Hallelujah Life: Dead Reckonings of Time, Father, and Me

MY FATHER, A HERO. Who am I in relation to my Father, a man who earned the Congressional Medal of Honor for his brave leadership in the Korean Conflict when he was 24 years old and went back to war again in Vietnam and earned the Silver Star? Here in this photo, Dad appears to have said something humorous to President Dwight D. Eisenhower, who has just awarded him the Medal of Honor in January 1954.

Hallelujah for Life! Hallelujah for calculations, recalculations and positions from our past from which to estimate where we stand currently in our lives! As the 12th anniversary of my Father's death washes over me, I stand fixed, anchored in being a 57-year-old woman, but also craving a reassessment of who I am in relation to my Father, Edward R. Schowalter, a complex man of considerable depth, a war hero, and someone who wasn't always easy to live with.

IN THE HEAVENS OBSCURED BY CLOUDS. Dad and Mom moved to Auburn, Alabama, from Ft. Benning, Georgia, after he retired from the Army. During that time, he made the yard surrounding the front and back of our house, an extravagant rose and camellia garden.  Four of the five of us were in our respective universities while he planted 100 different varieties of roses and got to know local horticulturists who helped him decide to grow different varietals of camellias, which were in bloom in November 2015 when I just visited my Mother on the 12th anniversary of his death. The yard work that needed to be done, he did it himself. Here he is pictured some time in the 80's by my youngest brother Bill, methodically cutting down a pine tree in the back yard. He nailed cut pieces of board in the tree to create a ladder and then tied himself to the tree while he sawed of limbs. Dad always had a detailed plan which he executed as carefully as he could.

Using "dead reckoning" from where I was "standing" when my father passed away 12 years ago to determine where I am "standing" now, I can say that TIME softens and clouds the past. The photo above expresses the way my understanding of my Father has shifted, softened, and grown fuzzy since his death. I can state assuredly that my love for my Father has grown and deepened.

Dropping away throughout the years since his death is the agony resulting from the many conflicts we had because of our differences, or was it because of our similarities? My mother often told me that we two were alike and called me the "Apple of his eye." I'm told my blue eyes are like his.

Oh Dad! I remember you being the one to anchor me in what life was and how to go about comprehending it. The year I was in seventh grade and struggling with understanding Robert Frost's poem, "Mending Wall," you came home from your military job at Fort Belvoir and sat with me as we worked the poem's meaning out line-by-line. We had grown up with you reading poetry to all five of us kids and requiring us for a while to memorize poems to receive our allowance. When we were in high school, there were the dinners that we were asked to bring an article to the table and explain it to everyone. You loved literature and opera. I remember the times you and I sat listening to Madame Butterfly and discussed what the songs were expressing. We even had a book that explained the various opera plots.

Your great appreciation of ideas and beauty merged with your fondness for the outdoors, teaching us to shoot bows and arrows, as well as BB guns and air pellet pistols. I grew up fishing from your various boats. After we moved from McLean, Virginia, to Ft. Benning, Georgia, you bought the property on the backwaters of the Chattahoochee and baptized it "The Get Away."  Our high school years were spent there with you canoeing, water skiing, and sailboating. You knew how to "get away" when you needed to and you brought us all with you to overnight in rustic trailers and ride mini bikes on the orange dirt roads. To this day, when I cross over the Chattahoochee heading from Georgia to Alabama, I remember our days on its banks and swimming in its murky waters. Thank you for those "get away" days.

Dad's been gone 12 years now, and with "dead reckoning," I am able to view him with even more awe from where I stand now then when he was alive. He didn't share much about his emotions, which I would have gladly dived into. So much of Edward R. Schowalter's life remains a mystery. I believe he suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, yet he was never diagnosed, so that interpretation remains mine in order that I might make sense of our life together. I imagine the "making sense" of who I am in relation to my father will continue for the rest of my life and the "dead reckoning" calculations will keep evolving over time.
  
