(This post was done on behalf of ROBERT and MARGARITA PHELPS -show them some love by commenting on it to them!)
We need as many signatures as possible before Sunday, please help our cause! This petition on change.org is titled "PEACE, FREEDOM, AND DEMOCRATIC CHANGES IN MACEDONIA!" For more information and to sign the petition please click HERE!
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Are you ready for the next Phelps family reunion? They aren't cheap, especially with a family our size, so to help fill the family reunion fund you can purchase a very cool t-shirt -but you have to act fast because this fundraising campaign is only open until June 8th, 2015! Show your Phelps pride and help raise a little money to help us cover food and fun whenever we have our next family reunion! That's a win, win!
To purchase your t-shirt please click here! Oh and please share the link to our Booster page with every Phelps you know! (This post was done on behalf of AMBER PHELPS and MICHELLE MCAULIFFE in remembrance of DONALD PHELPS -show them some love by commenting on it to them!)
This was found and it was our desire to share it with the family -it's a handwritten note from Don to the God he believed in. May it fill you with joy more than sorrow and may you always hold wonderful memories of Don with you always. (This post was done on behalf of ROBERT PHELPS -show him some love by commenting on it to him!) Good morning/afternoon, I am Robert, number nine of the Phelps family. As I sat down to gather my thoughts I found myself wondering where to begin. Which place in time can I find that could somehow define my Dad? Is it even possible? The more I thought the more I realized that time would not permit a full account of his eighty years. So today, I will try to stick to the highlights, as I know them. He shared his birthday with Lee majors, Roy Orbison, Shirley Temple, even William Shakespeare. My dad didn’t rise to the level of fame as these folks. He enjoyed and preferred a simple life, no complications. Did I mention he had 10 children? Even though I was there, I still cannot imagine what that would be like. Before my dad met my Mom, he was a little on the wild side. Sorry, I can’t tell you any stories, they are well guarded family secrets. After he married my Mom he changed his ways, settling down and began to raise children. One after another. From 1950 to 1965 my parents welcomed 10 kids into the world, 5 boys and 5 girls. My dad was a professional truck driver. Due to the size of our family he would also take on extra work in his spare time. He could do just about anything, from welding to fixing cars, plumbing to electrics. He was truly a “Jack of all trades! I remember helping him change water pumps or sand points for the cabin owners at the lake. I would be the laborer, following instructions, and would usually end up with the dirty work. I never minded though. Each time we went out, I would watch and learn. My dad was one of those people who would literally give you the shirt off his back. He was always there, for anyone. All you had to do was ask. He always went out of his way for people, without a second thought. After my mom passed away, I did not know what my Dad was going to do. They were partners and best friends at the same time. I never heard a word spoken in anger between them. They were soul mates. At her funeral my dad was hurting so badly, I just wanted to hold him, but I didn’t. He was more of a John Wayne type, rugged and tough, seldom showing his inner emotions. I believe now that my Mom left him strict instructions... “Live your life to the full, do the things that you have always wanted, be happy!” I can almost hear her telling him. My dad always listened to my Mom, so soon after she had gone, he took early retirement. He started fishing and hunting again and was busier than ever with more projects than I can remember. He even learned to use the computer. Becoming an E-Bay commando! He always found the practical side of things. In the last 25 years I have wandered the world, first in the service, then settling in London. I always looked forward to coming home to Side Lake, fishing with my Dad. The nights before traveling I would seldom sleep from the excitement, kind of like Christmas Eve. The one constant for me has been my weekly phone call to my Dad. He would fill me in on virtually everything that had happened each week, every project, family updates and of course the bits of gossip. He was also always available for advice, like my own personal “phone a friend”. I called him on many occasions before I would take on my own projects, with pen in hand I would tap into his vast knowledge of virtually everything. Even recipes, how many of you were lucky enough to try his famous mayonnaise cake? (Raise hand). During this time he faced many adversities. He lost his son, Donald. My brother Donald was killed for no apparent reason and to this day I don’t understand why. His brothers, Gerald and Delbert, his sister Thalia, aunt Delcie and many of his dear friends all left him. I would like to believe that Mom’s words from so many years ago, echoing through time, had helped him