Begin a New Beginning

Our father was cared for and loved by the staff at Hospice Serenity House in Tomah, WI, for the last few months of his life. They made sure bird feeders were kept full outside of his window, that his favorite music played all day, and that cards and mementos of his life were within his view. I visited my dad on his 87th birthday, just a week and a day before he died. We watched the wildlife outside of his window, talked about life in Trempealeau and days gone by, and chit-chatted with staff members as they came into his room to make sure he had everything he needed to feel comfortable. Even the staff cleaning his room were full of a kindness and love one could only hope to be immersed in at the end of life. I am grateful that good people exist everywhere, especially for my dad during a time when I could not be one of those kind, loving, present people in his life.

One week after his birthday visit, I was literally packing up the car to leave for the Serenity House when we received a call that Dad had severely declined and that if we wanted to say in-person goodbyes, we should come that day. Ma and I arrived in the early afternoon and one of my brothers joined us a little later. I have never sat vigil at someone's bedside as they neared the end of this earthly life. Dad was sleeping, experiencing severe apnea, so we watched and waited with each breath to see if it was indeed his last. We witnessed Dad reach his arms out several times, grasping at something unseen in the room just above him. He was mostly asleep and non-verbal, but he did moan once that he could hear us.

We did it all that day, the three of us, and Dad listening as he did the work of letting go of this life. We prayed, we cried, we laughed, we sang, and just talked on and off throughout the evening. We held Dad's hands and told him it was okay to let go, that Ma was well cared for, and everything else was in order. I truly thought Dad would pass while we were there, and I think we each hoped for that moment to come when we could be by his side. Within the first few minutes of sitting next to him when we arrived, Ma said "I'm staying here. No one should die alone like this." I was prepared to do the right thing, but along with praying for my dad's smooth transition out of this life, I prayed for a miracle that would spare Ma and me from spending a sleepless night listening for his last breath.

And what a miracle we were given! Somewhere around 9pm, weary from the day's big emotions, we decided it was time to go home, and Ma decided she wanted to go home too. Dad didn't respond when my brother said his goodbyes to him. Before I could say farewell to my dad, our mother shooed us out of the room with a wave of her hands, commanding, "Now you two get out of here! I need privacy to say goodbye to your father!" 

My brother and I stared at each other for a second, then did what any curious kids would do, and stood outside of the partially open door and listened intently as our parents exchanged a beautiful goodbye. Dad became conscious for a few moments, long enough for the two of them to have a brief conversation filled with love and reverence about his departure and their lives together. I can't remember all the words exchanged, but I heard Ma distinctly, "You're my guy, Larry!" before they shared their last kiss. And so he was, just as she was his girl for over 66 years. 

The peace and gratitude I felt at that moment cannot be described. One of the few things I've carried in my heart from my Catholic upbringing is the belief in miracles. I have witnessed a few, and this was certainly one of them. After Ma and my brother had left the room, I went over to Dad, I took his hand in mine, bent down, and whispered the last words I would speak to him in this life: 

"I love you, Dad. 

I forgive you, Dad. 

I'm sorry, Dad. 

Thank you, Dad. 

It's ok, you're safe to go now, Dad."

My brother arrived back at Serenity House just after Dad had passed away on the following night, October 3, 2023. He gathered Dad's belongings and began all the doing family does when one of their own passes. I thought I might be there when Dad left this planet, and I thought for sure I would feel his departure, but neither came to pass. I think I didn't feel Dad leave the planet the day he died because he had only left his body, his spirit still remained.

He came to me in a dream on All Hallows Eve, with a wave and a sheepish look that said, "Hey, I'm still here, can you see me, will you let me in?" Outside of that dream, I don't see my dad, but I feel him. I feel him wanting someone to take him by the hand and tell him it's ok, you are loved beyond words, and it's time to come home. I feel him still afraid that he won't be allowed into the light, a light he was so desperately drawn to within my mother especially, but just could not participate in for long periods because of his own darkness. My dad and I had a tough time together in this life, but I know he loved me. And as soon as he can walk into that light, he'll know I have always loved him too, even when I was too hurt to show it anymore.

I had the chance to honor Dad on my own, in my shop on a recent random afternoon this December. I gathered the materials and intentions required for the occasion and queued up a song. Once I lit the candle, I let the music move me. I spoke to my dad and I cried tears of grief and joy, love and sorrow, regret and hope. I cried for things and people who are no longer a part of my life, as well as for those walking with me today. I cried for the life and love I never had as a child, and that my father never had either. And then I cried with gratitude and awe of myself. For my courage and dedication to the healing I have done so my children will never have to cry the same kind of tears I have...and it was all so good.

The lovely caregivers at Serenity House honor each of their residents' transitions from this world to the next with a procession accompanied by music and a loving farewell by those on staff as the newly departed's body is moved out of the building. During the last few decades of his life, Dad's ears would perk up when he heard a song I was playing that he enjoyed. "Now, what is that?" he would ask. I was surprised to find that some of my dad's favorite songs were by 90's groups I listened to in my teenage years including The Cranberries, 4 Non Blondes, and especially Enya. I made him a few "mixed tapes" with some of his favorites. He had me buy every Enya album out at that time, which he played on repeat for years and years. I wasn't with Dad as he passed from this world, but if I had been DJ'ing his body's procession, this is the song I would have played, allowing it to carry his spirit as well as mine, as we both "begin a new beginning".

