Sunday, January 31, 2010
31 January 2010
One of my favorite quotes is from Robert Frost: "To be social, is to be forgiving." At times I've interpreted this quote to mean that as social creatures, we humans must permit occasional errors in judgment from those around us. At the present, I interpret this quote to mean that people will disappoint us; they will frustrate us; they will anger us; they will die. And despite all this, we must forgive each other. For if we do not, we are destined to a lonely, forlorn life.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
30 January 2010
I've posted 40 entries to this blog....this being 41. Forty is a significant number in the Bible....the number of days Jesus spent in the desert being tempted by Satan; the number of years the Israelites had to wander in the desert b/c they disobeyed God. There's probably a reason why this number is constantly used, and I probably learned it in my World Religions class as an undergrad, and I probably forgot it. But since the number 40 is apparently important, there must be something special about having composed 40 blog entries. If it's 40 days of suffering at the hands of the devil then I'd like it to stop now b/c I'm there, and I just want everything back the way it was. If it's 40 years then I'll be 86, and on death's door myself and about to see Mom again.
What have I learned in 40 days of writing about death, dying, and grieving? Some days seem somewhat normal. Some days all I want to do is cry. Some days everything clicks, and I get so much accomplished. Some days I wander in a fog. I've learned that I have many, many caring and loving friends and family. I've learned that some people treat me like a pariah b/c they don't know what to say or how to act around me. I know that death is permanent. I know that I wish Mom was here right now. I understand that when others talk about their mothers, I can't become sullen and silent just b/c I know I can't share anything w/o tears. I understand that others have lost their mothers and fathers and are now at a place where they can recall them w/o breaking down. I believe that life goes on, and I'll survive. I believe every day for a very long time will be a constant struggle.
What have I learned in 40 days of writing about death, dying, and grieving? Some days seem somewhat normal. Some days all I want to do is cry. Some days everything clicks, and I get so much accomplished. Some days I wander in a fog. I've learned that I have many, many caring and loving friends and family. I've learned that some people treat me like a pariah b/c they don't know what to say or how to act around me. I know that death is permanent. I know that I wish Mom was here right now. I understand that when others talk about their mothers, I can't become sullen and silent just b/c I know I can't share anything w/o tears. I understand that others have lost their mothers and fathers and are now at a place where they can recall them w/o breaking down. I believe that life goes on, and I'll survive. I believe every day for a very long time will be a constant struggle.
Friday, January 29, 2010
29 January 2010
I talked w/ a friend today who lost her father six months ago. She told me about a book distributed or published by Hospice that she's reading right now to help w/ the grieving process. I told her I'm writing a blog. Others have told me about support groups they've joined to help w/ the grieving process. I told them I'm writing a blog. I feel like Charlie Brown when he's trick-or-treating on Halloween and all the other kids say what they got: "I got a chocolate bar," "I got a nickel," and Charlie Brown says, "I got a rock." Every house they go to all the other kids get amazing treats, and each time Charlie Brown says, "I got a rock." It sounds lame when I say it, but when I'm writing here, I feel better. So, Charlie Brown, have no fear........keep all those rocks.....you can build a solid foundation.....for something.........someday.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Thursday, 28 January 2010
It amazes me how I can be cruising along with daily activities, and then blam-o something happens to cause me to pause. My older daughter told me that she needs a new pair of jeans b/c her favorite pair, which she's been wearing for the last three years, has a hole in the seat. My first response w/o even thinking was, "Well, Grandma could patch that." It's a knee-jerk response.
Sometimes when I'm peaking through the veil of grief, I spy w/ my little eye, something that looks like life. People continue to get married, take communion, go to school, have babies, and die. Life continues whether the veil goes up or stays down. That's just so mind-boggling to me and so cliche that "life goes on." Some days I think I must be bi-polar in that I seem to have two emotions: "okay" and "this sucks." And if I try for any other emotion, it's like when I was first learning to drive a manual transmission: a lot of jerking, sputtering, and grinding to get it going forward. I once struggled through seven changes of the same traffic signal trying to find first gear. I'm doing a lot of sputtering right now as I try to find the right gear that will get me going again. Maybe I just need to try writing at a different time of the day.
Sometimes when I'm peaking through the veil of grief, I spy w/ my little eye, something that looks like life. People continue to get married, take communion, go to school, have babies, and die. Life continues whether the veil goes up or stays down. That's just so mind-boggling to me and so cliche that "life goes on." Some days I think I must be bi-polar in that I seem to have two emotions: "okay" and "this sucks." And if I try for any other emotion, it's like when I was first learning to drive a manual transmission: a lot of jerking, sputtering, and grinding to get it going forward. I once struggled through seven changes of the same traffic signal trying to find first gear. I'm doing a lot of sputtering right now as I try to find the right gear that will get me going again. Maybe I just need to try writing at a different time of the day.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
Mental note to self.........surround myself w/ lots of family, friends, and activity. Last night I was teetering on the edge of sanity, of depression, of hope, and why? B/c I was alone. I had the house to myself for four hours, during which time I was a blubbering blob of blah. Two months ago, I would've given my eye teeth to have some alone time, but just now, it's not working for me. I don't know how my dad does it. B/c of all the snow and ice and fog and rain and cold temps, he hasn't wanted to get too far from home, and others aren't wanting to venture in to see him. It's like a double whammy, the depression associated w/ Mom's death and the winter blah's. But Dad still sounds chipper each night when I talk to him. He ends up cheering me up.
I had even been questioning and challenging the expression that "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Last night I was really wondering if it would be easier to just go through life w/o caring for others so when they die, it wouldn't hurt as much. But if I succumb to that attitude, I'll be a blubbering blob of blah for a lifetime rather than a few hours. I'll take the grief over the void. I think that's my final answer.
I had even been questioning and challenging the expression that "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Last night I was really wondering if it would be easier to just go through life w/o caring for others so when they die, it wouldn't hurt as much. But if I succumb to that attitude, I'll be a blubbering blob of blah for a lifetime rather than a few hours. I'll take the grief over the void. I think that's my final answer.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
On the night Mom passed, I told her that it was okay for her to go. We'd be okay. She shook her head, "Yes," that she knew we would be. But now I'm not so sure. I had potato chips and a Pepsi for dinner tonight. That's not the sign of someone who's okay. It's a lot easier to be brave in the moment, but in the aftermath I'm weak and uncertain. I don't want to be brave. I don't want to be anything.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Monday, 25 January 2010
When I was younger, winter time was the time for projects: cutting out squares for patchwork quilts, organizing photo albums, and making scrapbooks. My younger daughter likes projects in the winter too, although her idea of scrapbooking is very different from mine. She uses the colored papers and stick-on letters; I used glue to stick a certificate on a pre-made scrapbook page. But the idea is still the same....make something that years from now can be brought out to remind us of the time we made it.
In the process of helping her work on her scrapbook pages, we had to sort through pictures. Amongst some pictures were letters from Mom. I read some of them. The ones from 20+ years ago were easier than the one she wrote last Christmas when it took her two days to get the Christmas tree up and decorated. One must have been from when I was still living in Texas and she finished making the blue suit that I still wear. Mom liked winter projects too, and she always finished hers. I, on the other hand, managed to only make two, patchwork quilts in 33 years. My scrapbooks and photo albums are still unfinished; hers are neatly arranged and organized chronologically. Everyone at her visitation was able to peruse the photo albums that she lovingly created during her winter projects. We brought them out to remind us, not only of the memories in the photos, but to show what she had made for us.
I didn't read all the letters. I'm not ready for that yet. I tucked them away for now. I hope I'm able to finish that project someday.
In the process of helping her work on her scrapbook pages, we had to sort through pictures. Amongst some pictures were letters from Mom. I read some of them. The ones from 20+ years ago were easier than the one she wrote last Christmas when it took her two days to get the Christmas tree up and decorated. One must have been from when I was still living in Texas and she finished making the blue suit that I still wear. Mom liked winter projects too, and she always finished hers. I, on the other hand, managed to only make two, patchwork quilts in 33 years. My scrapbooks and photo albums are still unfinished; hers are neatly arranged and organized chronologically. Everyone at her visitation was able to peruse the photo albums that she lovingly created during her winter projects. We brought them out to remind us, not only of the memories in the photos, but to show what she had made for us.
