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Published: January 17th 2010
Heaven 1, Amtrak 0, but is it a competition, really? I’m writing this blog awaiting my complementary Sprite on a North West Airlines flight from Milwaukee to Minneapolis, and then my brother and I are going to continue on to Helena, Montana. Where we will… I’ll get to that part. That’s not the story, though. The story is everything that led up to this point.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The morning after the Iowa Hawkeyes won their bowl game, I got an email to give dad a call (I don’t have my phone, but that’s another story- hm… maybe a new years resolution is in the works). I phoned my dad and, fighting his emotions, said, “grandma didn’t make the night. We all gathered in her room to watch the game, she was asleep most of the time, and at some point in the night, she went peacefully in her sleep.”
I actually just returned from Wisconsin after the holidays to specifically see her after our time in Asia, because her health was failing. While I was there, we got the news her kidneys were shutting down, and she may only have up to six months remaining. With
that prognosis, I spent some great time with her, sharing pictures of Asia, telling her our plans for the wedding, and reminiscing about all the wonderful times we had. That morning will forever be a special memory for me,
With that said, Dad’s news wasn’t a huge surprise. Yet, no matter how prepared you think you might be to hear that news, you are never really ready. It’s been a tough go for her, Gramps, and everyone in the family, but I am more proud now than ever to be a Wick seeing how everyone has really pulled together, helped each other out, and seemingly became closer as a result.
Arrangements for the funeral have been made for Saturday, and that means I needed to start figuring out how to get to Milwaukee, a drive of at least 21 hours I just recently made less than ten days ago. Needless to say, I wasn’t too eager to jump back in my car and battle the windblown, snow drifted, -30 degree weather and roads. I quickly learned, as if I didn’t already know this, but flying out of Montana is way too far out of my budget, leaving me
a few options; drive, bus, train, or miss it. Miss it= no, Greyhound= absolutely not, Drive= if I have to, Train= hmm…
Working together with James, we were a few seconds away from driving together (he would come down to Butte, and we’d go from there) until we discovered the Amtrak station was exactly half way between us, cheaper than and the same amount of time as driving ourselves. Done and done. We bought our tickets to leave Thursday morning arriving in Milwaukee of Friday afternoon… 19 hours before the start of Grandma’s funeral.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
I’m up and on the road by 7a.m. to arrive at the station in Shelby, MT by 10, leaving enough time for bad roads. The roads turned out to be fine despite some recent snow, and I met James, who got to the station around 9.
Shelby is a small, typically Montana ranching town along Montana’s ‘Hi-Line’ or the route along hwy 2 which runs east-west across the northern part of the state. People talk of the absurdly rural portion of state with pride. Shelby itself had a cute main street with some shops, and the train station
matched the town with its tidy interior seemingly unchanged from the 1970’s.
We grabbed some coffee from a downtown café and waited for the train to come. When the time came, I watched it approach, and approach, and making sure it was our Amtrak train, I watched it cruise right by the station without a hitch, as if it were nothing more than a mere fence line along the route. I walked into the station where James and a few other people were waiting, and said, “they didn’t tell us we had hop on as it went by.”
A faint dark spot, maybe a mile down the track was where the train ended up coming to a halt. After about thirty minutes, the station attendant came in from outside, took off her never ending layers of Carhart and fleece, and said, “Well, the train’s got no brakes. They froze right up. Then lost their air (which means nothing to James or I besides that it sounded serious). It’s just too dang cold to build the air back up. They’re working on it and will be back here as soon as they can.” We looked at each other, shrugged
our shoulders, and settled in to wait what turned out to be another half hour before the train backed up into the station and we boarded. Already one hour late before we even got on the train.
We tossed our stuff down on surprisingly large, reclinable seats, in the coach car and went to take a look around. I’ve ridden trains in other countries, but am a rookie to American train travel, so was particularly interested. We were right next to the lounge car, with love seats, booth tables, and skylights to help you pass the time. The first level of the lounge car was a quasi-mini mart where you can buy snacks, drinks, and alcohol. Three cars beyond that was the dining car, certainly not a five star operation, but had a menu and offered options for every meal of the day. That was about as far as I got, and needed to go, and with the outlet on the wall beside our seats, we had all we needed for the next 25 hours.
On we went, from the shadow of the Continental Divide, through the great plains (which were both great and plain), into Milwaukee. The
train, called the Amtrak Empire Builder, operated the entire way from Chicago to Portland, or depending on the branch you chose, Seattle. To get a gauge on the price, we traveled the majority of the line and our ticket was $144. We saw herds of antelope and deer, stopped in huge megalopolis such as Wolf Point, MT, Rugby, ND, as well as Fargo, Minneapolis, Madison, but Minot, North Dakota will be the stop we remember from this trip.
Before reclining our chairs for the evening, James and I watched Transformers on his laptop. I crashed, tolerating the slamming train door, drafty windows, and the crink in my neck from the seats headrest (there are sleeper rooms for more money, but we’re on a budget). Every time I half woke to change positions, I noticed the same light out as the last time I looked. After about the third time of noticing the same light, I shook the groggyness out of my head to realize we haven’t moved in quite some time.
