Not Abandoned or Lacking

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want

“Abandoned” by Carl Gethmann

Our neighbor passed away recently, and as he didn't have family, we became family.

I wrote and spoke this at his funeral.

My first few interactions with Carl Gethmann set the tone for our relationship. When I was moving stuff into our new home next to them six years ago, he was sitting on the porch and with a twinkle in his eye, he cracked a joke about how much more stuff could I get out of my Volkswagen Beetle. That moment was the gateway to seeing beneath the “No Trespassing” sign hanging from their porch and his tough German exterior.

He reminded me so much of my German-Polish Bumpa (grandfather) and so I started to interact with him like I would if Bumpa was still here - straight-forward with a side of humor. Mr. Carl would feed the neighborhood cats and call them “Little Sweetie” and in the next breath curse up a blue streak about some injustice he felt had happened. We had a lot of conversations about books, politics, and traveling. I could now tell you about Shroedinger’s Cat despite knowing absolutely nothing about quantum mechanics and super position. He loved to regale with tales about how he met Rita, the Navy, the time they spent living it up in London, and other life experiences.

He was a Creative to his core. An accomplished digital artist, if you google “Carl Gethmann art” you can see some of his beautiful nature scenes, many of which take a stained glass slant. He was a writer and author, writing about the history of St. Mary’s Church and writing long emails and letters full of his thoughts and opinions on a variety of topics, and let’s not forget about the 7-page letter to Governor Wolf about the Covid shut-downs.

For 65 years, it was Carl and Rita against the world - “We didn’t need anyone else,” he would often remark to me. He would buy her a croissant and hot tea at Dunkin Donuts every morning, and she would worry about him when he stayed out too late reading at Barnes and Noble. They would go to Yellow House on Sundays for brunch and Espositos and Judy’s on Cherry, creating their own community.

When you adopt people into your family, they begin to start celebrating holidays with you. One Easter we pulled out all the tables we could find and invited a bunch of our neighbors over. I don’t remember what I cooked that day, but I remember the joy around the table as we chatted and talked. At birthdays, he got dessert and ice cream too, and I made sure that at Christmas, he’d get a mincemeat pie!

For the year that Rita was in a nursing home, Mr. Carl got there nearly every day. His proudest accomplishment during that time was when a nurse told him, “I told my husband about you and how you visit your wife every single day, and I told him that the bar was high for him to do the same for me when I’m older!”

After Ms. Rita passed away, he was truly heartbroken. The most heartbreaking days were the ones where he was confused and he would come out on the porch and say, “Where is my wife? She’s dead, isn’t she?” and I would have to gently say all over again that “Yes, Ms. Rita isn’t here anymore” and he would put his head in his hands and weep.

Mr. Carl’s cantankerous personality certainly mellowed over the years I’ve known him. He’d sit on the porch and read, happily listening to my kids and the other neighborhood kids playing in his lush grass yard or coloring his bricks a rainbow of muted chalk colors. Instead of complaining about the neighborhood, he started to complain if the kids weren’t outside. One day I came home to find him sitting on his brick wall, confused and semi-shaken. “I walked outside, and there was no one out. No kids. No people walking by. I thought everyone was gone!” I had to chuckle and tell him, “Don’t worry, we haven’t been raptured up. I’ve just been running errands.” He would sit on the porch and one time, even joined in on an American Trivia game Luis and I were playing (I won, in case you were wondering.)

My daughters learned to make a place for him in our lives. Jael would color pictures of rainbows and pick him flowers to keep. Lucia would run to clear off one of our yellow chairs and pull it closer for him to sit as he shuffled into the house to chat or ask for a favor. A few months ago, he told me, “Rita and I never had children. But now, I wish we would have had them because I see what a joy young children are.”

And man, I wish you could hear his wheezing laugh the day I told him about a funny cartoon I had seen. It was of a man with an “I love cats” shirt surrounded by cats and all around him were sitting nuns and a priest. It was titled “Catholic Meeting…5 Minutes in, Colin realized he had mis-read the sign.” If that didn’t describe Mr. Carl - a cat-holic and a devout Roman Catholic.

Today we say an earthly good-bye to our friend, Mr. Carl. Heine St. isn’t the same without him and I sure hope he’s getting to drink cappuccinos with Jesus. And if you aren’t right with the Lord, come talk to me. We are not promised tomorrow.

Mr. Carl looking just like Carl from the movie “Up”

---

I also wrote this for my Instagram, reflecting on the day post-funeral.

Mass & Motherhood

Alternating between
     Nursing the baby and sharing memories
   Stained glass windows and scribbles
     Sacrament and shushing

Answering questions on
     Cremation and caskets
   Lunchtime and plans
     Protestants and Catholics

I repeat the words of Psalm 23 during the Mass
     "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want."

 The words become a breath prayer in my day post-funeral -- 
   Through flat tires, "The Lord is my shepherd..."
   grocery shopping, "...I shall not want."
   Mothering, "The Lord is my shepherd..."
   Resting, "...I shall not want."

Maybe my pew is a mess,
And I have to nurse a baby in the middle,
And I can't participate in the Eucharist because I'm not Catholic

But,
Holy Communion is in the remembrance of
    the taking
    the blessing
    the breaking
    the sharing

And as I mother
    I take up the challenge
    I bless my children
    I break my selfishness
    I share the Spirit.

“Evening” by Carl Gethmann