In Loving Memory of My Dad, Larry John Heffner

My Dark Night of the Soul Journey was necessary to reach where I am today. While I am still working through the residue of a lifetime of beliefs and behaviors that no longer serve me, I am so grateful to be the most authentic version of myself I have ever known. If you're curious, please join me at the beginning of this adventure of me. It has been a journey worth taking, for sure!

Trempealeau Mountain Music...Where It Really Began

Growing up, our ancestry was a prominent topic at family gatherings and in everyday conversations. My great-great-grandfather, Antoine Grignon, a half-Native American, half-white man, was an explorer, fur-trader, U.S. Army servant, documentarian, story-teller, adventurer, and was one of the first settlers in Trempealeau. He is of great importance in our family’s history. Until embarking on this passion project, Trempealeau Mountain Music, I thought he was the most important player in our history, with tremendous influence on his descendants and this place in which we are deeply rooted.

I was wrong! While Antoine Grignon certainly contributed to the people we are today, the individuals who have been the greatest influence in shaping who I am today are the women of my family. Story-tellers, musicians, survivors, joy-makers, hard workers, and even dreamers, the women of my family have carried heavy burdens, lightened by the camaraderie of music, stories, and laughter. I grew up with sing-alongs at every family gathering, stories of people I never met, but who meant a lot to me. I am grateful for the women of my family, my Ma especially. While I didn’t inherit her gifts as a musician, I did receive her love of music and story-telling, gifts I am grateful to share through the creation of Trempealeau Mountain Music: A Locally Curated, Universally Connected, Internet Radio Station. I can't wait to welcome TMM home to my place, in The Caboose at The Station, on Main Street in my hometown of Trempealeau, Wisconsin!

My Aunt Doris, a writer, reporter, photographer, singer, and all-around interesting lady, also very connected to our family’s history and legacy, has been a tremendous influence in my life and has provided the memories I needed to become the woman I am today. I was not around for many of the events in which our family’s memories were made, but are a huge piece of the fabric of my soul. I consider Aunt Doris my link to the truth of our family, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I am grateful for her following recollections of the “Shelterhouse Sing-Alongs”, which she and other women in our family created during the early 1970s. Even though I didn’t arrive Earth-side until 1978, some part of me was there with them then, and they remain with me as I gather the community of souls to bring Trempealeau Mountain Music to life now. Ma and Aunt Doris would say “God is so good”! I say thank you, from the bottom of my ever-lovin heart…I am so grateful for each and every one of you, the women, the leaders, of my family!

 

Shelterhouse Sing-Alongs

Recollections of Doris Deutsch

 Sometimes good things just happen without any planning. Dolorous Heffner, of Trempealeau, WI, loved to play her guitar so people could enjoy singing.  Pauline Kessler, also of Trempealeau, loved playing the piano so people could sing along.  But they didn’t have a place to join their talents and make music happen.

Around 1970, a strange thing happened. Doris Deutsch, Dolorous’s twin sister, decided to try operating the concession stand in the Shelterhouse at Perrot Park.  One evening Dolorous brought her guitar out to the park and they had fun singing with whoever stopped by.

This gave Dolorous an idea: With a piano, they could add cousin Pauline Kessler.  Good ideas come with good luck. Dolorous managed to exchange a portable dishwasher with a lady who had an upright she didn’t want, so now they had a piano! The next step was to get the piano to the park and that alone was “a small miracle”, Dolorous said.  They had a two-wheeled trailer that couldn’t stay balanced with the piano in the middle of it.  Took a long time, and many prayers, according to Dolorous, but it arrived at the Shelterhouse in good condition.

Then the third step was to find the sing-a-long slides and a projector.  Dolorous found a drive-through restaurant that was selling a set, so she bought them all, and a projector.  No one remembers the exact opening night, but it would have been about 7 p.m. on a Saturday in the summer of 1970.  The Saturday Shelterhouse Sing-Alongs became a favorite recreational event at Perrot Park.

The ladies took up a collection that paid for the slides, the occasional replacement projection bulb, and best of all, someone to tune the piano!  Pauline was not able to play in all keys because the piano had a few issues, but her talent on the keys made any shortcomings of the instrument unnoticeable!

Dolorous remembers the raucous laughter, the fun singing with many harmonizing, and the joy of families having fun long before hand-held screens separated them.  People came ready to share their own abilities, and their own musical instruments, including drums and a bagpipe - anything goes!  And go it did!  Carloads of people from the village came to join in the fun.

Shelterhouse Sing-Alongs on Saturday nights lasted from roughly 1970 to 1975, but five years is only a guess.  No one took notes or even photos, so there is no absolute correct account. This bit of remembrance embraces that time. A sing-along revival happened in the early 1990s when members of our California family spent the summers as "camp hosts" at Perrot State Park. Dolorous brought her same guitar, same amp, the projector, white sheet, and "shakey slides". Doris sang harmony and campers stopped in to sing-along or just listen. It was lovely in its own right, but not the same as the Shelterhouse days.

The trio, Doris, Dolorous, and Pauline share a common relative—Antoine Grignon, one of the earliest residents of Trempealeau, and a true Wisconsin historical figure.

So, here's our celebration of the future of Trempealeau Mountain Music at Perrot State Park! Please join us if you can, whether at our fundraiser show or at any stop down the tracks!