Sharon Dishaw's Obituary

Obituary for Sharon Ann Dishaw

Sharon A. Dishaw, age 49, of Brownstown, passed away on Thursday, May 22, 2014.
Born on August 17, 1964 in Trenton, Michigan, she was the daughter of Earl and Alice (Lundwall) Dishaw. 

Sharon was a 1982 graduate of Flat Rock High School. She worked in a group home with handicapped people as a Nursing Assistant. 

She was preceded in death by her parents, daughter, Amanda and sister, Marlene.

Surviving is her son, David (Shana) Spencer of Dearborn Heights; daughter, Laura Spencer of Gibraltar; 3 grandchildren, Peyton, Adreyona and Camden; 4 brothers, Larry (Linda) Dishaw of Flat Rock, Thomas Dishaw of Flat Rock, Michael (Deb) Dishaw of Maybee and Earl John (Sharon) Dishaw of New Boston and sister, Doris (Jim) Liedel of New Boston.

A memorial service will be held at a later date. 

Memorials may be made to Family. 

Love from Strangers

The following is a posting from our 2nd cousin, Ron Osterberg. Thank you, Ron.

        Walking into his plush Beverly Hills office, Ramona and I suspected grim news.  The doctor was not smiling.  “I’m sorry Mrs. Osterberg,” he said in a low expressionless voice, “I’m sorry, but we cannot remove your cancer.  There’s nothing we can do.”

        It happened again.  This time though it was in slow motion.  When doctors told me that my first wife had died, there was a sharp line separating the before and the after.  One moment she was alive.  The next she was dead.  There wasn’t an in between time.  This was different.  The beginning was now.  When would it end?

        Ramona shrunk herself into a tight little ball and almost disappeared in a corner of the plush leather chair.  She pulled her knees tight up to her forehead in an extreme fetal position.  She looked so little and so helpless.  Her face was hidden inside that little ball, but I heard her deep sobs.  Once heard, sobs like that are never forgotten.  They start deep within the soul and pulsate out to the world.

        With her arms tucked inside the ball, I couldn’t hold her hand while I talked with the doctor.  I could only rest mine on her back.  I don’t recall what we said.  I think I asked the usual questions.  Was he certain?  Did he consult with others?  How reliable are the tests?  Soon the words ran out and we stared silently at each other.  Eventually he excused himself and left the room.

        So slowly did Ramona uncoil herself and resume a sitting position before standing unsteadily.  She grabbed me around the middle and with her face buried in my chest said, “Ronnie, I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry to put you through this.”  I told her that everything would be all right and she said, “No, things will not be all right.  I’m going to die.  There’s nothing all right about that.”

        I recall little else until we were in the elevator where Ramona said that she couldn’t face the children feeling the way she did.  “It wouldn’t be fair to them,” she said, “we’ve got to decide how to handle this.”  It was about two in the afternoon and the restaurant in the lower floor was almost empty.  It was a perfect place to cry.

        Once seated, we talked of many things, she and I.  We talked about how she finally had children after her first husband brutally threw her downstairs causing a miscarriage.  We talked about how I met a great mother for the children when I thought that couldn’t happen.  We talked this way and that way about things and how we would handle them.

        Gradually our moods lightened as we made vague plans.  If one doctor gave us bad news, we wouldn’t tell anyone until we talked with two more.  As we talked while sipping coffee and wine, waitresses sat at our booth and chatted about nothing in particular.  They were like old friends stopping by for cheerful banter.  One got Ramona to tell her a funny story and called the others over to hear it.  They were reconnecting us with the world.

        The restaurant manager sat with us and asked for our car keys.  He said the lot might be closing and he would make certain we weren’t stuck.  Ramona looked at me and we had the same thought, “There are so many really good people in this place.”

        Our talk was now more hope than gloom.  We talked about how lucky we were to have met and how grateful we were for the time we had together.  We resolved to focus on the good of what was left, not the shortness of it.  We felt strangely calm as if someone had sprayed tranquilizer into the air.

        When we asked for the check, the manager appeared at the table flanked by two waitresses.  Taking turns, they told us not to worry about the check and the parking.  “Please, let us do this for you,” he said.  A waitress added, “We overheard you talking and everyone in the restaurant wants to help in their own way.”  The other waitress added, “Please, let us help.”  One of the waitresses hugged Ramona and told her that she could not make the cancer go away, but she could help make her life a little easier.

        Driving home, Ramona and I agreed that our experience seemed divinely inspired.  We went into their place not knowing how we could get through the next ten minutes and left with hope.  Strangers gave us their love and it worked wonders.

        The next day we learned of another type of surgery.  Ramona had it and she survived another thirty years.  Today, decades later, I often think of those strangers who restored our souls.  I owe the world much for what they did.