through these tough times, giving him strength. It is in these 25 years that I have grown to understand my Dad, our relationship had changed, and we were no longer just father and son, but friends. This was the period that he made me so proud. He Rose above the worst adversity anyone should have to face. It wasn’t easy for him, and it never showed. He carried on. In his sixties he decided to design and build himself a house on the river. He did most of the work himself. In this house the kitchen would be the focal point. Starbucks had nothing on my Dad. Around his kitchen table coffee would be served and conversations of every imaginable topic would be had. The western channel would be a permanent reminder that Dad was living his life exactly as he wanted. On his doorstep lay an invisible welcome mat that read “All Welcome”! The coffee shop on the County road is now closing its doors, but the legacy will live on, in all of us who have been fortunate enough to know and love my Dad. I will dearly miss my weekly updates! In closing, let me say that my Dad is now re-united with my Mom, never to be parted again. As we miss him here on earth, let us remind ourselves that he lived a full and enriching life. He would want us to carry on, live our lives to the fullest, and be happy, just as he did. My family would like to thank you all for your kind support and also invite you for a reception at the Riverside INN. There will be food and drinks. Maybe you would prefer a coffee and a chat? In the tradition of my Dad, You are ALL WELCOME! I received the call at 13:29pm. It was Saturday the 23rd of January. At the time I was re-doing some plumbing in my upstairs bathroom. As I checked the caller ID I realized that it was my brother Joe. My heart sank. Joe would usually call me from a private number. This call came from his land line, direct. I don’t know why, but I answered with a cheery “Rapid repairs”! His tone of voice said everything that I didn’t want to hear. “Hey Bob, how are you doing”. I tried to avoid the conversation with comments about the expense of dialing direct and small talk, but he was able to tell me the news that I have been dreading for months. “Dad has passed away early this morning, he died in his sleep”. I felt my stomach twist into knots, my eyes started leaking and I had to steady my stance on the wall. I thanked my brother and told him that I would be on the next flight. The plumbing was now the furthest thing from my mind. I felt just as broken. In November a similar call came from my sister Teresa. She told me that my Dad’s Cancer probably was untreatable, and it was bad. I told her the same thing. “I’ll be on the next flight”. Living so far away from my hometown of Side Lake I have always counted on phones and e-mails for information. Usually it would be me calling to keep track of everyone’s lives. I traveled the following Monday, the 23rd of November. My Birthday. It’s kind of funny how unimportant things can get when your mind is focused on one thing. I didn’t think twice. I just wanted to be home with my Dad, nothing else. My wife Margarita was very supportive and would have made the trip with me, but we had a financial situation coming the following week which required one of us to stay in London. In a way I’m kind of glad for her as this way her memories of my father will be of the way he was, before this terrible disease took hold. She loved him. My brother Joe picked me up in Minneapolis on a wintry day, the cold wind was biting at my face and hands as I smoked a cigarette outside the airport. During the four hour ride I questioned him as to the state of our Dad, what could I expect, etc. I hoped for the best but feared the worst. When we finally arrived in Side Lake I was relieved to find my dad in his usual place, at his kitchen table drinking coffee. He was a bit underweight, but otherwise cheerful as ever. My brother Babe (Paul Jr.) was with him. After I put away my suitcase I settled at the table with them and began our usual catch-up talk. I said “I just thought I would pop over for a visit”. Dad smiled his usual malicious grin and replied “Cancer, that’s why you are here”! I said no more on that subject and quickly turned the conversation to other unimportant things. My Dad wasn’t being mean, I believe that he just wanted to cut to the chase, to allow the truth to be said. In his own way he wanted to make me more comfortable, more relaxed. It worked. This ability to make everyone around him comfortable had always been his trademark. A sly comment, a great big smile and tension seems to evaporate, I have always loved that! On my first night I realized the absolute need for my Dad not to be left alone. The Cancer wasn’t his only problem. His diabetes had caused his legs to swell, and after bumping his shins so many times he had open sores that needed to be bandaged. He was taking Lasex for this, which caused his legs to seep water, soaking the bandages. They had to be changed frequently. He was unsteady on his feet and was using a cane when walking longer distances. Each night he would wake up several times, and ended up at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would