I didn't read all the letters. I'm not ready for that yet. I tucked them away for now. I hope I'm able to finish that project someday.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sunday, 24 January 2010
Just when I thought the fog in my brain and in my town was never going to clear.........the sun came out. Today was sun-filled, chasing away the fog and melting the ice on our driveways and sidewalks. This has been a rough winter in more ways than just the weather. When times got tough Mom used to always say things like, "God never gives us more than we can handle," and "That which does not kill us, makes us stronger." I hated those sayings. Then I got sick. And my daughter got sick. And my mother died. And I continued to hate those sayings.
Mom was incredibly strong and yet the cancer still killed her. I'm tired of being tested to see how much I can handle. I can remember in Sunday School when I was young, my teacher talked about how God would challenge our faith through trials and tribulations. I used to pray to God that he wouldn't give me any of these tests b/c I would fail them. I didn't want to endure the loss of loved ones or divorce or loss of employment or property. For my first 20 years, God answered my prayers by shielding me from these losses. Then I got divorced. I again prayed for God to "let this cup pass from me." For the next 19 years, God again shielded me from pain and loss. Now in the last six years, I have survived kidney cancer and a brain aneurysm; my daughter has been diagnosed w/ Crohn's Disease; and my mother died. Maybe I need to again ask God to not test me and to shield me from anymore pain.
About 10 years ago I wrote a one-woman show based on my great grandmother's journals. I titled the show, Surely I Have Suffered and Survived b/c Great Grandma Annie endured separation from her family, the death of her husband and tuberculosis of the bowels that would now be called Crohn's Disease. And she survived. At least until she died. But there were good times mixed in w/ all the suffering. That has to outweigh or at least balance out all the suffering.
I'm angry at being tested again and again. I know I'm not supposed to question, "Why" but instead ask, "Why not?" I'm supposed to be honored that God thinks I'm strong enough to endure all this. I'll get there, eventually, but for now, I'm pissed. Yes, I know I'll survive b/c despite everything, the sun comes out and chases away the fog in my brain and the ice in my heart. At least until I die.
Mom was incredibly strong and yet the cancer still killed her. I'm tired of being tested to see how much I can handle. I can remember in Sunday School when I was young, my teacher talked about how God would challenge our faith through trials and tribulations. I used to pray to God that he wouldn't give me any of these tests b/c I would fail them. I didn't want to endure the loss of loved ones or divorce or loss of employment or property. For my first 20 years, God answered my prayers by shielding me from these losses. Then I got divorced. I again prayed for God to "let this cup pass from me." For the next 19 years, God again shielded me from pain and loss. Now in the last six years, I have survived kidney cancer and a brain aneurysm; my daughter has been diagnosed w/ Crohn's Disease; and my mother died. Maybe I need to again ask God to not test me and to shield me from anymore pain.
About 10 years ago I wrote a one-woman show based on my great grandmother's journals. I titled the show, Surely I Have Suffered and Survived b/c Great Grandma Annie endured separation from her family, the death of her husband and tuberculosis of the bowels that would now be called Crohn's Disease. And she survived. At least until she died. But there were good times mixed in w/ all the suffering. That has to outweigh or at least balance out all the suffering.
I'm angry at being tested again and again. I know I'm not supposed to question, "Why" but instead ask, "Why not?" I'm supposed to be honored that God thinks I'm strong enough to endure all this. I'll get there, eventually, but for now, I'm pissed. Yes, I know I'll survive b/c despite everything, the sun comes out and chases away the fog in my brain and the ice in my heart. At least until I die.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Saturday, 23 January 2010
In the last two days I've realized just how "out-of-the-loop" I've become. I learned last night that a friend's daughter got married and her other daughter is pregnant. Today another friend was talking about a movie that had been in theatres, and I'd never even heard of it. This is not like me. I'm usually very aware of my surroundings and the people in my life. Somehow life kept going these last six weeks, and I've been in a holding pattern. I feel like I jumped off a merry-go-round to push it faster, and now I'm struggling to keep up with it as I attempt to jump back on. Maybe all the fog we've had has penetrated my brain. I just feel out-of-it.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Friday, 22 January 2010
In one of my posts, not sure which one--I went back to find it but gave up, I talked about wishing people would spread out their condolences so we don't get them all in the first couple of weeks and then there's nothing. I am blessed w/ wonderful friends and family who have, at least once a week since the funeral, sent a card or asked how I'm doing or sent an inspirational email. Today I was blessed on three separate occasions.
First, a friend left a card in my mailbox at work to let me know that after all the initial condolences had begun to fade, she was still thinking of me. Second, when I got home, I found my cousin from Colorado had sent me a laminated copy of an obituary she had sent to her local newspaper. Mom was born in Colorado but was sent at age three, along w/ her infant sister, to live in Iowa after her mother was killed in a house fire. Her father and brother continued to lived in Colorado until their deaths, which is why my cousin wanted to recognize and honor Mom. Third, my tennis friends surprised me tonight w/ a beautiful card and a memory stone that I can place in my rock garden.
Yes, this keeps the grief at the surface rather than allowing it to be buried, but that's exactly where it should be. I don't want to forget. I don't want to forget the pain, the emptiness, the love of friends and family, and most of all......I don't want to forget Mom. And if that means that I continue to cry each time someone sends me a card or an email then so be it. They're only tears.
First, a friend left a card in my mailbox at work to let me know that after all the initial condolences had begun to fade, she was still thinking of me. Second, when I got home, I found my cousin from Colorado had sent me a laminated copy of an obituary she had sent to her local newspaper. Mom was born in Colorado but was sent at age three, along w/ her infant sister, to live in Iowa after her mother was killed in a house fire. Her father and brother continued to lived in Colorado until their deaths, which is why my cousin wanted to recognize and honor Mom. Third, my tennis friends surprised me tonight w/ a beautiful card and a memory stone that I can place in my rock garden.
Yes, this keeps the grief at the surface rather than allowing it to be buried, but that's exactly where it should be. I don't want to forget. I don't want to forget the pain, the emptiness, the love of friends and family, and most of all......I don't want to forget Mom. And if that means that I continue to cry each time someone sends me a card or an email then so be it. They're only tears.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Thursday, 21 January 2010
A friend pointed out a wonderful by-product of this blog that I hadn't considered. My daughters will get glimpses into my relationship w/ my mother and w/ my father. The girls haven't read any of my posts, but I hope someday they will. This got me thinking about what kind of legacy I'm leaving for my daughters, and the legacy Mom left me. They're growing up to be beautiful, young women who are kind and considerate and thoughtful, most of the time. After all they are teenagers. Much of this I credit to all the time they were able to spend w/ their grandmother while they were growing up. We've always lived at least 100 miles away from my parents, but we always made it home at least one weekend a month, and during the summers, we would spend at least a week each month. And Mom and Dad always came our way for dance recitals, concerts, plays, and ballgames. I hope this reminds my daughters of the importance of family.
So to my girls, I will remind you of the two weeks we spent at Grandma's during the Summer of 1997 when I started graduate school. Every morning during that time, Grandma packed a lunch for me and spent the whole day involved w/ you. She was always a "hands-on" grandma. She never just took you to the swimming pool or the park and then sat in the shade while you played. She was right there w/ you in the water and catching you at the bottom of the slide. When you were babies, she bathed you in the kitchen sink just as she had done all her other grandchildren and most of her great grandchildren. The nape of your necks was always the part she loved the best when you were babies, and since neither of you had any hair until you were well over a year old, it was very visible for kissing. All the videos we have of you are thanks to Grandma. She always lugged that big video camera around to make sure you would always have the memories; she gave you those memories. Please don't ever forget that.