Sharon Dishaw

Sharon Dishaw died early this morning. As soon as I know more, will post it here.

Remember to hug your loved ones and tell them how much you love them.

Life is precious.

Happy Birthday Dad!

The following post was written by Ron Osterberg. His grandmother, and Brun's mother was Ida Ekquist Osterberg. Ida was Grandma Teckla's sister, and I knew her as "Aunt Ida" and she lived in Aurora, Wisconsin when I was a child, and we visited her often.

Brun Osterberg

Back row: Brun and Marge
Middle from left to right: Ron, Bruce and Sally
Front: Kenneth with neighbor dog
about 1944

Brun H. Osterberg
May 18, 1907 – October 4, 1958

        Brun took life seriously.  Yet, childhood friends in northern Wisconsin remembered him as playful and funny.  He was a hard working loyal family man.  Yet, friends remembered that he often drank too much and deprived his family.

        He was a man of many contradictions and his character had many facets.  That’s why pinning down his essence is difficult.  However, those who knew him agree that “cynical” is an apt one word description.

        Our father judged the world harshly, especially politicians and the wealthy.  Like his father, he admired Eugene Debs, the long time socialist leader.  At the core of his political belief was fairness and the notion that socialists were best able to create a fair system.  Though he voted for FDR, he preferred the socialists.

        Brun left home when he was 14 years old and worked as a lumberjack in Hurley, Wisconsin before bumming around the country and the world.  He talked about riding under and between railroad cars.

        He eventually became a merchant marine and identified himself that way for rest of his life.  He crossed the equator four times, went through the Panama Canal and spent time in European and Asian seaports.  He was a good sailor, but he often missed his ship when it sailed.  That meant that he worked mainly on ships others avoided.

        While a merchant marine, he took taxidermy as a hobby and grabbed an albatross to stuff.  Bad move for two reasons.  First, the bird pecked his finger leaving a bad gash.  The ship’s medic soaked it in iodine that was too strong and it dissolved the tip of his finger.  The missing eighth of an inch with the fingernail bending over the end fascinated his children.

        Second, seamen thought that harming an albatross was bad luck.  Shortly after the albatross encounter, the ship caught a hurricane.  Thinking that they were sinking, the captain called the crew together for a group prayer.  When the crew was assembled, a shipmate wondered aloud if the storm, which he said Osterberg caused, would go away if they threw him overboard.

        While hitchhiking to a ship’s job at a mid Atlantic seaport, a car struck and dragged him several hundred feet.  People thought him dead and wired his parents for burying money.  He survived the accident and used the money for bus fare home which was then in Kenosha, Wisconsin.  In the family house were his parents, two older brothers, Rudd and Ben, one younger brother, Wes, and three younger sisters, Evelyn, Eileen and Rhoda.

        Brun married Marge Hansen in 1932 and they had four children, Sally, Ron, Bruce and Kenneth.  They divorced in 1946 and he went to San Diego.  There he married Marge Woodhouse in 1951 and had four daughters, Patricia, Lynn, Wendy, and Jill.  He had a heart attack in 1956 and a car smashed him in 1957.  Later that year, doctors told him that he had colon cancer which killed him within a year.

        He was good at many things and relaxing was not among them.  In Wisconsin he worked in the garden after coming home from his job at Nash Motors.  He ate dinner and chatted briefly with Marge before descending to his workshop in the basement.  When the weather didn’t allow gardening, he went straight to the workshop after coming home.  When he did relax, he listened to the radio.  He and Marge were friends with four couples with whom they exchanged visits.

        Our father was five feet ten and weighed 170 pounds.  His hips were so small that for many years Marge Hansen bought his shorts in the boy’s department.

        Brun was a true do it yourselfer.  He fixed everything, including cars, and he never called a repairman.  As a skilled tool and dye maker, he made openers that cut through steel cans like a hot knife through butter.

        While talking with him a few weeks before he died, our father became introspective and said softly, “If I had it to do all over again, I’d.....”  He paused, searching for the right way to phrase his last thoughts.  After several seconds, he blurted out in his old pre-illness voice, “Ah shit; I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing.”

Happy Birthday Dad!

Easter Greetings 2014

Hope all of you had a very Happy Easter, with family, friends and loved ones.

Easter Sunday afternoon was a very mild 76 degrees here, and we had a wonderful potluck dinner out on the patio.

Granddaughters Justine from Southern California and Joanna from Nashville, were both home for Easter this year, much to the delight of my daughter Christine, their mother!

Justine Adele, Grandma Nancy Adele, and Joanna 

George Rowell from Kingsford was also with us this year.