This December (2015), I will have been married 11 years to my treasured Chiboogamoo (aka Tony Martin). The entirety of my one-and-only marriage has taken place in the absence of my father. Something to ponder. This beautiful challenging, charismatic man loomed so large in my life that I didn't even get serious about getting married until his life was almost over. I'm so glad that Dad had a chance to meet my husband, who asked him permission to marry me. Dad began given his acceptance with the words, "Well Son...."

SUMMER OF 2003. Dad didn't live to give me away at my wedding in December 2005, but he was asked by his good friend Jerry's fiance to give her away at their wedding. Dad spent weeks preparing what he was going to say so that he would remember it on the special day. Wheeling an oxygen tank down the aisle with one hand and the bride with the other, Dad achieved his goal eloquently. A year-and-a-half before his death and challenged by a lack of breath, vision, and memory, Dad persevered as he had always done in his life. You can see I was so proud of him.

THE COLONEL. I took this photo of my Father during an award ceremony at Ft. Benning, Georgia.  I thought dad looked so magnificent in his civilian clothes with his Medal of Honor, I had to capture this image. You can see my mother's skirt to his left, and I wish I had included her. When I look at Dad's large hands in this photo, I remember the comfort I always took in holding one of them. Mostly, the memories are from when I was a child. The last memory is the night before he died. I slept in a chair next to his bed and held his hand the entire night. Tears come to my eyes now as I think of that night. Time is a magnificent healer both in softening sorrow and mending hurts from conflicts and failures to understand.

In her book, A Field Guide to Getting Lost, Rebecca Solnit talks about two meanings for being "lost." One of them is about losing the familiar and the other is about the unfamiliar appearing. Significant deaths in our lives bring both. Here is how Solnit describes this process:

 "Imagine yourself streaming through time shedding gloves, umbrellas, wrenches, books, friends, homes, names. This is what the view looks like if you take a rear-facing seat on the train. Looking forward you constantly acquire moments of arrival, moments of realization, moments of discovery. The wind blows your hair back and you are greeted by what you have never seen before. The material falls away in onrushing experience. It peels off like skin from a molting snake."

LIFE IS FOR THE LIVING. This image is part of a series of work, "Hallelujah Life," that I am making to honor me, those in my life, the world, and all those who have past. This one is for you Dad! (Art by Hallelujah Truth, aka Ruth Schowalter)

That's Coffee with Hallelujah! SOUL BLOG with me. What do you have to share about your "Dead Reckonings"?

Of course to forget the past is to lose the sense of loss that is also memory of an absent richness and a set of clues to navigate the present by; the art is not one of forgetting but letting go. And when everything else is gone, you can be rich in loss. --Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

Thanks to Pat Martin, my brother-in-law for putting roses on my Father's grave this past November 2015. 

If you want to read more about my memories of my father and me, visit this blog, "Odyssey to Ft. Benning, Georgia, to remember and honor my father." 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD: YOUR HEROISM IS A LEGACY

MY FATHER REMEMBERED. (photo by Lynn Schowalter Schreiner)

Hallelujah for our fathers and the legacies they leave us. Although my father, Edward R. Schowalter, died nine years ago, his heroism lives on, not to mention a daughter's love--mine--Hallelujah's!

Today, Christmas Eve, is his birthday, and he would have been 85. Just three days ago, his memory was honored at Ft. Benning, Georgia, when they named a building after him that is serving the purpose of training military leaders. It has been named "Schowalter Hall."

MY PROUD MOTHER.  My mother attended the dedication ceremony of Schowalter Hall along with my sister Lynn, her husband, George, brothers Bill and Ned, and his daughter Katherine. (photo by Lynn Schowalter Schreiner)

The heroism my father displayed during his military career won him many medals, among them being the Congressional Medal of Honor, the highest award a soldier can receive.