So to my girls, I will remind you of the two weeks we spent at Grandma's during the Summer of 1997 when I started graduate school. Every morning during that time, Grandma packed a lunch for me and spent the whole day involved w/ you. She was always a "hands-on" grandma. She never just took you to the swimming pool or the park and then sat in the shade while you played. She was right there w/ you in the water and catching you at the bottom of the slide. When you were babies, she bathed you in the kitchen sink just as she had done all her other grandchildren and most of her great grandchildren. The nape of your necks was always the part she loved the best when you were babies, and since neither of you had any hair until you were well over a year old, it was very visible for kissing. All the videos we have of you are thanks to Grandma. She always lugged that big video camera around to make sure you would always have the memories; she gave you those memories. Please don't ever forget that.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
My thoughts are very jumbled and random today....guess that's what comes from another "Snow Day" in an already long winter.
I woke this morning at four o’clock coughing and having difficulty breathing. Thinking I was getting a chest cold, I headed to the bathroom to slather Vicks Vapor Rub on my chest. When I returned to bed, I tried to relax and get my breathing under control and not succumb to panic that my next breath would be my last. And as I lay there, I thought about Mom gasping for breath once the breathing tube was removed. She was calm; she didn’t struggle. Witnessing that when was both beautiful and terrible. I got to tell her how much I loved her and how proud I was to be her daughter, but I also watched as her breathing became more labored and the time between each breath lengthened. Everyone should be given the opportunity to witness death, but no one should have to go through it. I know it doesn’t make sense. I don't know that I can articulate this in a way that does. I know I need to explore my feelings about the last few hours of Mom's life, but I'm not ready for that yet.
I still don’t think the permanence of death has hit me yet. Maybe that’s denial. I just can’t fathom never talking to her again or hugging her or tasting her fried chicken. I remember the biggest problem I had the many times I tried to quit smoking was that I couldn't imagine never having another cigarette ever again in my life. Once I got my head around the fact that living without cigarettes was possible and even pleasurable, and it took me three times to get there, I knew I could quit. I know it will never be pleasurable, but I hope it will be possible to someday accept the loss. Comparing Mom's death to quitting smoking is a poor analogy, but I'm tired; I've been up since four this morning.
BTW, I don't have a chest cold. I realized at some point today that I haven't taken my asthma medicine in a few days. My difficulty in breathing was a mild attack, but the Vicks and thoughts of Mom helped to open my bronchial tubes.
I woke this morning at four o’clock coughing and having difficulty breathing. Thinking I was getting a chest cold, I headed to the bathroom to slather Vicks Vapor Rub on my chest. When I returned to bed, I tried to relax and get my breathing under control and not succumb to panic that my next breath would be my last. And as I lay there, I thought about Mom gasping for breath once the breathing tube was removed. She was calm; she didn’t struggle. Witnessing that when was both beautiful and terrible. I got to tell her how much I loved her and how proud I was to be her daughter, but I also watched as her breathing became more labored and the time between each breath lengthened. Everyone should be given the opportunity to witness death, but no one should have to go through it. I know it doesn’t make sense. I don't know that I can articulate this in a way that does. I know I need to explore my feelings about the last few hours of Mom's life, but I'm not ready for that yet.
I still don’t think the permanence of death has hit me yet. Maybe that’s denial. I just can’t fathom never talking to her again or hugging her or tasting her fried chicken. I remember the biggest problem I had the many times I tried to quit smoking was that I couldn't imagine never having another cigarette ever again in my life. Once I got my head around the fact that living without cigarettes was possible and even pleasurable, and it took me three times to get there, I knew I could quit. I know it will never be pleasurable, but I hope it will be possible to someday accept the loss. Comparing Mom's death to quitting smoking is a poor analogy, but I'm tired; I've been up since four this morning.
BTW, I don't have a chest cold. I realized at some point today that I haven't taken my asthma medicine in a few days. My difficulty in breathing was a mild attack, but the Vicks and thoughts of Mom helped to open my bronchial tubes.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
Mom would've loved it; Dad not so much. Tonight my husband and I started taking a ballroom dance class. For the next five weeks, we'll learn the Cha Cha, the Foxtrot, the Waltz, and who knows what else. My younger daughter said maybe her father will finally learn some rhythm. I have to love him for trying. My dad is a good dancer, light on his feet, but nothing fancy or complicated. I loved watching my parents dance the two-step, not b/c they were the best couple on the floor but b/c they moved w/ a single motion that only comes from years of devotion. I'm sure they didn't start out that way just as my husband and I didn't. It helped when I stopped trying to lead. At receptions and dances, Mom saved the fast dances for me. We'd twirl around the dance floor just as she'd spun me around the kitchen. When I was in my first high school play my freshman year, we did a 50's musical called, Rock Hop. Mom made my poodle skirt and taught me how to do The Jitterbug and The Stroll. Seeing her turn to one side and lean-in as she stepped forward comes as easily as closing my eyes. She made me the envy of my cast mates, both for my skirt and my steps.
I have to add a postscript to tonight's post. My older daughter came home w/ a prom dress she's borrowing from a friend. As she modeled it for us, I noticed the hook-and-eye at the top of the zipper needed to be repaired, and I immediately thought, "Oh, Mom can fix that." Those who know me know that sewing on a button is a challenge for me so what am I going to do w/o my mom to fix and repair?
I have to add a postscript to tonight's post. My older daughter came home w/ a prom dress she's borrowing from a friend. As she modeled it for us, I noticed the hook-and-eye at the top of the zipper needed to be repaired, and I immediately thought, "Oh, Mom can fix that." Those who know me know that sewing on a button is a challenge for me so what am I going to do w/o my mom to fix and repair?
Monday, January 18, 2010
Monday, 18 January 2010
It's probably pretty obvious from some of my previous posts that I believe in ghosts and angels. Right now one of my favorite shows to watch whenever I get a chance is Ghost Whisperer, not b/c of superb acting or intricate plot structures, of which there are neither, but b/c of the concept of talking to ghosts. And at the end of each episode Jennifer Love Hewitt has once again helped a spirit to cross over into the light. Wow! How cool would that be. I'd like to be able to talk to ghosts, but my experiences have only been to glimpse and sense.
It's human nature to wonder what happens after death, and those w/ a strong faith have no fear and no doubt. The rest speculate through literary works such as Hamlet and A Christmas Carol and television shows such as Touched by an Angel and Highway to Heaven and films about immortal vampires and the undead zombies. All these attest to the fact that we want to believe that death isn't the end. We believe that ghosts walk the earth b/c of unfinished business, that for some reason their souls are not at peace. I know I've said that I sense Mom being w/ me, and that has comforted me, but what if she's lingering here b/c I'm not strong enough to let her go? What if I'm asking her to remain here to guide and watch over me when she could be enjoying her heavenly rewards? Is it possible to do both, be an earthly guide and a heavenly presence? I want Mom to be at peace, and if I let her go, that will bring me peace. Maybe if I make this my mantra I'll actually begin to believe it.