always join him. The first couple of days I asked him each time if I could help him with his bandages, as it seemed he was struggling to change them. He always said no, I’ll do it. On the third day I couldn’t watch him do it anymore and sat down on the floor in front of him and said “Let me”! Under his instructions I learned the proper procedure and finally felt useful. He was also required to keep his legs elevated to reduce the swelling. My brothers and sisters had put in an electric recliner to make this easier for him to get in and out. The problem with the type of Cancer was that it also affected his mind. His hormones were out of balance. This caused him to be more stubborn than usual. When I told him he was disagreeable, he just laughed. During my stay my Dad did not want to show any weakness or frailty. Each day would find us running errands in town or doing projects of all sorts. He wanted to stay busy and we did. Any arguments from me were met with a certain look, not the look of a man who was seriously ill, but a look of a man who just wanted simply to feel normal. I felt obligated to allow him anything he wanted, within reason. The only times this would be tested was bandage changing and time on the recliner. I would usually get my way, my constant nagging would eventually wear him down. As I changed his bandages he would watch me intently, ensuring that I did it exactly as him, and letting me know when I didn’t. After the first ten times or so he began to trust me more, I guessed that my training was complete. I was very surprised when he announced that Thanksgiving would be held at his house. I’m sure now that his need for normalcy was the driving factor. All of my sisters and sister-in-laws provided the feast. We tidied the house and prepared the seating for 22 people. My dad took everything in stride. He was happy to see everyone together and wouldn’t have it any other way. No one spoke of his illness or treated him differently. It was a good day. Adrenal cancer is rare, his doctors had not even seen it before. After discussing it amongst the foremost experts in Minnesota he was scheduled for another biopsy the following Tuesday. There was just a shred of hope that the diagnosis could be wrong. The Doctors wanted to rule out any other possibilities. The day of the test my Dad was very nervous, his usual banter hiding his fear. I’m sure that he wanted to cancel the appointment, but he carried on all the same. During the drive to town he didn’t speak at all. My efforts to lighten the mood were in vain, chatting on about anything and everything to keep his mind off what was ahead. After checking in at the hospital an orderly came down to bring us to the surgery. He asked if we needed a wheelchair. Dad’s response was “What do you think? Do you see this fu*****cane?!” I had to turn my head away and fight off the laughter. The orderly quickly left. A minute later he returned with a wheelchair. As my dad began to sit down he realized that there was only one footrest. “What fu***** kind of hospital are you running here, most people have two fu***** legs, don’t they?”! I laughed as I ran down to the entry to find a proper chair, but they were all missing a step or two. I got back to my dad in time to hear him tell the orderly “Let’s fu***** go, I don’t have all day.” With that, he balanced his feet, one on top of another on the single step provided and we proceeded to the surgery area. The procedure went quickly, but we had to wait there the required time before we could leave. Dad had to fast since the night before and was very hungry after the procedure. The hospital cafeteria was closed (naturally). Dad was quick to disclose his disappointment and the nurse turned red and quickly left. I quickly called Joe and he brought us some lunch, we ate in the recovery room. We were eventually allowed to leave, this time the wheelchair had two footrests. Not a good day. Even though my Dad’s situation was dire, we managed to find a different level of communication, certain things said were often followed with a wry smile, as if he knew he was being difficult, but at the same time, he thought it was kind of fun. It would be an understanding that would help us both cope and ease the mood, only between us. This would be our little secret. The last project that I did for my Dad was completed the night before I left. He had been given a wooden loon that had wings that spun around in the wind. The previous spring the wings had deteriorated and it was laying in pieces on the bench in the garage. My Dad’s plan was to cut out new wings from two plastic sleds. He never found the time so I commenced to trace and cut the new wings. I finished the job in about an hour and placed the loon back on its perch, just outside the living room window, facing the river. There was no wind that night so I didn’t know if it even worked. I found out later that the wings needed a few adjustments and my Dad was adamant that it was to be fixed. My sister Teresa told me that Dad would try himself to fix it and she would stop him and do it herself. To anyone else this project would seem to be a waste