, he helicopter skied in the Wasatch Mountains with his daughter Tiffany – not knowing if he’d fall and not be able to get himself up. He did just fine.  In February, he took “the boys” up to Sun Valley- not knowing if he could keep up with everyone.  Well, he skied like a champ and kept up the whole weekend.  The same month, Sally and I skied with him on a glorious day of about 2 ½ feet of fresh powder.  We skied hard that day- even on some double black diamonds.  The only hint that Bob had ALS was when it was about 1pm and he said it was time to quit.  Yet again, he said how grateful he was to have skied that day.  Sadly, that would turn out to be the last day Bob would ski.  But as those of you who ski would know …fresh powder, blue sky…what a way to take it out. 

And then the ultimate, in April, Bob ran the Boston Marathon along with me and two other good friends, Donna Thomas & Paula Vernon.  (To give you an idea of how challenging this would be for Bob, it takes about 45,000 running steps to finish a marathon.  With ALS and a shortened gait, it was probably more like 50,000 steps.  But, just one step at a time, right?)

We finished that race in fine fashion.  We even made it on the CBS national news.  When we finished, it was as if “our team” had just won the World Series, but with one caveat, while we all were experiencing extreme joy, we also had profound sorrow knowing that this would be the last marathon Bob would run.  What an experience!  And again, Bob was so grateful for what he could do that day.

Later that spring, Bob would run a relay race in California.  Part of his section was to run over the Golden Gate Bridge with his son, Dan, in the middle of the night.  (By the way, how many of you have run, let alone walked over the Golden Gate Bridge?)   But as those of you who run know… doing the Golden Gate Bridge with your son at 1:00 am…what a way to take it out.

Well Bob… we’ve done a lot together…. 2,000 miles side by side.  Believe me; I got the best part of the deal.  I taught you how to run one race; you taught me how to live life.  I now look at each day differently….I can get up each morning, brush my teeth, drive to work, & come back at the end of the day to my loving family – knowing that’s all that really  matters. Because of you, I will forever remember our mantra of: “one step, followed by another step, repeat till finished” and the virtue of gratitude.

To honor Bob, I would wish that we would all follow his example; I know that this would please him very much. 

And Bob, one last word, when we meet again, have your running shoes on for our next race.  But, we’re not going to walk it; we’re not going to run it.  We’re going to fly it, baby; we’re going to fly!!

I walked upstairs into my Mother’s room. Upon entry, I discovered a very nude, old woman standing in the middle of the room starring out the window.

“Jesus Mom. Put some clothes on,” I said, not wanting to start my day with a view of my Mother’s titties.

She looked over at me and said, “Listen, if you don’t want to see a naked, old woman, don’t walk into a naked, old woman’s room.”

I walked by my pregnant sister, Michelle, as she laid on her back on the top of the stairs. My Mom was in the kitchen, writing her “To Do” list for the day. I stopped at the base of the stairs and looked at her bulging stomach, which popped out like a boner in spandex. I didn’t know what to say. I was shocked at the now noticeable reality that my little 18-year-old sister had actually gotten pregnant via her 37-year-old soccer coach’s whistle. I wanted to ask:

–How did this actually happen?

–Do you regret all of this and wish you could do it over and reclaim your youth and go back to high school and have your biggest relationship worry be something retarded like, “How am I going to ask 18-year-old Brandon to the Christmas dance? Should I put a box of golf balls on his porch with a little note that says, ‘Do you have the balls to go to the Christmas dance with me?”

–Are you going to have more kids?

–Being a Native America that has slept with a white man, do you oft feel like Pocahontas?

–Do you know who Pocahontas is, given your lack of a high school education and all?

–What do you think your child, a half pedophile, half Native American, will look like?

–Will he be teased?

–Do you mind if I tease him?

–Can I be known as, “That creepy Uncle Dan that always looks like he’s fresh off a wild bender/masturbation frenzy”?

But instead of asking any of the aforementioned questions, I asked, “So do you and Rob still have sex despite being pregnant?”

She looked at me and shook her head “no”.

“Good,” I said.

I entered the kitchen and rubbed my Mom’s back as she added “Pick up Medication” to her “To Do” list.

And without being provoked, she volunteered, “I still had sex with your Dad when I was pregnant.”

“That’s great Mom. Thanks for offering that up,” I sarcastically said.

“No problem. I also used to give him blowjobs in the car.” 

My little sister, Chelsea, and my Mom were having a conversation about first dates.

Chelsea: Why do people have sex on the first date? It’s so gross.

Mom: I fucked your Dad on the first date.

Chelsea: Ooh gross. Mom. Don’t say that.

Me: Did you really?

Mom: Yep. I slept with him right off the bat. And then he fell asleep and started snoring and then I thought, “I feel sorry for who ever marries this man.”

Chelsea: Gross. Mom. Stop.

Mom: I would do it again. Over and over and over again. 

My Mom entered the kitchen in her nightgown. It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon. She was clearly still half asleep, or half awake if you’re an optimist. She reached to the top shelf and pulled out a mug to make tea in. She filled the glass with water and set it in the microwave, pushing the buttons for 2 minutes. She then stood with her arms folded and noticed me typing at the fair end of the kitchen.

Mom: Did I tell you that Regina got a new dog?

Me: [Looking up from computer] No.

Mom: Guess what she named it?

Me: I don’t know, probably Bob. She was in love with Dad.

Mom: No, she named it Berkeley.

Me: You mean after our dog, Berkeley?

Mom: Yeah, can you believe that?

Me: Well, that’s sort of cool I guess.

Mom: It really fucking pisses me off.

The microwave “dinged” and her after-morning tea was ready for consumption. She picked it back up and walked back upstairs to lie down. 

All of us are asking “what’s next” for my Mom following the killing of her husband by Lou Gehrig’s disease. Will she remarry? Possibly our friend Gary? Will she live alone? Will she have sex over the phone? Will she keep the cats? Will she go out to bars, possibly even frats? Will she write a book? Will she build a new nook? Will she stay in Salt Lake City? Will her life forever be shitty?

Chelsea approached me with one idea. “Dan, couldn’t you see Mom turning into a lesbian?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure she’s not. She was married for 30-years to a husband she oft talked about blowing,” I responded.

“Yeah, but she has short hair, and it seems like she’s a lesbian to me. I mean, couldn’t you see her becoming a lesbian or something?”

“Chelsea, I really doubt it okay, and she has short hair because she just finished chemo and was bald because chemo kills all fast growing cells. But if I see her making out with our cleaning lady, Stana, then maybe I’ll think she might be a lesbian, but, for now, I’m fairly comfortable saying that our widowed Mother is not a lesbian,” I said.

Chelsea starred off into the distance and said, “I pretty sure she’s a lesbian.”