Everything was wonderful, the family together is always the best, and the little ones make everybody smile. Norene brought our favorite dessert -- Strawberry Roll, and Rylie enjoyed helping to make sure everyone received their piece!

Relaxing after eating Easter Dinner on the patio

Here comes Rylie with Norene's Strawberry Roll

Rylie passing out pieces of Strawberry Roll

Alanna

George and Nancy

Happy Springtime -- Summer is coming! 

Memories Through Music

written by Ron Osterberg

        My wife Georgie sang wildly well.  Everyone said that.  Unusual for an Irish girl with Boston roots, she sang the sad ballads of Ireland without crying.  She liked those songs and she liked Irish foot dancing, but her favorites were Broadway musicals.  She knew most and sang them beautifully.

        The song she sang best was “Baubles, Bangles and Beads” from Kismet.  Many singers recorded that song, but none sang it as sweetly as did Georgie.  The song also helped spark a near riot.

        Georgie sang it in a singing competition hosted by a famous local nightclub.  The event was well promoted and many singers competed.  Entrants had their own cheering sections and Georgie’s included her sister Dot, a tough sexy broad.  Private booster groups didn’t help though.  The owner’s niece won.

        When they announced the winner, Dot, with support from a few burly new friends, went ballistic and shouted her sense of injustice.  Other entrants and their fans chimed in yelling that they rigged the contest.  Bouncers scurried around trying to calm the crowd, but they did little good.  Georgie and I left.  Dot said later that we missed much fun.

        The song that drew Georgie and I close was “Fantasy on Greensleeves.”  Before we married, I was a student at UCLA and she lived on the other side of town.  A local radio station played Greensleeves each evening and most evenings I called when it came on so we could listen together.  As we fell in love, it became “our song” and, together or apart, it always brought us back to those days and to each other.  It still does.

        Another song that Georgie loved was the hauntingly beautiful “Malagueña Salerosa” sung by Bud and Travis.  Maybe it was her favorite.  She never tired of telling listeners of the times we saw them live at the Troubadour and the Ashgrove in Los Angeles.

        Shortly before she left us, the song “Georgy Girl” came out and, naturally, she liked the ring of a song with her name in it.  About the song, she said, “That’s me.  People don’t know the real me.  If they did, they’d like me better.”

Happy Anniversary Georgie
April 30, 1961

Hey there, Georgy girl
There's another Georgy deep inside
Bring out all the love you hide and, oh, what a change there'd be
The world would see a new Georgy girl.

Happy Birthday, Ramona

Ramona’s Best Ever Birthday
April 25

        The trial deciding who got custody of Ramona was not going well for her father.  In despair, he jumped out the courtroom window.  Men stopped him, but it didn’t matter since he was only on the second floor and soft bushes ringed the building.

Ramona

        Theatrics like that convinced the judge that this was no run of the mill custody trial.  For her well-being, he temporarily sent Ramona to a children’s home.  Her fourth birthday was a few days later and she had no party.

        Each year Ramona wished for a normal party where kids brought presents, she blew out candles and everyone sang “Happy Birthday.”  One year she got the singing part.  Her mother took her to a local bar where patrons sang Happy Birthday to her all evening.  That wasn’t what Ramona had in mind.

        Ramona spent several years at a Catholic boarding school. Each year on her birthday, nuns brought out a small after dinner cake with ice cream.  The events lasted maybe ten minutes and they were not what she had dreamed of.  Never having an iconic birthday party left a void in her life.

        The void was still there years later when the Hammer family took her to a restaurant for her birthday.  Lori and I were at one end of the restaurant table separated from Ramona, Matt, Sam, Mike and Steve at the other.  Matt showed Ramona a card trick and Steve showed her another.  Giggling, Mike and Sam showed Ramona their tricks.  The four boys took turns telling jokes and they all laughed.  Ramona’s clear easy laughter floated to the rafters.

        Walking in, they were a grandmother, a son-in-law and three grandsons.  Soon they were five kids who couldn’t stop laughing at each other, at themselves and at life.  All four boys lightly competed for Ramona’s attention and she loved every microsecond of it.

        Ramona had a knack for making others laugh.  That night others made her laugh.  Laughing together creates an intimacy of the spiritual kind and that’s what Ramona and her boys had that evening.

        During her birthday party Ramona had no doctor visits, no cancer bumps, no waiting for medical test results, no chemotherapy and no radiation treatments.  Instead, she had four happy handsome boys who loved her very much and who made her laugh.

        Later through wet eyes, Ramona declared that it was her best birthday ever. The void in her life was gone.  Five months after the party she left to make the angels laugh.  Last I heard, she had them rolling in the aisles.

Happy Birthday Ramona --
from her husband, Ron Osterberg