of time, but to my Dad it was something he had been meaning to do for so long it became top priority. He was so happy as he sat in the garage and watched as I worked, supervising as usual. The morning of my departure was like every other morning. We were drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes at 5 AM. We chatted about our visit a bit and had a couple of laughs about nervous orderlies and missing footsteps. When Teresa picked me up I loaded my suitcase and returned to say goodbye for what would be the last time. I asked Dad to take it easy on everyone, nodding towards Teresa’s Jeep, he just smiled a wicked grin and said “We’ll see”. After I told him that I loved him I also asked him to think of me as he watched the loon flapping in the breeze. He said he would. I fought back the tears and walked out the door. Later on, plumbing somehow complete, I called Joe back to check on arrangements, etc. I could hear several of my sisters in the background, talking on phones. It sounded like a phone center. I told him I wanted to say a few words at the wake. Oddly enough, earlier that morning I told Margarita that I would say something at the Wake, it was as if my subconscious already knew. That night I sat and wrote my feelings about my Dad. I didn’t sleep. In two days we flew to Minneapolis, rented a car and drove the four hours to Side Lake. The drive wasn’t too good as it was snowing and the roads were icy. My son Stephen flew in from Chicago and met us at the airport. The service was held the following Thursday. The sun was bright and there was a chill in the air. My brothers and sisters had made all of the arrangements as I traveled, they decided on a simple service, and rightly so as that is surely what my Dad would have wanted. No fuss. My sisters made two collages of pictures of Dad, all were of him smiling and with his family, I thought it was quite fitting as my Dad has more family than most. Five sons-Clary, Babe(Paul JR.),Donald(deceased), me and Joe. Five Girls-Wendy, Teresa, Tina, Loretta and Michelle. Also many grandchildren and great grandchildren sprinkled around to carry on the Phelps name. All of my relatives that I haven’t seen in years were there. It was good to see them and catch up on things and their support was greatly appreciated. There were beautiful bouquets of flowers and living plants throughout the room. The end of the service was marked by readings. My niece Heather (Lora’s daughter), had written a beautiful tribute to her grandfather. She was unable to come to the service so my other niece Ashley (Joe’s daughter) read it to us through teary eyes. It was a beautiful tribute. After she had finished, it was my turn. I tried to read what I wanted to say several times before, but never could, the words would stick in my throat. When I started I felt my heart pumping out of my chest and my throat felt as if it would close and I would suffocate on the spot. Something happened about halfway through, it was as if someone had steadied my nerves, somehow my heart didn’t hurt anymore and the words came easier, as though someone was helping me. I would like to believe that Mom was with me, guiding me through one of the hardest things I have ever done. Although she has been gone for all of these years it has always been her influence that has encouraged my writing. Thanks Mom. After the wake we then left for the cemetery, the graveside service was only for family members. The bitter north winds swept over us as we gathered one last time with my Dad. The minister said some kind words about his meeting with Dad a couple of weeks earlier. After the prayers were spoken the service was over. The minister invited us all to take a flower from the arrangement on the casket, several did. I stayed behind to ensure that a lily was placed with Mom and a red rose for Donald. My compulsion to write these events and feelings is not something that can be controlled. I have found the best way for me to express my feelings is by the written word. Maybe deep down, in the fabric of my memories and feelings, I have found something that can release my pain. I would like to thank my brothers and sisters who had the strength and courage to allow Dads final wishes to be met. He didn’t want to live out his days in any hospital or nursing home. He merely wished to spend his last days in his own home that he built by the river. I know it wasn’t easy for any of you and I wish I could have been with you. For those of you who spent the long, weary hours caring for Dad I will always be eternally grateful! I have thought about my Dad, day and night, since I first heard of his illness. I have realized that some sixty years ago a script had been written that can best describe the way he lived. It came in the form of a song, sung by Frank Sinatra. The title is “My Way”. If you listen to the words there is an eerie similarity to actual events of his life. I am so proud that my Dad had the courage and strength to live his life the way he did, through all of the troubles and strife. He will always be my source of strength and courage. Thanks, dad. |
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