Paul and I are in my parents bedroom at Shady Oak. We are working on a fireplace that is not working. It is gas or electric. I get mad at Paul because he doesn’t check this screen that tells if what we did is working or not. I look around and notice that my parent’s bed is not made. I try turning on some lights. They are all burnt out.
the next scene is my pet mouse and I are walking together down the stairs from the second floor. I am happy.
I shared this dream with the Dreamsters on our Dream Circle Night. Here is what I wrote: If this were my dream, I am in my parent’s bedroom. I am reacting to Paul’s dementia how I assume my parents would: angry, controlling, Paul and I are fixing the fireplace. Fire=transformation, heat, and essential element. We are working on our new relationship; trying to get it to work. Paul is not giving it enough time. Is this my masculine energy that wants everything to work right away? The bed is not made-no cover up? The bulbs are burnt out. It isn’t dark in the dream/it is day time. But no energy/light=no understanding? The room and situation all need work. However, I then walk with my pet mouse. He is a helper like in the story with the lion and the mouse. He is a guide who is helping me with this transformation; this journey into a new life.
The lights being out may suggest Paul’s dementia. Nevuah said for me to get out of the shade of the oak and deal with the situation in a different way than my parents would.
I just finished writing my short speech for the funeral:
As a family, we spent many years fishing with Dad in the Land of 10,000 Lakes. One of my favorite events was sharing the trout opener at Whitewater State Park with our cousins and uncles and grandpa Pokie. I remember standing on the grassy shore of the cold river with my fishing rod, waiting for the season to begin at 9 a.m. Someone would yell when the clock hit 9. Then we all threw our hooks and bait in the water together. Years later I discovered Minneiska is Dakota for “white water.”
My father and uncle Don Schneider were competitive at waterskiing and fishing on beautiful Lake Pepin. We would try for smallmouth bass close to the shoreline, and occasionally fish in the deep middle of the lake for catfish. These memories are from the days before carp began to enter the Mississippi.
In the years prior to the establishment of Voyageurs National Park, we would sometimes head up north and stay at an island cabin on Lake Kabetogama. Walleye were a goal, and I think those were Dad’s favorite fish. When it became affordable for him, Dad bought a little Lund boat and a tent. We would often camp at Father Hennepin State Park to fish for walleye on Lake Mille Lacs. Later he purchased an RV and a bigger boat. Eventually my father and mother became owners of a lovely old log cabin at Wahkon Bay on Mille Lacs.
At Father Hennepin I made the decision to fish with Dad nearly every time he headed out on the big lake, the lake famous for walleye. Back then, at least, daughters were less interested in fishing than sons, but I had an ulterior motive: I wanted to get closer to my father, to know him better. Early in my childhood he had worked second shift, so I did not see him very much.
Dad and I would sit in the boat for hours and hours. When the fish weren’t biting, it was a quiet and relaxing time in nature for us. When the fish were hungry, we had fun helping each other pull them out of the water. If the Twins were playing baseball, he turned on his battery-operated radio. My father taught me so much I became the one who usually caught the most fish and the largest fish, often more than Dad netted himself. He bought me a special fish knife and we would carve up the walleye or perch together.
I don’t eat fish these days, as I have been a vegetarian for many years. But I will always have loving remembrances of the times my father spent alone with me in his boat on Lake Mille Lacs.
I attended my neighbor Vicky’s memorial in the early afternoon on June 6. Vicky had died of a mysterious pneumonia. My father died last night, on June 6. His cause of death was the decline of his lungs, aggravated by severe COPD.
I drove up to Cambridge Hospital on Friday, as soon as I heard about my father’s fall and his broken femur. I don’t always rush up to visit my parents when they are hospitalized, but I had an instinct that this could be the last time I would see him alive. Which it was.
Yesterday morning I biked with Cullan to watch Wyn’s first soccer practice. As I was sitting on the grass at Diamond Lake Pearl Park, I heard one of the coaches ask his team mates to share their names. One boy said “Edwin,” a name I had not heard in years. My grandfather’s name is Edwin Luther, and my father’s name is James Edwin Luther. I wondered about that synchronicity, if something serious would soon happen with my dad.
The orthopedic at Mercy Hospital decided not to do surgery on a 92-year-old patient, so a social worker found a rehab center where the plan was for my father to do weeks of physical therapy. Dad was going to move to rehab on Monday. He remained relatively alert, reacting positively to the pain meds, but on Saturday evening everything started to fall apart. He threw up, and the nurses used a tube to clear his throat. They did an x-ray to assure that his lungs were clear. They were. But his stomach began to bloat dramatically. Fluid probably pored into his lungs. He died very quickly, a few minutes before I arrived back at the hospital.
When I entered room 5630, everyone was sobbing, except me and our mother. My father’s blue eyes were wide open. His mouth too. After everyone left, I kissed his forehead and gave him a prayer.
Dad on the his childhood farm in Brewster, Minnesota
I wrote his obituary:
James “Bud” Luther, 92, passed away peacefully, surrounded by family, on Saturday evening, June 6, 2026, at Mercy Hospital.
Bud was born on September 4, 1933, to parents Edwin and Helen Luther in Brewster, Minnesota. He was the third of seven children, preceded in death by sisters Carol, Lois and Mary. John, Alan and Alice are his surviving siblings.
On October 20, 1956, Bud married Doreen Sheehan at St. Mary’s Church in Minneiska, Minnesota. Left to honor his life and mourn his death are his wife Doreen and their four children: Denise, Jodell, Jamie and Kurt. He will be dearly missed by 11 grandchildren and 14 great-grandchildren.
Camping, fishing and gardening were Bud’s life-long pleasures. For many years his family owned a beautiful log cabin, built in 1919, along the Wahkon Bay of Lake Mille Lacs. He loved to read science-fiction books and watch movies about the Wild West. As an Army veteran he also enjoyed playing WWII videos on his computer.
Bud’s final employment was as a machinist at Remmele Engineering, a job that called him on trips all over the world, including Puerto Rico, Mexico City and Saudi Arabia. After 28 years, he retired and began traveling with his spouse on People’s First Bank tour group. His favorite event was a European River Cruise.