It's human nature to wonder what happens after death, and those w/ a strong faith have no fear and no doubt. The rest speculate through literary works such as Hamlet and A Christmas Carol and television shows such as Touched by an Angel and Highway to Heaven and films about immortal vampires and the undead zombies. All these attest to the fact that we want to believe that death isn't the end. We believe that ghosts walk the earth b/c of unfinished business, that for some reason their souls are not at peace. I know I've said that I sense Mom being w/ me, and that has comforted me, but what if she's lingering here b/c I'm not strong enough to let her go? What if I'm asking her to remain here to guide and watch over me when she could be enjoying her heavenly rewards? Is it possible to do both, be an earthly guide and a heavenly presence? I want Mom to be at peace, and if I let her go, that will bring me peace. Maybe if I make this my mantra I'll actually begin to believe it.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Sunday, 17 January 2010
I am in a quandary. My brother and I have been planning a trip to Europe for about a year and a half. Several months before Mom passed, he and I had narrowed down dates and destinations and had discussed our plans in her presence. Our original intention was for her to go w/ us, but we knew about a year ago that this would not be possible. I have recently learned through my father, however, that Mom didn't like the idea of me taking this trip b/c I would be away from my children for two weeks, and she thought that was too long. I have to be honest, I'm a little hurt and angry that she never told me this. Hurt that she didn't trust our relationship enough to discuss this w/ me, and angry that I don't have the chance to discuss it w/ her now. I myself have had concerns about leaving my daughters for this amount of time, but since they will be 14 and 17 w/ means and maturity to get themselves where they need to be, I had been feeling a little less guilty. Prior to Mom's death, I had assuaged my guilt by thinking that she could spend a week w/ them in my absence. It seems rather selfish of me, doesn't it, and I feel the guilt is reaching beyond the grave. If I go ahead w/ the trip, will this guilt overshadow any enjoyment? Do I postpone the trip a year or two when my children are older? What if something happens at that time to my brother or me that prevents us from going? I'm in a quandary, and now I'm feeling guilty about being so selfish in thinking only of my pleasure. All this guilt, and I'm not even Catholic.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Saturday, 16 January 2010
Turns out that the internet hasn't been disconnected yet at my dad's so I can compose and publish simultaneously.
On January 16, 1947, my parents were married in the Little Brown Church in the Vale in Nashua, Iowa. Sixty-three years ago today, two young kids promised to love, honor, and cherish each other in sickness and in health until death parted them. I know they had no idea that the young bride would battle six different types of cancer over a 42-year-period, and the groom would survive a near-fatal accident and open-heart surgery. We knew this was going to be a difficult day for dad, and it was. But w/ the love and care of family and friends, we were all able to talk, cry, laugh, eat, shop, and play cards......a day that Mom would've truly enjoyed. Sixty-three years ago the weather was balmy...."shirt-sleeve weather," Dad called it. Not quite as warm today, but the January Thaw came a few days earlier.
On one of the last times I was back home, I was looking through some papers, documents, and pictures that Mom had tucked away in an upstairs bookcase. In all that, I found Mom and Dad's official marriage license, and in anticipation of today, took it w/ me to frame so I could give it to Dad as a gift. It turns out to be quite serendipitous that I found this document b/c Dad will need it on Tuesday, the 19th, when he meets w/ the Social Security Administration to claim survivorship benefits. Dad thought he had the marriage license in the lockbox, but this was just the fancy, "souvenir" one they received on their wedding day. The official document that I found was tucked away in a folder in a most unlikely place that never would've even been considered as a place to look for their marriage license. On the night that I found it several weeks ago, I spent hours after everyone was in bed looking through these old papers, but what drew me to look in that particular spot? I believe Mom was encouraging me to find them and to pull out the license, knowing Dad would soon need it. The night she died I asked her if she would come back and be our guardian angel, and she shook her head, "Yes." She's keeping her promise. My brother told me that last night he dreamt he was giving Mom a hug, and he could actually feel her. He always hugged her carefully in the last year for fear of hurting her, but last night in his dream, she told him he could hug her tighter, that he wouldn't hurt her. She's definitely w/ us. Last night as I was driving in the fog and snow blowing, an owl flew above me as we crossed the Big Marsh. Mom was w/ my daughters and me to make sure we arrived safely.
I know I've mentioned this before that Dad always wanted to be the first one to go b/c he didn't think he was as strong and courageous as Mom. I think that's exactly why God took her first to give Dad time to prove himself to himself. Mom had accomplished what she needed to do here on earth. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people's lives are better b/c Mom taught them in Sunday School and Bible School and volunteered at the preschool and the elementary school; because she was the first female city council member who always spoke her mind and voted her conscience; because she was a role model to her children and grandchildren by getting her GED at age 44. Dad was forced to quit school after the sixth grade b/c he was needed to help on the farm. As a result, he never felt adequate in dealing w/ the running of the household. Mom paid all the bills, dealt w/ all the insurance issues, made all the appointments, etc., etc. Although my brother and are I helping w/ this now, Dad is dealing w/ areas and issues he never before confronted. Mom was always the one who pushed them to go places, and now Dad is going places on his own or w/ friends and family. He's regaining some of the confidence he lost as a young boy. He's stronger than he realized, and Mom going first has given him the opportunity to learn this.
Anniversary means to commemorate an annual event. So on what would've been Mom and Dad's 63rd wedding anniversary, we've had the opportunity to reminisce and appreciate, but we can also look upon this as a year for growth and renewal.
On January 16, 1947, my parents were married in the Little Brown Church in the Vale in Nashua, Iowa. Sixty-three years ago today, two young kids promised to love, honor, and cherish each other in sickness and in health until death parted them. I know they had no idea that the young bride would battle six different types of cancer over a 42-year-period, and the groom would survive a near-fatal accident and open-heart surgery. We knew this was going to be a difficult day for dad, and it was. But w/ the love and care of family and friends, we were all able to talk, cry, laugh, eat, shop, and play cards......a day that Mom would've truly enjoyed. Sixty-three years ago the weather was balmy...."shirt-sleeve weather," Dad called it. Not quite as warm today, but the January Thaw came a few days earlier.
On one of the last times I was back home, I was looking through some papers, documents, and pictures that Mom had tucked away in an upstairs bookcase. In all that, I found Mom and Dad's official marriage license, and in anticipation of today, took it w/ me to frame so I could give it to Dad as a gift. It turns out to be quite serendipitous that I found this document b/c Dad will need it on Tuesday, the 19th, when he meets w/ the Social Security Administration to claim survivorship benefits. Dad thought he had the marriage license in the lockbox, but this was just the fancy, "souvenir" one they received on their wedding day. The official document that I found was tucked away in a folder in a most unlikely place that never would've even been considered as a place to look for their marriage license. On the night that I found it several weeks ago, I spent hours after everyone was in bed looking through these old papers, but what drew me to look in that particular spot? I believe Mom was encouraging me to find them and to pull out the license, knowing Dad would soon need it. The night she died I asked her if she would come back and be our guardian angel, and she shook her head, "Yes." She's keeping her promise. My brother told me that last night he dreamt he was giving Mom a hug, and he could actually feel her. He always hugged her carefully in the last year for fear of hurting her, but last night in his dream, she told him he could hug her tighter, that he wouldn't hurt her. She's definitely w/ us. Last night as I was driving in the fog and snow blowing, an owl flew above me as we crossed the Big Marsh. Mom was w/ my daughters and me to make sure we arrived safely.
I know I've mentioned this before that Dad always wanted to be the first one to go b/c he didn't think he was as strong and courageous as Mom. I think that's exactly why God took her first to give Dad time to prove himself to himself. Mom had accomplished what she needed to do here on earth. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people's lives are better b/c Mom taught them in Sunday School and Bible School and volunteered at the preschool and the elementary school; because she was the first female city council member who always spoke her mind and voted her conscience; because she was a role model to her children and grandchildren by getting her GED at age 44. Dad was forced to quit school after the sixth grade b/c he was needed to help on the farm. As a result, he never felt adequate in dealing w/ the running of the household. Mom paid all the bills, dealt w/ all the insurance issues, made all the appointments, etc., etc. Although my brother and are I helping w/ this now, Dad is dealing w/ areas and issues he never before confronted. Mom was always the one who pushed them to go places, and now Dad is going places on his own or w/ friends and family. He's regaining some of the confidence he lost as a young boy. He's stronger than he realized, and Mom going first has given him the opportunity to learn this.
Anniversary means to commemorate an annual event. So on what would've been Mom and Dad's 63rd wedding anniversary, we've had the opportunity to reminisce and appreciate, but we can also look upon this as a year for growth and renewal.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Friday, 15 January 2010
I'm leaving soon to go to my dad's for the weekend. At some point, I'm not exactly sure when, I made the transition from saying "going to my folks'," to "going to my dad's." Is that a good thing? It feels too soon. There's no longer Internet at the home of my youth....nah, that's a little wordy. Dad doesn't even use the computer so it's silly to pay $30 a mont
h for something that will probably only get used a few days out of the month when children and grandchildren visit. Mom embraced the new technology of the computer and the Internet, although, she confessed she didn't understand the hype of Facebook and Twitter. Quite frankly I agree w/ her. Email, however, was a forum that she enjoyed b/c it allowed her to stay in closer contact w/ friends and family, near and far. I miss her emails, even the ones that were just forwards b/c even they gave me some insight into what she was doing and thinking that day. I still find myself wanting to forward something on to her....don't think I'll ever delete her email account.