7 a.m. we awoke to the announcement, “good morning everyone, this is the conductor. As you probably noticed, we’re still in Minot. There is a slight problem
with the brakes that we’re looking at getting fixed before we head out. It shouldn’t take too long before we’re on our way. Since we’re a little behind schedule, we’re serving complimentary breakfast in the dining car.”
So, we waited, and waited. And the rumors started to spread. “Breaks are frozen, they are just going to wait until the 11 p.m. train from Portland comes through and put us all on that…etc.” It got to a point, when we were roughly 8 hours behind schedule that we may need to make alternate plans on getting to Milwaukee in time for the funeral. Figuring out the math, we figured that the train needed to be rolling by 3 p.m. for us to just make it. So at 2:30 we would make the choice to buy a plane ticket or not.
Workers scurrying around from time to time, we got more nervous with every hour that ticked by. I was holding out hope for as long as I could, I accepted the fact that we would end up paying through our noses for a plane ticket from Minot. It was just turning 2:00, about fourteen hours after we pulled into
Minot, was the announcement that said we’d be ready to go in about 10 minutes. It got a bit nerve wracking for us, and once we were on our way, James told me, “you know, I just kinda said, ‘Hey Grams, we might need a little help if we’re gonna make it.’” Boy, she’s some lady…
The remainder of the trip was fairly uneventful, we watched some movies on James' computer, tried to organize some of my Korea pictures (something that will probably happen for years), and generally, anything you can imagine to keep our minds occupied. One positive, if you can say that, is that the train fed us complementary. I'm not saying it was good, just free. We still don't quite know what the potato-like breakfast orbs were that morning, or the stew-like creation that congealed next to the rice for dinner. Anyways, we both settled in for our second night of neck creaking sleep in the coach car reclining seats.
Friday, January 8, 2010
"... and for the coach car passengers, we have a continental breakfast set up in the upper level of the lounge car." That was the announcement that woke me
up after a night full of on again, off again sleep. My first reaction was to look out the window and make sure we were moving. We were, so James and I muscled our bodies back into a normal shape and headed out for breakfast.
It was currently 6:00 and we quickly learned we were about 1 1/2 hours from Milwaukee. That puts us in at 7:30, picked up at 8:00, showers take us to about 9:30, and that puts us at the church right at the funeral kickoff, at 10:00. After roughly 46 hours on the train, a threat of missing our own grandmother's funeral, suspect sleeping and eating conditions, we slide right in- smooth as silk. Situation over... sort of. We did learn that the return leg of the train trip was totally canceled.
Before that issue had to be tackled... we had some mourning to do. I wrote this in anticipation of timely travels and the opportunity to speak at the funeral. Since we were unsure of our arrival, Jeff graciously took the reins of representing Bill's children by sharing some of our memories of Grandma, while our Cousin Kristen represented her side.
Dear Grams
I know it was a wish of yours for all of us to speak at your funeral. Since I’ve had more practice writing than I have speaking, I thought I’d simply write you a letter. Besides, this may save us the embarrassment of being a blabbering fool in front of everyone. So I hope you don’t mind.
Now that I think of it, this will really just be a thank you letter. For so many things, it’s really hard to condense it all down into just words, but I’ll see what I can do.
Thanks for those marathon Solitaire battles you played with me at the kitchen table on California Street, and thanks for teaching me how to cheat a little too. While we’re at your old house in Milwaukee, thanks so much for always keeping that big freezer stocked with ice cream treats. I told you this last week, but I’m wondering if you might be the reason I have my sweet tooth.
Easter will never, ever be better than those huge dye sessions with the coffee mugs full of coloring scattered all over the table. Then, waking up early to search, literally, all over your house for eggs and baskets and presents. It was mayhem of the best kind.
None of my Christmases were ever be complete until I eat your famous hot beef, or chocolate chip cookies, or even the chex mix for that matter?
Thanks for my small mouth and my good looks. I’ll never be afraid to tell people I look like my Grandma. We’re both darn good looking, anyways.
Thanks for cutting me some slack when I was in third grade at the Bad News Bears little hooper picnic and I introduced you as Grandma and Grandpa. Coach Bandt asked what your names were and I couldn’t remember so I just said Grandma and Grandpa. Everyone laughed.
I know that all of us really cherish the fact that you and gramps made it to practically all of our games. Before each game I took a second to find everyone, you were always first. I knew exactly where you were; in that first row, usually with Mrs. Rubick. I feel like it was just yesterday that we were standing at the fence at Municipal Field, I was sweaty, filthy, and, in my case hurt and
taped all up, but overall just rank in all kinds of ways. You were always waiting for that big sloppy hug and kiss afterwards.
Thanks for making us eat at that Norwegian restaurant when we were in Disney World. I don’t remember much other than the fact that it was your idea, and it was all pretty gross except for the bread. From then on, I’ve always been really proud of that part of my heritage.