LOOKING TO THE PAST AND FUTURE. My brother Ned who is named after my father and an army Colonel, sits next to my mother at the dedication ceremony.(photo by Lynn Schowalter Schreiner)

I grew up the daughter of a war hero. It was a life filled with honor and a strong love of country. Peering into the future, I ask myself what is the legacy of heroism my father left to me. 

I know one answer: I must live my life with courage as he did.

That's Coffee with Hallelujah! Happy Birthday Dad! You are remembered.

2012 VETERANS DAY: THANKS DAD AND EVERYONE ELSE WHO HAS SERVED OUR COUNTRY!

HALLELUJAH FOR VETERANS, thank you for serving our country! Not a Veteran's Day can go by without my revering my father and the courage he exhibited while he served in the United States Army.

MEDAL OF HONOR HOLDER. I took this photo of my father at a parade some time in the 1980s. He was retired and living in Auburn, Alabama, with my mother. I was in graduate school at Auburn University working on a master's in literature and dating a soldier at Ft. Benning, Georgia. When he had finished the Ranger training course, there was a parade in acknowledgment of his accomplishment. My father accompanied me for the celebration. I loved it that he could put on that beautiful Congressional Medal of Honor. We were always so proud of him! This is not an easy medal to earn and few soldiers have been awarded it. Read here the description of my father's brave actions that resulted in his being honored with this prestigious and rare award.

ANOTHER PARADE FIELD BEFORE DAD LEFT FOR VIETNAM. Here we are in 1967 with my father some time before he departed for Vietnam. This photo was taken at Ft. Bragg, North Carolina, where we lived for two years. I am dressed up in my sailor dress. My older sister took this picture of us post parade. Dad often had a hoarse voice after these occasions from shouting commands at his soldiers. 

WITH MY VETERAN. Taken with Daddy in 1963 at Ft. Benning, Georiga. I grew up on military bases. But my childhood was like most kids. We spent many afternoons outside fixing boats, washing the dog, taking care of the lawn, and playing various games. I was definitely a Daddy's girl as you can see in this photo, and my Dad was a soldier who participated in 3 wars: World War II  when he was 17; Korean Conflict when he was in his early 20's; and the Vietnam War when he was well into his 30's.

WOUNDED IN VIETNAM. This is a photo of my dad in 1968 after he had been wounded (He is sitting on the stairs behind the children on the right). Recently my siblings and I recounted what the moment was like when we had a jeep appear in front of our house in Fayetteville, North Carolina, where we had moved from Fort Bragg, while Dad served a tour of duty in Vietnam. No one wanted a jeep with a soldier and a pastor to come knockin' at their door! Some of us remember it as raining or night time. Was it really afternoon? I can't tell you for sure. But it was awful to get the news that he had been wounded although we certainly rejoiced that he had not been killed. I was in fourth grade! After he came home and recovered, we moved to Virginia, so he could serve at the Pentagon! 

Life is such an incredible journey! As I remember my father along with other veterans in the month of November, I also bump into the anniversary of his death. It is hard to believe that he has been gone nine years now. He passed away on November 21, 2003. I will always treasure him and the life that he gave me as an ARMY BRAT. Thank you Dad! With much love, your daughter, Ruth (aka Hallelujah Truth).

MECHANIC VETERAN FATHER.  My father never quit, never gave up, never stopped until the object of his attention was fixed. The fixing may not have attained perfection or expectation (of the daughter), but he found solutions to whatever he was working on even if it took days, numerous ruminations, and many failed attempts. My father was a passionate man. The photo you see here was taken by me, the daughter. He managed to keep my cars running whether it was the 1969 Volkswagen Bug or this 1979 Toyota Celica. Look at him peering at me the daughter! Yes, he would make this car run for me! When my father died, I lost my fiercest advocate. We bucked heads on many issues, but this brave and passionate man was always going to take care of me, no matter what!

If you would like to learn more about my father, his memory was honored recently in the town he retired to after his military career. Auburn, Alabama, presented this short video on its 14th Annual Mayor's Memorial Day Breakfast in 2012.