I'll try tomorrow to pick up a rogue wireless signal on my laptop. Even if there's no blog post published on the 16th, I'll being writing my journal entry the old fashioned way........typing into a Word document and then copying it here!!
h for something that will probably only get used a few days out of the month when children and grandchildren visit. Mom embraced the new technology of the computer and the Internet, although, she confessed she didn't understand the hype of Facebook and Twitter. Quite frankly I agree w/ her. Email, however, was a forum that she enjoyed b/c it allowed her to stay in closer contact w/ friends and family, near and far. I miss her emails, even the ones that were just forwards b/c even they gave me some insight into what she was doing and thinking that day. I still find myself wanting to forward something on to her....don't think I'll ever delete her email account.I'll try tomorrow to pick up a rogue wireless signal on my laptop. Even if there's no blog post published on the 16th, I'll being writing my journal entry the old fashioned way........typing into a Word document and then copying it here!!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Thursday, 14 January 2010
Such a bitter irony that just when my world was starting to feel in balance thousands of Haitians had their world turned upside down by the earthquake there. No warning, no chance for as many as 50,000 people. They woke up on Tuesday having no notion of the devastation and death that would befall them. At least w/ Mom, we knew the end was near.
The images from Haiti that have struck me the hardest are the children. Even the ones who survived have such a look of bewilderment. They have no comprehension of what has happened to their world. As much as I am grieving the loss of my mother, I can't even fathom feeling the loss of my child. When I was young, I used to pray that God would take me before either of my parents. Sounds strange, I know, but ever since I was four-years-old, my mother has been battling some type of cancer. Not fighting continuously, but now that I think about it, cancer has always been a looming threat in my mom's life. I remember after her first surgery for ovarian cancer, her doctors told her not to cross her legs for fear of blood clots forming. I was diligent in my efforts that she follow these orders....so much so that whenever she crossed her legs, I physically uncrossed them for her. And I think this is why I used to pray that God would take me first and let her live. But when I became a mother, I knew that asking God to trade me for her would've been cruel and would've caused her ten times the suffering I'm feeling now. To the grieving parents of Haiti, I will pray that God lays her comforting hand on your hearts.
The images from Haiti that have struck me the hardest are the children. Even the ones who survived have such a look of bewilderment. They have no comprehension of what has happened to their world. As much as I am grieving the loss of my mother, I can't even fathom feeling the loss of my child. When I was young, I used to pray that God would take me before either of my parents. Sounds strange, I know, but ever since I was four-years-old, my mother has been battling some type of cancer. Not fighting continuously, but now that I think about it, cancer has always been a looming threat in my mom's life. I remember after her first surgery for ovarian cancer, her doctors told her not to cross her legs for fear of blood clots forming. I was diligent in my efforts that she follow these orders....so much so that whenever she crossed her legs, I physically uncrossed them for her. And I think this is why I used to pray that God would take me first and let her live. But when I became a mother, I knew that asking God to trade me for her would've been cruel and would've caused her ten times the suffering I'm feeling now. To the grieving parents of Haiti, I will pray that God lays her comforting hand on your hearts.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Wednesday, 13 January 2010
I feel more like myself today. I cried a little, laughed a little, worked a little, played a little. I feel balanced. Balance is so important in all aspects of life, but I've been too lopsided in my grief. I feel better when I eat a balanced diet. If I lose my balance when navigating all the snow and ice, I will probably fall. I know exactly how much money I have when I balance the checkbook....well, at least I would if I actually did that. Life is about balance. I've asked numerous people who have suffered the loss of someone class, "Does the pain ever go away?" What I've gleaned thus far is that the painful times never go away completely but become centered around significant dates and places. I think part of grieving is finding that balance b/w happiness and sadness; love and hate; anger and relief.
Today has been a good day, a balanced day, but tomorrow could be completely out of whack..............again.
Today has been a good day, a balanced day, but tomorrow could be completely out of whack..............again.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Tuesday, 12 January 2010
I still can't get my head around it......Mom is gone. And reality comes swooping in at the oddest times. Tonight as I was packing up to leave my office, I bent over to put my cell phone in my purse, and the pangs of loss were extremely profound. I have no idea what triggered the realness that Mom is dead. Maybe it's because I was so busy preparing for second semester classes all day that when my mind finally took a break, the feeling of loss came crashing through from unconscious to conscious like a wave breaking against the shore. Which is better....a gnawing ache or a stabbing pain?
Monday, January 11, 2010
Monday, 11 January 2010
I think there's a hierarchy of regret. I can have a physical regret in, "I regret having eaten the entire bag of chocolate-covered peanuts, " or "I regret not having more tonic for my gin." There's verbal regret that's closely linked to the "foot-in-mouth" disease like the time I asked a woman how old her baby granddaughter was when it was actually her daughter. I really regret telling the hair stylist, who always cut Mom's hair and fixed it for the viewing, that Mom was never really happy w/ her hair. I didn't mean that she didn't like how she cut her hair; it was always kind of a joke how she would fuss about her hair. I really regret having said that to the stylist b/c there's no way I can take back the words even though they didn't come out the way I wanted them to. There's regret for what we say and do, but there's an even worse regret for what we didn't say and do.
At Thanksgiving Mom mentioned that her doctor had suggested bringing Hospice in. I regret that I didn't pursue her feelings about that. My pathetic stare at her comment was meant to communicate that I wasn't ready to even start thinking about how she might be that near the end. I know she interpreted my dumb look as meaning I didn't think it was necessary. When we say something we regret, we can at least attempt to apologize provided it's heartfelt. But the regret of not saying anything is even worse.
Yea, yea, I know I'm supposed to live my life w/ no regrets, but if I don't acknowledge the regrets, how can I prevent them from happening again?
At Thanksgiving Mom mentioned that her doctor had suggested bringing Hospice in. I regret that I didn't pursue her feelings about that. My pathetic stare at her comment was meant to communicate that I wasn't ready to even start thinking about how she might be that near the end. I know she interpreted my dumb look as meaning I didn't think it was necessary. When we say something we regret, we can at least attempt to apologize provided it's heartfelt. But the regret of not saying anything is even worse.
Yea, yea, I know I'm supposed to live my life w/ no regrets, but if I don't acknowledge the regrets, how can I prevent them from happening again?
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Sunday, 10 January 2010
I re-read some of my early posts, and I realize I'm starting to sound like a broken record. The former English teacher in me would call them themes or motifs. The speech teacher in me would say that repetition solidifies your purpose. The writer in me thinks it's time to move on and develop a new theme and purpose. Therefore, the theme for tonight will be quality of life.
We celebrated my Grandma Ruth's 98th birthday today w/ a party at the nursing home....98 years old, and she still crochets and does crossword puzzles. She knows how to use email and does crafts. I would say she has a fairly good quality of life, and today she looked beautiful. We were told that we couldn't visit her before the party as she was being "put to bed for a nap." My older daughter thought the semantics of this was awful b/c it sounded like they were talking about a small child. Unfortunately many come to the end of life similar to the start. I remember my paternal grandmother having to wear the equivalent of a diaper when she was in the nursing home. What was her quality of life near the end of it?