Thanks for getting me up with ice cubes early in the morning, well that was gramps- but I think you might have had something to do with that, so that we all could go to McDonalds when we visited Milwaukee. I still get hankerings for an egg mcmuffin even though I’m not a fast food fan.
Having you at my college graduation was pretty special. I’m not sure if you realized this or not, the first person I hugged after graduating college, aside from the school president, was you. I remember seeing you on the floor of the UNI-Dome with that awesome Grandma smile. I couldn’t resist, had to run over.
Grams, I see you as an example, really. We
all do.
Your love and relationship with Gramps is something so special. Something I hope to model mine after. I’ve thought about that a lot recently, with Cass and I beginning our lives and I know I will keep that close to me for the rest of my life. Your love for your family is amazing. You love the crap out of us and I know I’m not the best at showing it, but I felt the same about you. All of us are truly blessed to have felt and been a part of that. Even when things weren’t going as you wanted, even this last week, you were strong; you were graceful. Spending the time together before Christmas sharing my pictures from Korea, is already one of my favorite memories with you. Even then, in the hospital, uncomfortable, and anxious to get home, you were graceful. You were an example.
Thinking about it, I don’t know if this is something that I’ve developed over the years because of my travels and being gone so much, perhaps it might just be a coping mechanism, but I want to think it’s more than that. I truly believe that when
you are away from people, whether that’s in this life or because of distance, when you think of that person, when a memory floats back making you smile, when you suggest to someone that ketchup on your eggs makes them so much better, when you smell cookies baking and it remind you of that person, when you eat a reeses peanut butter cup and subconsciously make a ball out of the foil it came in, when it’s St. Patrick’s Day and you are justified in celebrating because your Grandma always reminded you of those three drops of Irish blood you have…
When you do these things and think of that particular person, to me, it brings them back to life, and it brings them back to me. You’ll never be gone. You will live in and though us all. It is hard to think I won’t pick up the phone and hear, “its so great to hear your voice, you made my day,” but I have so many great memories that will keep you near me forever.
Lastly, on a ride back to Dad’s house, I asked him if he knew the story behind the words “toot-a-loo” that you
and Gramps say to each other. Since I’ve heard Gramps use it so much, and I even use it once in a while without thinking, I figure I should know the back story. I hope it’s correct, because I like it, and I’m using toot-a-loo from now on, if that’s ok with you and Gramps, I guess.
Dad said, ‘it originated during the war. When you leave for something like that, you can’t be too certain that you’ll return. Gramps never wanted to say ‘good-bye’ when he was leaving. It maybe felt too final or depressing, as if they may never see each other again. Instead, they would just say ‘too-a-loo’ to each other. It’s more a way of saying I love you and I’ll see you again.’
It’s perfect and so fitting. So I’ll finish this letter to you with the same words I spoke to you the last time we were together.
I love you, Grams.
Toot-a-loo
The ceremony was wonderul, beautiful, and many people came. Being really the only set of granparents I've ever had, and never yet losing a member of our family, this funeral hit especially hard.
There was a nice luncheon afterwards where we all had "a chance to visit" as grams would always say.
James and I, however (because on this trip, there's always a however), realized that we didn't have any way to get back to Montana, and po dunk Shelby, Montana- where our cars were sitting at the train station- nonetheless. So we spent a good portion of the luncheon in front of Pastor Dale's computer searching for possible flights. With options flying into Montana relatively limited, we were nearly forced to board a plane in Milwaukee at 4:00 that afternoon. We bought the ticket, despite it would only give us a few hours more with our family.
We spent some there, and later at Grampa's place taking pictures and chatting before we left. The return flight was relatively flawless; a few hours in Minneapolis and our friends were waiting in Helena when we landed.
Friday, January 8, 2010
The next day, Cass, James, and I hopped into the car to head the 3 hours north to Shelby to get the cars. After this travel debacle, all I wanted to do was get the car and get home.
James' facebook status read something like this... 42 hours on a train, 14 hours in a car, 9 hours in an airport or plane, 7 hours in Milwaukee at Grandma's funeral.
You know, grieving is a relatively new thing for me, and when you lose someone you love you are confronted with it, straight on, whether you are prepared or not. Many people ask if angry at Amtrak for getting stranded in Minot. I don't think I am. The train arrived and we made it to the funeral. What I am upset at, is that I didn't have the opportunity to spend the time given me with my family; that my time to grieve was taken away from me by Amtrak. That, I believe, is why this last week has been very different, difficult, for me.
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Trish Matthews
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memories
Wow, Thanks for sharing. I know how great to travel the world is, but the downside is not being able to share all the silly daily nonsense of family living. The memories of all that do bring laughter and smiles inside. I know Lance enjoyed most the stories of how the evil dog age my 500.00 shoe inserts, or brought a gopher into the house, or rolled in the neighbors horse dung. Anyway I cried when I read the letter to Grandma. Hold tight to all that family stuff, you and Cassie will now be creating YOUR family stuff and memories to warm other peoples hearts.:)