Quiet Time in NJ

Playing Patty Cake with Dziadziu

My wife and I went to visit our grandkids over the weekend last February. It is always a wonderful, crazy, busy time. My grandson is three years old, and his sister is seven months old. During the day, there is nonstop activity. The early morning may be the only quiet time.  

I was up at about five o'clock this morning. The house was dark and nearly silent.  The only sound was the hum of white-noise generators in the kids' rooms coming over the baby monitor speaker and the occasional sound of the furnace engaging.

Often, I would have been outside running around the lake at this time, or at least preparing to run as I awaited the first light of dawn.  This morning was rainy and cold, though, and I told myself that running in less-than-familiar places in the rain while snow still covered the ground might be dangerous.  The sensibility of this decision was demonstrated when I snuck out to pick up some coffee and fresh bagels.  I discovered that the front walk was ice-covered with a thin veneer of rainwater on top.  I took a single step onto that surface, and my shoes had no chance to grip; in a split second, I found myself on my back, looking up at the sky. I laid there for a moment, doing a quick inventory of joints and bones before I rolled off the pavement onto the grass, where I could regain my footing and maybe a little pride.  Fortunately, there was no injury and no audience for this slapstick routine at that hour of the morning.

I continued on my quest and returned to the house just as quietly but a little more carefully with 13 bagels and a cup of Dunkin Donuts Coffee. On my return, I circumnavigated the front walk, realizing now how treacherous and invisible any ice spots would be.  That was when I officially waved off my morning run.

I got settled on the couch with my hot coffee and toasted bagel. I sat in the dark, quiet, comfortable house, recharging my batteries for the day ahead.  I thought about the games we'd play, books we'd read, and musical instruments of all sorts to play and pretend.  I admire my grandson's current and recurring fascination with musical instruments.  I reinforce it whenever the opportunity allows.  I was also looking forward to both the rough-housing and tender cuddle moments.   My granddaughter, still not quite mobile, observes all the activity with a keen eye on how her big brother manages to move so constantly.  She will be chasing him around very soon, I'm sure.

As I sat and absorbed the quiet calm of this early morning, sipping my coffee and working on various essays and journals, there was a disturbance in the force.  I heard my granddaughter begin to make noise in the next room.  She wined quietly and made a short little cry, and then the quiet returned, but not for long.  She repeated this sequence a couple of times, so I looked at the monitor and saw her rolling around in the crib from one side to the other, stopping to make it clear that she desired a change in her circumstances.  The rest of the house was still sleeping, so I went to her room and lifted her out of the crib before she got frustrated and released that ear-piercing scream, which cannot be ignored and would undoubtedly summon Mom and Dad.

Standing there by the crib, I held her to my chest, and she snuggled under my chin, but she noticed the unfamiliar whiskers tickling the top of her head.  She leaned back and looked up at me in the dim night light of the nursery. Her eyes open wide with wonder. She reached up and tried to grab my beard, but, unlike her dad, mine was too tightly trimmed to grasp, even with her tiny fingers.  The process of running her fingers across my beard calmed her, though, and she dropped her head again and snuggled under my chin with more purpose; her little body so warm, soft, and cuddly, clad in dainty, pink, footy pajamas.  She seemed resolved to cuddle up with her Dziadziu (Grandpa) and go back to sleep.  This moment was pure bliss.

I looked at my watch and remembered my son's instructions that if she woke after 6:30am, she should be up for the day.  It was 6:35am, so we headed into the living room to find a book, and she became a little more alert.  I selected a book with 100 baby words/pictures.  We sat on the couch. She snuggled into the crook of my arm, resting quietly on my lap, reaching out to explore random pictures with her fingers and occasionally yawning, which always ended with a quiet squeak.  We leisurely explored pictures, and my heart overflowed.  Occasionally, she glanced up at my face and reached back, continuing valiantly to try to capture my beard in her tiny fingers. She never succeeded but seemed reassured by the feeling of running her hand through my beard, and then she returned her attention to the colorful pictures in the book.  These moments are etched on my soul.

I whispered the name of each picture, trying not to disturb this quiet, predawn cuddle time. She smiled at some words and explored the book through a gentle touch or a taste of its corner when she could manage it. When she began to fidget a little, we decided a diaper change was a good course of action.  We had just gotten to the changing table when my son appeared from around the corner with a bottle of milk in hand, just in time to do the honors.  My granddaughter's face lit up in recognition of Dad and food. Babaci (grandma) was up now, too, and relieved my son of the bottle and the morning feeding responsibility, so he moved on to my grandson's bedroom to wake him for the day while his Mom prepared some toddler-friendly breakfast in the kitchen.  