While visiting w/ other family members at the party today, they talked about their arthritis and how they didn't want to be hooked up to any machines. One proclaimed that euthanasia should be legal b/c a person shouldn't have to suffer pain on a daily basis. Buddha said that all life is suffering until we are able control our desires and cravings, break the cycle of rebirth, and achieve Nirvana. I believe that suffering leads to greater appreciation of life. In the opening scene of the movie, When Harry Met Sally, Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan in the lead roles talk about death. Harry says he reads the last page of a new book so if he dies, he'll know how it ends. He would be a good Buddhist b/c he contemplates death and impermanence a lot so he'll be ready when it happens. Sally accuses him of ruining his whole life by waiting for death. Death is inevitable and equitable, and a good Buddhist will contemplate it numerous times during the day. I would make a very good practicing Buddhist right now as I struggle to figure out, "What's the point?". That's not exactly right b/c as a Buddhist I would know that these meditations on impermenance would help me to stop wasting time chasing after desires and cravings. Trying to figure out the meaning of life is therefore a study in the meaning of death.
Will this study improve my quality of life? Part of me is glad that Mom never had to be in a nursing home, and part of me hopes that when Dad's time comes that he will pass quietly in his own bed. We use nursing homes as a way to put to bed those fears we have about death and dying. Immobilized by a stroke or constricted by dementia certainly holds no quality of life except to know that each of us is one step closer to death w/ every breath we take. Embracing mortality can be liberating and improve my quality of life in every stage and every cycle.
We celebrated my Grandma Ruth's 98th birthday today w/ a party at the nursing home....98 years old, and she still crochets and does crossword puzzles. She knows how to use email and does crafts. I would say she has a fairly good quality of life, and today she looked beautiful. We were told that we couldn't visit her before the party as she was being "put to bed for a nap." My older daughter thought the semantics of this was awful b/c it sounded like they were talking about a small child. Unfortunately many come to the end of life similar to the start. I remember my paternal grandmother having to wear the equivalent of a diaper when she was in the nursing home. What was her quality of life near the end of it?
While visiting w/ other family members at the party today, they talked about their arthritis and how they didn't want to be hooked up to any machines. One proclaimed that euthanasia should be legal b/c a person shouldn't have to suffer pain on a daily basis. Buddha said that all life is suffering until we are able control our desires and cravings, break the cycle of rebirth, and achieve Nirvana. I believe that suffering leads to greater appreciation of life. In the opening scene of the movie, When Harry Met Sally, Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan in the lead roles talk about death. Harry says he reads the last page of a new book so if he dies, he'll know how it ends. He would be a good Buddhist b/c he contemplates death and impermanence a lot so he'll be ready when it happens. Sally accuses him of ruining his whole life by waiting for death. Death is inevitable and equitable, and a good Buddhist will contemplate it numerous times during the day. I would make a very good practicing Buddhist right now as I struggle to figure out, "What's the point?". That's not exactly right b/c as a Buddhist I would know that these meditations on impermenance would help me to stop wasting time chasing after desires and cravings. Trying to figure out the meaning of life is therefore a study in the meaning of death.
Will this study improve my quality of life? Part of me is glad that Mom never had to be in a nursing home, and part of me hopes that when Dad's time comes that he will pass quietly in his own bed. We use nursing homes as a way to put to bed those fears we have about death and dying. Immobilized by a stroke or constricted by dementia certainly holds no quality of life except to know that each of us is one step closer to death w/ every breath we take. Embracing mortality can be liberating and improve my quality of life in every stage and every cycle.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Saturday, 09 January 2010
Several widows and widowers told my dad to keep busy and get out of the house whenever possible. That's good advice for children of the deceased as well.
My two daughters and I left the house at 11:00 this morning and didn't return home until 11:00 tonight. I can't say that I didn't think about Mom during those 12 hours, but the thoughts seemed more productive. As we were traveling in the car, the three of us talked about menstruation. (Gentlemen, if you get freaked out about this kind of stuff, you might want to jump to the next paragraph). I shared w/ my girls how sanitary napkins have changed a lot since I was a teenager, and they've really changed a lot since Grandma's (Mom's) time. She literally used rags and always talked about how embarrassed she was having to hang them out on the line after washing them. Hopefully she wouldn't be mortified w/ me sharing this now. My girls were even more shocked when I told them that Grandma (Mom) never got the "sex talk" either at home or in school so when she was pregnant w/ my oldest sibling, she had no idea how the baby was going to come out. Dad didn't know for sure either, but he assumed it would be similar to cows and horses and pigs. To be able to share those stories w/ my daughters brought them closer to their grandmother, and brought me closer to being able to talk about her w/ happiness rather than sadness.
While we were shopping, there were a couple of times when I thought about mom. The first time was seeing a woman about my age who was shopping w/ her mother. Made me sad to think I won't ever do that again, but caused me to enjoy the wonderful day that I was spending w/ my daughters. The second time I thought about Mom was when we were looking at bathroom collections and accessories. I saw a toothbrush holder in the shape of a sprinkling can, and, knowing of Mom's collection, said how much she would've liked that for her bathroom. Then we went to a high school basketball game, and I thought about how much Mom enjoyed going to all our games, plays, concerts, and programs. Somehow it felt that Mom was even closer to me now b/c I carried her w/ me all day, wherever I went.
I think getting out also keeps me from focusing too much on my own grief. I'm not the only one suffering from this loss, and I'm not the only one to have ever suffered such a loss. Writing these posts has been extremely helpful in giving words to my emotions, but it has also created a vacuum. Writing a blog about my grief runs the risk of becoming very selfish. Although each individual must go through the grieving process, we don't have to go through it individually. By letting people share the grief of her death, I can let them share the joy of her life.
My two daughters and I left the house at 11:00 this morning and didn't return home until 11:00 tonight. I can't say that I didn't think about Mom during those 12 hours, but the thoughts seemed more productive. As we were traveling in the car, the three of us talked about menstruation. (Gentlemen, if you get freaked out about this kind of stuff, you might want to jump to the next paragraph). I shared w/ my girls how sanitary napkins have changed a lot since I was a teenager, and they've really changed a lot since Grandma's (Mom's) time. She literally used rags and always talked about how embarrassed she was having to hang them out on the line after washing them. Hopefully she wouldn't be mortified w/ me sharing this now. My girls were even more shocked when I told them that Grandma (Mom) never got the "sex talk" either at home or in school so when she was pregnant w/ my oldest sibling, she had no idea how the baby was going to come out. Dad didn't know for sure either, but he assumed it would be similar to cows and horses and pigs. To be able to share those stories w/ my daughters brought them closer to their grandmother, and brought me closer to being able to talk about her w/ happiness rather than sadness.
While we were shopping, there were a couple of times when I thought about mom. The first time was seeing a woman about my age who was shopping w/ her mother. Made me sad to think I won't ever do that again, but caused me to enjoy the wonderful day that I was spending w/ my daughters. The second time I thought about Mom was when we were looking at bathroom collections and accessories. I saw a toothbrush holder in the shape of a sprinkling can, and, knowing of Mom's collection, said how much she would've liked that for her bathroom. Then we went to a high school basketball game, and I thought about how much Mom enjoyed going to all our games, plays, concerts, and programs. Somehow it felt that Mom was even closer to me now b/c I carried her w/ me all day, wherever I went.
I think getting out also keeps me from focusing too much on my own grief. I'm not the only one suffering from this loss, and I'm not the only one to have ever suffered such a loss. Writing these posts has been extremely helpful in giving words to my emotions, but it has also created a vacuum. Writing a blog about my grief runs the risk of becoming very selfish. Although each individual must go through the grieving process, we don't have to go through it individually. By letting people share the grief of her death, I can let them share the joy of her life.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Friday, 08 January 2010
I feel nothing. I am empty.
I feel disconnected. I am drifting.
I feel betrayed. I am abandoned.
I feel anger. I am frustrated.
I feel something after all. I am a liar.
I feel disconnected. I am drifting.
I feel betrayed. I am abandoned.
I feel anger. I am frustrated.
I feel something after all. I am a liar.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Thursday, 07 January 2010
What's the difference between tradition and routine? The former certainly has more positive connotations than the latter. Routine conjures up boring chores while tradition makes me think of actions that are followed faithfully within a family. But both routines and traditions require that people complete them regularly, and both have helped w/ the mourning process.
