Riding The Wave – Multiple Myeloma

Mom, Col Powell, Marlene, Dad, Col Boggess, Jackie, Click to Enlarge

Always in my heart…

 

I can’t believe this week I’m coming up on 40 years since my father died in a T-38 accident at Beale AFB. I can’t say that it seems like yesterday anymore, though I could for many years. But I can say, it sure doesn’t seem like 40 years! It will be 10 years this year my mother passed away. Dave and I will be married 30 years this June and my youngest will graduate from college.

Life is full of such anniversaries and milestones for all of us. Each have a uniquely personal experience, and yet one that we understand others experience as well.

When I meet with friends whose elderly parents are still around and they spend holidays together, go shopping, etc., it’s easy to feel envious, but instead, I just adopt them and they become part of my family. Naturally when I hear my contemporaries “complain” about their parents, their responsibility toward them, I think, “emm, I wouldn’t mind having a little of that in my life if it meant I had my parents.” But I refrain. Each of us has our own reality and its not fair for me to impose mine on them. If appropriate I might lightly comment, but I understand. When I hear of friends whose parent’s health is dramatically failing, I think, “Sigh… I’ve been there, done that, and I’m relieved I’m done, and don’t envy the stress and pain they are going through.”

For many years after my father died, I felt sorry for myself. And many others felt sorry for me too and I just fed off that, in a very unproductive, big way. My teenage years were filled with all the usual crap but was compounded by my feeling pretty cheated. I can’t know if I would have liked my father as I headed into those difficult, “life sucks” years. He’s lucky in that way. In my mind, he is the best father, my best friend, young, handsome, perfect. My poor mother had to deal with being a widow at 33, her own grief and efforts to survive and two sullen budding teenage girls who didn’t care much really about her difficulties.

Jim Hudson & Norb Budzinski circa 1960's

Eventually when I came out of my pity party and viewed life more philosophically, I began to happily focus on all the things I did have, all that my father did give me, the lessons, the fun, the joy, his time. I also began to learn just how special he was in his profession and among his friends, family and colleagues. I didn’t know, I was just a kid, he was my Dad. I began to get the idea that it was totally fine to have his life celebrated whenever and as much as I felt like it. He was accomplished in all the ways that are honorable. Over the years I have enjoyed meeting up with his contemporaries and imagining how he would be at 76 years old. Their generosity in sharing funny stories with me about their escapades as young hot shot pilots in the Air Force in the 60s, flying the fastest plane in the world (SR-71, Blackbird). Their practical jokes on one another, too much drinking, getting in trouble with the commander, and being there for each other during crisis. Meeting up with my contemporaries and having them share with me how much they liked, admired, respected and were terrified of my father. He did have an “ethics presence” about him, even amongst his peers. You knew if he disapproved, and if you didn’t know, you curbed your behavior anyway to make sure you didn’t disappoint. I think it was part of his ploy, especially with the boys who would be hanging around.

He was a great leader. When flying B-52s in Bangor, Maine he arrived to the party late and was gifted with a crew that was at the bottom of each of their respective positions. The other pilots and crews ridiculed him for being stuck with the misfits. He managed to take them to the best in the squadron and all of “Eighth Air Force”. Which garnered him being selected for the SR program. I’m not surprised. I’m sure he gave his crew the same pep talk he gave me, “No such thing as ‘I can’t’.” Reminding them to keep trying and giving it their best effort. I learned years after he died, that many on the crew had every intention of doing their time and getting out, and instead, because of him, went on to have full, successful careers in the Air Force. He had a way about him, that made you want to try harder and when you were successful, he was your biggest cheerleader reminding you that he always knew you could do it.

The trick for me was to celebrate his life in a healthy way, to not feel or appear to be stuck in time. When I meet up with his cousins and they tell me that he taught them to swim, or how they idolized him as the “older cousin.”  I’m touched and enjoy that they feel that way about him. It confirms that it wasn’t just me he impacted so profoundly. It reminded me as I matured, how important it is to be upstanding, ethical, moral, unbiased in assessing life’s challenges and making pro-survival decisions for yourself and others. I strive to have a similar legacy in my own life and pass along these basics of life to my own children and those around me.

Each time I had my own milestone in life I would reflect about him, and now my mother. When I graduated HS, College, got married, had my children, he wasn’t there to share it with me. Each time I had a choice to make in how I would feel about that. I could be sad and feel cheated, again, or I could believe that he would be happy and proud. So many people in my life must have imagined that I would be having those moments and like angels they would extend themselves in some very personal ways. My grandfather proudly gave me away at my wedding. My mother who had taken my father’s wedding ring off and placed hers on his pinky, presented me with his ring to give to David when we married, with all of our initials inside. My cousin presented me before I walked down the grassy isle at the farm, a pen and ink drawing she had done from a photo of my father standing on Poplar Beach in Maine looking out at the ocean with a pipe hanging out of his mouth and his hands in his pockets, contemplative. Lockheed sent me a special squadron photo in 1985 (only nine in existence) after I spoke at a reunion about the SR family and how much they meant to me. I participated in the Gen. O’Malley honoring festivities in Pennsylvania in his home town. As a result I met old friends and new folks who flew after my father being honored to be seated at the “Lockheed Table”. Much to my surprise these pilots eyes popped when they heard my name and realized I was “Jim Hudson’s daughter”. Surprised they knew of him, I learned from them many things. One’s eyes filled with tears as he told me that when they come to Beale they learn of his accident and also “the man”. That he had over 2,000 hours in the T-38 and still couldn’t figure out how this tragedy occurred. It was a touching moment for me. Many times in my life people have gifted me with memories and mementos that I cherish. A reminder of how in more ways I am blessed than unlucky.

Much of all of this has helped me in dealing with Dave’s Myeloma. I don’t know what life will bring in the years to come, but I know that I have lived, I am happy, I have so much. That is what I choose to focus on and appreciate. It’s easy to feel sorry for ourselves, we’ve all done it. But we’ve lived long enough to know, it’s life. How we negotiate and manage these things in our lives is what defines us. So many from the famous to the acquaintances I have met, inspire me with their strength and courage to overcome tragedies and challenges in their life. To carry on and to eventually find joy and laughter in the memories they shared with those they loved and lost. I have had great mentors.