That is how the day began, and I would have it no other way.

Rest in Peace, Mom and Dad

My mom passed away in October of 2020 during the COVID-19 epidemic.  We didn't have the opportunity to have a funeral.  Dad passed away on February 6, 2025.  We were able to perform a funeral for both of them at the same time.  That was important for me to achieve the closure I needed.  What I've recorded below is the eulogy I wrote for their funeral modified to be read rather than spoken.  I put it out here for others to look at if they cared to learn just a little more about my parents.  tldr; I have had the benefit in my life of standing on the shoulders of giants.

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Anyone who knew my parents has stories to tell.  I will tell their stories for the rest of my life to my children and grandchildren. I will be telling my Dad’s story because it is instructive and, frankly, inspiring. I will be telling my Mom’s story because it exemplifies perseverance, faith, and love. I will be telling the story of their 63-year marriage because it illustrates mutual respect, unconditional love, partnership, and faith in God. Things I want to model in my marriage.

There would never be enough time to write about everything I’d like to, so I’ll just mention a few things that might give those who didn’t have the privilege to know my parents well a sense of who they were.  For the rest of us, maybe this will rekindle our own fond memories of Don and Lois, Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa. 

From the beginning of his life with my mom, Dad was a man on a mission. He was determined to make a comfortable life for his family. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he wasn't afraid of hard work and sacrifice to achieve his goals.  I have several letters he wrote Mom when they were apart in the early years of their marriage.  In one letter, he says, “Please don’t worry. I know we’re broke. We’ve been broke before. We’ll get through this, and I promise that someday we won’t worry about money.” (spoiler alert; he kept that promise).   

I never got a chance to ask him how that worked out for him, telling Mom not to worry.   One of my mom’s sayings was, “You can’t tell me that worrying does no good because the things I worry about never happen.” 

Mom dealt with worry through prayer and she probably wore out a set of rosary beads on just me.  In response to most of our complaints, from brussel sprouts for dinner to heartache associated with a high school breakup, Mom would suggest that we “...offer it up for the greater honor and glory of God”.   There were a lot of offerings from the Limer household over the years…

While Mom handled worry with prayer, Dad approached life with a quiet determination. Dad didn’t like to talk about his life story. I think he felt it was boasting, but I feel he had every right to.  His life was a testament to the modern American success story.  A lot of the details are in his obituary.  But he told me that one of his proudest moments was walking on the campus of Wayne State University, realizing that his life was moving in a new and positive direction and that he hardly believed it was happening at the age of 36.

Dad seldom lectured.  He asked simple questions and suggested a course of action.  When I was in college, I would call home to tell him and Mom that the sky was falling and I was never going to be able to get everything done. Dad would simply ask, “When was the last time you had a steak dinner?” As a college student, it had usually been a while.  He would tell me to go get a good steak dinner, which he would pay for, and then call back.  He was right; things always seemed better after a hearty meal.

Mom was an intelligent, welcoming, warm person.  Growing up, she was frustrated when she was actively discouraged from taking the math and science course in high school.  She took them anyway,  HomeEc she could learn at home.  Years later, when she was managing Dad’s office, I was teasing her about a printer problem they were having.  She didn’t get upset with my teasing; she signed up for some computer classes at the local community college, and she did well.

They were both musicians; Dad’s primary instrument was the trumpet and Mom’s the piano. I remember my Dad putting on a recording of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass for our bedtime music.  They felt music was an essential part of our education, so we all learned to play one or more instruments with varying degrees of success. The first piano we had in the house was an old upright that we hauled out of the neighbor’s basement.  I was about 8 years old, and it fascinated me.  Every house we moved into after that seemed to come with an upgraded piano until we finally had a baby grand in the living room.

Mom and Dad’s marriage was amazing to me in retrospect. Their strengths and weaknesses complemented each other.  I’m sure they argued; we all do, but it was never in front of us kids.  And when a decision was made, there was no chance to go ask Dad if Mom said “no”.  I know this because I tried it, and it didn’t work go well.

They were true partners in the very best sense of the word.  They leaned on each other, shared the tough times, and rejoiced together in the good times.  They recognized the blessing of their partnership and leaned on their faith in God to navigate life's challenges together. Dad told me of a night when they first opened the law practice where they went to bed and held each other tight because there was no money, and they prayed. I can only say that the results speak for themselves.

Mom and Dad loved hosting celebrations. Graduations, weddings, birthdays, visits from children, and the sun rising in the morning were all reasons to celebrate. Yes, they even taught me that funerals were a time to celebrate a life well lived and the return of someone to God’s presence.  Mom was a gracious hostess, and Dad was great at making conversation.