My father has followed certain routines throughout his life. When he was working as a city employee, he walked to work at 8:00, drove the city pickup home for dinner at noon, and then walked home at 5:00. Our neighbors said they could set their watch by him. After he retired this obviously changed, but he just developed a new routine. The habituals actions of rising, eating breakfast, clearing the table, taking a mid-morning nap, fixing dinner, clearing the table, taking a nap, having a soda at 3:00, supper at 5:30, etc., etc., etc., Since Mom's death he's made an addition to his routine. Each night before he goes to bed, he kisses her picture in the funeral folder.
When we were in the hospital on the night of Mom's death, Dad said he always hoped he would go first b/c Mom was so much stronger than him. He didn't feel he had the strength and the courage to survive w/o her. Although he misses her every minute of every day, he's surviving, and he's surviving b/c he has stuck to his routine. It's not in his constitution to just stay in bed all day or not eat. He has admitted that he has no appetite, but he knows he has to eat. Following his daily routine keeps him going, and I'm very proud of his strength.
A tradition sounds much more noble but serves basically the same purpose as a routine. I follow the tradition of taking down Christmas decorations after Epiphany. I'd like to just sit in a corner, curled-up in a ball, and believe me I've done that too, but keeping w/ tradition keeps me going.
I'm beginning to worry, however, that these posts are becoming too routine, and by that I mean boring and repetitive, and are starting to lose their purpose.
My father has followed certain routines throughout his life. When he was working as a city employee, he walked to work at 8:00, drove the city pickup home for dinner at noon, and then walked home at 5:00. Our neighbors said they could set their watch by him. After he retired this obviously changed, but he just developed a new routine. The habituals actions of rising, eating breakfast, clearing the table, taking a mid-morning nap, fixing dinner, clearing the table, taking a nap, having a soda at 3:00, supper at 5:30, etc., etc., etc., Since Mom's death he's made an addition to his routine. Each night before he goes to bed, he kisses her picture in the funeral folder.
When we were in the hospital on the night of Mom's death, Dad said he always hoped he would go first b/c Mom was so much stronger than him. He didn't feel he had the strength and the courage to survive w/o her. Although he misses her every minute of every day, he's surviving, and he's surviving b/c he has stuck to his routine. It's not in his constitution to just stay in bed all day or not eat. He has admitted that he has no appetite, but he knows he has to eat. Following his daily routine keeps him going, and I'm very proud of his strength.
A tradition sounds much more noble but serves basically the same purpose as a routine. I follow the tradition of taking down Christmas decorations after Epiphany. I'd like to just sit in a corner, curled-up in a ball, and believe me I've done that too, but keeping w/ tradition keeps me going.
I'm beginning to worry, however, that these posts are becoming too routine, and by that I mean boring and repetitive, and are starting to lose their purpose.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Wednesday, 06 January 2010
Mom was in my dream last night or early this morning. She was sitting at the kitchen table w/ me. She was talking, but I couldn't hear her or understand what she was saying. On this night of revelation and enlightenment, this Epiphany, this Twelfth Night, I wish that when I dream of my mother her thoughts be revealed to me.
I've had so many questions for her and need help recalling past events. Events that only she and I experienced, like the time she helped me find an apartment before I started grad school. There was this quansat-style place near the river that had a propane torch for a heater. I think that's right, but I'd like to ask her to make sure. I guess the details don't matter b/c the feeling remains: the joy of apartment-hunting w/ my mom and the humor we shared recalling that place. I need to ask her how much mozzarella she used to top her lasagna bake.
There were so many years when I was young and cocky that I didn't go to her w/ questions and advice. That would be a sign of ignorance and weakness, and a young woman striking out on her own can't afford to be either. What a fool I was, but I was just following her lead. She always appeared so strong and indestructible that I felt if I asked her for help, she'd think she had failed in raising me. Well, there's little doubt my daughters will NOT follow that thinking; they know how flawed I am.
I've had so many questions for her and need help recalling past events. Events that only she and I experienced, like the time she helped me find an apartment before I started grad school. There was this quansat-style place near the river that had a propane torch for a heater. I think that's right, but I'd like to ask her to make sure. I guess the details don't matter b/c the feeling remains: the joy of apartment-hunting w/ my mom and the humor we shared recalling that place. I need to ask her how much mozzarella she used to top her lasagna bake.
There were so many years when I was young and cocky that I didn't go to her w/ questions and advice. That would be a sign of ignorance and weakness, and a young woman striking out on her own can't afford to be either. What a fool I was, but I was just following her lead. She always appeared so strong and indestructible that I felt if I asked her for help, she'd think she had failed in raising me. Well, there's little doubt my daughters will NOT follow that thinking; they know how flawed I am.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Tuesday, 05 January 2010
That public face that I talked about yesterday, well, I put it to the test today. Not sure if I passed or failed.
Wal-Mart seemed as likely a candidate as any place since I can be both anonymous due to the size of the store or acknowledged due to the size of the region in which it's located. While looking for a humidifier filter, I heard my name. I looked up to see a former, non-traditional student of mine, who we'll call Ted. Ted asked how my holidays were and after my non-committal grunt and shrug, I inquired as to his health. Ted has been battling cancer for the last several years. We talked for awhile and said our "good-byes," and just as he was turning to walk away, he asked the question, but it wasn't the question I had been preparing myself to answer when out in public. I was confident I could maintain my composure when asked, "How are you doing?", but Ted's question threw me. He asked, "How's your mom?" Immediately the tears flooded my eyes, my voice caught in my throat, and I was reduced to head shaking and hand gesturing. Right there in the humidifer filter aisle, Mom's death was as fresh as if she had passed away yesterday. With tears in his eyes, Ted offered some words of comfort, at least the tone was comforting since I don't recall any of what he said at that point. We again parted, and I stood at the end-cap of the aisle searching my purse for a tissue. I remembered I was out of tissues when my hand rested upon one of Mom's handkerchiefs that I hadn't used at her funeral. Once again, even now she was there to give me what I needed.
So here's where I eat the proverbial crow. In yesterday's post, I was harping about people no longer inquiring about how things are going. Now today when someone did, I reverted back to the emotional wreck of four weeks ago. One step forward, two steps back. Calling this a grieving process is misleading. When I think of a process, I think of moving methodically from one step to the next in a very linear, logical fashion. But there's nothing linear or logical about emotions. I guess I have to accept that there will be good days and bad days and trust that the good will eventually outnumber the bad. There will continue to be relapses, even in the middle of Wal-Mart.
As I left the store, an elderly woman was sitting just inside the door w/ her purchases just where she had been when I arrived an hour earlier. I asked if I could drive her somewhere but instead she handed me a card and asked if I could contact her R.I.D.E.S. bus. As she attempted to thank me, the tears again began to sting the backs of my eyes. Good, Lord, now what? This woman didn't know me, asked no question. Was I really going to break down twice in Wal-Mart? I slammed my sunglasses on my face, bit my lip, and raced to my car only to find that I'd dropped my receipt in the entry and had to go back. This gave me the time to compose myself and allow the woman to thank me properly as was her due. I managed to stave off the waterworks for about a half-mile when it dawned on me. This woman was somebody's mother, and her children could feel at ease that even a stranger would take time to ask a question. Mom would be proud.
Wal-Mart seemed as likely a candidate as any place since I can be both anonymous due to the size of the store or acknowledged due to the size of the region in which it's located. While looking for a humidifier filter, I heard my name. I looked up to see a former, non-traditional student of mine, who we'll call Ted. Ted asked how my holidays were and after my non-committal grunt and shrug, I inquired as to his health. Ted has been battling cancer for the last several years. We talked for awhile and said our "good-byes," and just as he was turning to walk away, he asked the question, but it wasn't the question I had been preparing myself to answer when out in public. I was confident I could maintain my composure when asked, "How are you doing?", but Ted's question threw me. He asked, "How's your mom?" Immediately the tears flooded my eyes, my voice caught in my throat, and I was reduced to head shaking and hand gesturing. Right there in the humidifer filter aisle, Mom's death was as fresh as if she had passed away yesterday. With tears in his eyes, Ted offered some words of comfort, at least the tone was comforting since I don't recall any of what he said at that point. We again parted, and I stood at the end-cap of the aisle searching my purse for a tissue. I remembered I was out of tissues when my hand rested upon one of Mom's handkerchiefs that I hadn't used at her funeral. Once again, even now she was there to give me what I needed.
