A Tribute to Peter
Last week my father-in-law passed away. The tricky thing was he lived 30 miles away from the nearest neighbor, just north of Joshua Tree National Forest in California, and all by himself. It was a miracle a delivery person found his body or his dog Max would have been lost too. Peter was a young 82-year-old, who walked 5 miles a day but had a problem with smoking.
The desert oasis he lived on was the property of his daughter. It was my sanctuary for years before I moved up to the Pacific Northwest. I’d head out on the 3 ½ hour drive from Los Angeles to do repairs or hide away from the world, unfortunately, he came with the property. He’d laugh if he were to read this, but this was our relationship. We’d find some topic to poke at one another, and laugh about our differences, but always enjoyed each other’s company.
His passing has brought up a lot of feelings. Not the typical in-law, Peter was my friend. Driving out to the property was like driving on the moon. I don’t know if you’ve traveled much in the open desert but there isn’t a lot of vegetation, except for the cactus, and occasional Joshua Trees on our 5 acres of land.
Our property was a real fixer-upper and since Peter was once in charge of all the maintenance at the Beverly Hills Hotel, his expertise was great when it came to plumbing and electrical. I was a flooring guy, years before I struck out into counseling, and all the projects I did out there were under his watchful eye.
Peter and I were as different as they come. He called himself a curmudgeon – basically everything was negative to him and of course, I am a positive, caring, and loving man. I think I amused him by finding the silver lining in almost everything we talked about. We differed in our political leanings. Our stance on weapons. I was for peace meditations and he was a survivalist. He did teach me how to shoot a rifle however and I bested him in target practice a few times, but he sluffed that off to beginners luck as he aimed and hit another of his patented bullseyes. He was strictly Alcoholics Anonymous while I was strictly a therapy guy. He did beat me in intellect. He had an IQ of 160 or more, while mine was average at 120 but on occasion, I’d out-logic him in our mini-debates.
It’s tough writing this out because we had really bonded well. When I learned about his passing the first thing I thought about was him missing the AA gatherings on the Santa Monica beach that he talked so highly of. Why that? But that’s what came up for me right from the start.
When we first met, it was on that property. He was living in Lake Arrowhead with his partner and that wasn’t working out, so my partner moved him to our romantic hideaway to live in the cottage, while we’d still have the main house. So I took a few weeks off of work, decided to tolerate some old guy as I built a large fence, repaired the broken foundation, and learned that he was actually a wonderful person, even though he smelled like rotten tobacco.
The property was located just south of the 29 Palms Marine Base’s live shooting range. Every so often, while building that fence, an explosion was not only heard but felt as the ground shook. For 30 years, the foundation of the house shifted on the desert sand and was in need of repair, causing me to get very familiar with our cement mixer and his stories of AA and the Beverly Hills Hotels’ wild past.
It’s weird writing this out. I am wondering how do you do somebody justice when they just died? Our family will get together, say a few words, spread his ashes all around the five-mile walking path he created around the property, and then it’s done? Not for me. Too many years and too many memories, so I guess this is part of my mourning process. Do you want to hear the weird thing? At work last Tuesday, after hearing of his death, all day in my facility I was smelling that bad tobacco breath smell. I even asked clients if they had smoked before coming in, but none had. I don’t know about you, but I love anything paranormal. And Peter, I hope you learned a few tools you can put into practice on your next round in this life.
I think it is great having somebody in your life who is the yang to your yin. We looked at things so differently that it was comical. I miss his, “Yeah, but’s”. Everything I had to say had his counterpoint. I guess I was the same.
A few memories have stood out this week that I’d like to share. One happened when a flash storm hit the desert while building that fence. I learned that the desert, even in the middle of summer, would have flash floods, and to be honest, that hard rain in the midst of 115 degrees felt like heaven. So, we took off laughing towards the dry river bed that cut a path through our property and when we got there, there was this roaring white water rapids! Here he was wading into it, holding some damn umbrella. It was so ridiculous I had to take a picture. All he was doing was laughing like a little kid. Now, come on. We don’t even use umbrellas up here in Everett, but he insisted on it, debated the reasons why he was doing so, and all I did was just shake my head. “I’m taking the natural shower, you play Dr. Doolittle,” was all I said. I just remember wading in beside him being amazed at how warm the water was and us laughing at one another. Yeah, my elder. He was a little kid like me.
Another memory is one hot day this van pulled up with church people all dressed up in their Sunday best and asking if we wanted to hear the good news about Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints. Peter was all for that and invited them in for iced tea.
Unbeknownst to me, Peter grew up in the Mormon church, got disillusioned with it, and in his own words, turned to a pagan life. So, while drinking iced tea, he told them that he was there all alone, was a pagan, and had no beliefs and for them to give him their sales pitch because he knows that his soul needs saving – all the while knowing this was exactly what they wanted to hear because he too had been doing what they were doing 40 years earlier.
There was something about Peter that always intrigued me. He was so comfortable with people and always came alive when they visited, but chose to live away from people for the last 15 years of his life.
Peter suffered from PTSD but never told me about his trauma. I know that he was a survivor of the Second World War, grew up on a farm in Germany but the Germans stole from his parents and he went hungry, suffering from malnutrition, and when the war ended a Mormon group came and rescued his family and whisked them off to Utah, where he grew up.
The Mormons became a new family of friends of his that day and they asked to visit whenever they were in the area and wanted more iced tea. This made me feel better because some social contact is important.
The final story I’ll bore you with is his asking me to help him find a crystal mine that some guy told him about a few miles north of the property. Always up for an adventure, we left before the sun rose, and headed off on our walk on the moon. In the distance we heard the sound of distant bombing, giving it an ominous feeling. We walked for hours and all he did was look at the coordinates on his iPhone, trying to convince me we were almost there, and soon, there were telltale signs of some mining operation with equipment on this trail. Suddenly, as the sun came up, thousands of tiny-looking diamonds were covering the ground. It was like a crazy dream. Have you ever seen those crystals that people use as necklaces, or are kept in their pocket for good luck? Well, they painted the landscape! There was no cave to be found, but there were rocks that must have weighed 100 lbs of rose quartz spewed across the desert floor. We were two happy explorers. Both of us filled our backpacks with the small crystals, since we were making a 30-foot-wide labyrinth at the time we needed all the rocks we could find, and we hiked the spoils of the adventure back with us before the heat of the desert exhausted us.
Peter, you will be missed. No longer are you there for the adventures, the fights against the intruding bees. You no longer can torture me about your political leanings even if they were partially right and you made a lot of good points. I learned from you, not only how to glue two plastic pipes together, and lefty-loosey, righty-tighty, but also to make a game out of each project undertaken.
You leave a daughter and son, four grandkids, and one son-in-law who learned to see the goodness in you that you hadn’t been able to see in yourself.
Compassionate Care is Always Available
There are many more tools and strategies you can use in your pursuit of happiness. Here is where we come in. Contact us at Basic Steps Mental Health and let us support and educate you on this journey back to your loving heart center. Imagine living a heart-centered life, regardless of what is happening externally. We’d love to be of help.
For 25 years, Dr. Scott Alpert, the clinical director of Basic Steps Mental Health, has treated over 7,000 people with mental health and addiction problems, using a Psychological approach that mixes and matches ten of the top approaches used in the industry. We are here virtually and in-person to help you get through this COVID-19 pandemic and many other difficulties you may be experiencing.
May you have good mental health.
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