The point I am making is that my parents seemed to complete each other.  Between the two of them, there was nothing they couldn’t handle.  I think each of us children tested this assertion in many and varied ways (except me, of course).  Mom and Dad were always there to help, provide advice or simply make us feel understood.

Mom's urn is on the left, and Dad's on the right.

I think I’ll summarize what my parents were like with this short story Dave told me.  A friend of his happened to notice a picture of Mom and Dad on their mantel and said they looked like friendly people, the kind of people who would invite you to have coffee and cake.  It was a well-intentioned compliment and lovely to hear, but Dave felt the need to explain that they were also the kind of people that, if you showed up after 1pm, would offer you a martini on the patio, engage you in wonderful conversation and to insist that you stay for dinner.  Dad would throw a couple steaks on the grill.  For dessert, they'd offer vanilla ice cream with homemade chocolate sauce (Grandma’s recipe) and coffee, generally finishing up with a small glass of of B&B (Brandy & Benedictine) and they’d send you home with leftovers.  That’s the kind of couple they were.  

Mom would tell me that Dad would give anyone the shirt off his back (usually after he just had).  Though she said it is an exasperated way, I always understood it to be a compliment and a character trait she was proud of and hoped was emulated by her children.

Though I feel a keen sense of loss that they are gone from this life, my faith tells me that they are together again for eternity.  The legacy they have left us, the lessons they have taught us, and the example they provided us will echo for generations to come. That is a reason to celebrate.

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Obituary for Donald "Don" Edwin Limer 1936 - 2025

Donald “Don” Edwin Limer, 88, of Traverse City and formerly of Detroit and Milwaukee, passed away Thursday, February 6, 2025, with loving family at his side.

Don was born March 6, 1936, in McLean, Illinois, to the late William “Buck” Robert and Mary Irene (Powell) Limer. He left farm work behind and served his country in the United States Air Force from 1956 through 1959, working as a control operator at the 676th radar squadron of the Antigo Air Force Station in WI. It was here he met the love of his life, the late Lois Regina McPhail. On September 28, 1957, Don and Lois married and began a loving partnership for 63 years.

After leaving the military, Don worked a number of different positions in the insurance industry, from sales to claims adjuster. In 1971, with encouragement from his wife, Don began a journey to get his college and law degrees at night while continuing to work full-time and raise five children. After graduating from the Detroit College of Law in 1975 he embarked on a distinguished career as an attorney, opening a successful practice in the Detroit area helping plaintiffs obtain workers’ compensation they had been denied.

In April 1997, after 22 years as an attorney, Don moved on to a position as a federal administrative law judge for the Social Security Administration until his retirement. He served in Detroit MI, Long Beach CA, and finally in Milwaukee WI. Don was well known for his fairness, wisdom, and ability to comfort and uplift those around him.

In their spare time, Don and Lois shared a passion for woodworking, particularly carving decoy ducks, music stands, clocks, and cradles for their grandchildren. His love for craftsmanship and attention to detail was evident in everything he did.

Don is survived by his brother Duncan Limer and sister Teddi Wheeler and by his beloved children, David (Mary) Limer, Cheryl Miller, Timothy (Barbara) Limer, Daniel (Bonnie) Limer, and Jonathan Limer, as well as twelve cherished grandchildren and three great-grandchildren.

He is preceded in death by his parents, three brothers, his wife Lois, and his son-in-law Jeff Miller.

A Mass of Christian Burial will take place at 11am at Saint Francis Catholic Church on Wednesday, February 19, 2025 with a visitation starting at 10am. A Rite of Committal will be held at Southern Wisconsin Veterans Memorial Cemetery later in the year.

Memorial contributions may be directed to a charity of one’s choice in Don’s honor. Kindly share thoughts and memories with Don’s family at www.reynolds-jonkhoff.com.

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Obituary of Lois Regina Limer  1936 - 2020

Lois R. Limer passed away peacefully in the presence of family at the age of 84.

She is survived by Donald, her husband of 63 years; her sister Sharon (Raymond Hoffman); her five children David (Mary), Cheryl (Jeff Miller), Timothy (Barb), Daniel (Bonnie), and Jonathan. She had a deep and abiding love for her 11 grandchildren and her many nieces and nephews, and will be sorely missed by all.

Lois was a devoted wife and mother who also supported Don throughout his college and law school years, managed the law office for his private practice and then supported him throughout his judicial career. She enjoyed gardening, and the roses and orchids she grew were the envy of many. According to the local deer population, her hosta plants were the tastiest in the area.

A celebration of her life will be held when it is safe to do so. In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to the St. Vincent De Paul Society. A guest book for the family will be located on the Becker Ritter Funeral Home website Tribute page.