So here's where I eat the proverbial crow. In yesterday's post, I was harping about people no longer inquiring about how things are going. Now today when someone did, I reverted back to the emotional wreck of four weeks ago. One step forward, two steps back. Calling this a grieving process is misleading. When I think of a process, I think of moving methodically from one step to the next in a very linear, logical fashion. But there's nothing linear or logical about emotions. I guess I have to accept that there will be good days and bad days and trust that the good will eventually outnumber the bad. There will continue to be relapses, even in the middle of Wal-Mart.
As I left the store, an elderly woman was sitting just inside the door w/ her purchases just where she had been when I arrived an hour earlier. I asked if I could drive her somewhere but instead she handed me a card and asked if I could contact her R.I.D.E.S. bus. As she attempted to thank me, the tears again began to sting the backs of my eyes. Good, Lord, now what? This woman didn't know me, asked no question. Was I really going to break down twice in Wal-Mart? I slammed my sunglasses on my face, bit my lip, and raced to my car only to find that I'd dropped my receipt in the entry and had to go back. This gave me the time to compose myself and allow the woman to thank me properly as was her due. I managed to stave off the waterworks for about a half-mile when it dawned on me. This woman was somebody's mother, and her children could feel at ease that even a stranger would take time to ask a question. Mom would be proud.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Monday, 04 January 2010
I'm struggling right now w/ the public face of grieving. When I'm in public, am I doing Mom's memory an injustice by laughing and dancing? And, if people who know I'm in mourning see me laughing or dancing, are they thinking I'm being disrespectful?
The other day my younger daughter and I were dancing in the kitchen, and I was jettisoned back to Mom's kitchen w/ her twirling me around to some rock-a-billy tune. Mom loved to dance, and she was a good dancer. She was the only dance teacher I ever had, and I think she did a pretty good job b/c I love to dance, and I've passed that love on to my daughters. I didn't feel a bit guilty or disrespectful when my husband and I went dancing on New Year's Eve. I saw older couples, close to my parents' ages, dancing, and in them, I saw Mom and Dad. And that made me smile and kick up my heels. But they didn't know my mother had recentlyl died, and I knew they didn't know so maybe I was pretending, just for a few hours that I wasn't mourning her loss.
I'm blessed w/ friends who have sent cards, memorials, and emails, but after the perfunctory, "I'm sorry for your loss," where do we go? Some inquire, "Was it sudden?" Others, "Had she been ill?" Most don't want to be too intrusive or get too emotional. I'm finally ready to talk about Mom's death and her life w/o being overcome w/ emotion, but now, almost a month after her passing, people stop asking. I think sympathy cards should be sent out at intervals. We get them all in the first week, and then nothing. Please don't misunderstand, those cards are a God-send, and I continue to look through them, but it's like everyone else has moved on, and I'm left holding on to the grief. And if I don't hold on, then Mom is truly gone, forever. The next time someone I know loses someone close, I'm going to send a sympathy card every week for a month just so that person knows I know.
Some cultures wear black arm bands for a ritual period to remind themselves and everyone around them that they have suffered a deep sorrow that cannot be easily shaken off. With such a public display of grief, it would certainly be unacceptable to laugh and dance. I wore a black arm band in protest of the first Gulf War, and for the months that I wore it, I didn't smile--somehow it didn't seem right. Now I have a grief that is much closer than some unknown soldier or innocent civilian, and I'm not wearing any sign of mourning.
Do I honor Mom more with a somber public face or with a smile?
Then there's this thought....this blog is a public forum, although I have no idea if anyone is reading this, yet the public face here feels less complicated. I know my role here in this arena is to work through the grieving process. It's when I get out amongst people, and I must play many roles that I'm not sure how to act. When I'm a teacher, and a board member, and a pianist, what do I do w/ the grief?
The other day my younger daughter and I were dancing in the kitchen, and I was jettisoned back to Mom's kitchen w/ her twirling me around to some rock-a-billy tune. Mom loved to dance, and she was a good dancer. She was the only dance teacher I ever had, and I think she did a pretty good job b/c I love to dance, and I've passed that love on to my daughters. I didn't feel a bit guilty or disrespectful when my husband and I went dancing on New Year's Eve. I saw older couples, close to my parents' ages, dancing, and in them, I saw Mom and Dad. And that made me smile and kick up my heels. But they didn't know my mother had recentlyl died, and I knew they didn't know so maybe I was pretending, just for a few hours that I wasn't mourning her loss.
I'm blessed w/ friends who have sent cards, memorials, and emails, but after the perfunctory, "I'm sorry for your loss," where do we go? Some inquire, "Was it sudden?" Others, "Had she been ill?" Most don't want to be too intrusive or get too emotional. I'm finally ready to talk about Mom's death and her life w/o being overcome w/ emotion, but now, almost a month after her passing, people stop asking. I think sympathy cards should be sent out at intervals. We get them all in the first week, and then nothing. Please don't misunderstand, those cards are a God-send, and I continue to look through them, but it's like everyone else has moved on, and I'm left holding on to the grief. And if I don't hold on, then Mom is truly gone, forever. The next time someone I know loses someone close, I'm going to send a sympathy card every week for a month just so that person knows I know.
Some cultures wear black arm bands for a ritual period to remind themselves and everyone around them that they have suffered a deep sorrow that cannot be easily shaken off. With such a public display of grief, it would certainly be unacceptable to laugh and dance. I wore a black arm band in protest of the first Gulf War, and for the months that I wore it, I didn't smile--somehow it didn't seem right. Now I have a grief that is much closer than some unknown soldier or innocent civilian, and I'm not wearing any sign of mourning.
Do I honor Mom more with a somber public face or with a smile?
Then there's this thought....this blog is a public forum, although I have no idea if anyone is reading this, yet the public face here feels less complicated. I know my role here in this arena is to work through the grieving process. It's when I get out amongst people, and I must play many roles that I'm not sure how to act. When I'm a teacher, and a board member, and a pianist, what do I do w/ the grief?
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Sunday, 03 January 2010
The girls go back to school tomorrow, which is probably why my youngest has been up three times feigning some type of malady. I know it's just nerves. I used to get them too. I remember the end of one Christmas vacation when I was a little younger than my youngest is now. I was anxious about returning to school after the holiday; I often had these bouts of anxiety, and I attribute them to my fear that Mom wouldn't be there when I got home. Let me back-up even farther for a moment. When I was four, Mom had ovarian cancer so I spent a lot of time in the care of friends and relatives. So terrified was I that something bad was going to happen to her, that when it came time for me to start kindergarten, I wailed as Mom left me at the school door. She then, as she told me years later, cried all the way home. My crying became so distracting that the teacher asked Mom's permission to spank me, and she did, and it worked. The crying stopped, but I think the fear of Mom's disappearance remained for many years. Anyway, back to the end of Christmas break when I was in about 5th or 6th grade. Mom always had a way of talking to me that was calming and sensible, but on that particular Sunday evening she wasn't feeling well. I climbed up on my dad's lap instead, but he didn't deal well w/ the anxieties of a pre-adolescent daughter. Oddly, as I recall it now it was the last time I recall having those anxieties or at least from that point on I tried to calm myself. I think one of the best gifts a mother can give a child is the guidance to reason and calm herself. A mother knows her physical presence in her child's life is ethereal, but her words and sentiments are immemorial. It was w/ that memory that I comforted my child.
I had another dream last night but couldn't remember it in as much detail. The only part that still sticks w/ me even now is being in a boat w/ a parachute attached to it. It wasn't like para sailing b/c the entire boat was in the air, but the parachute helped place us gently onto the water. I looked this up again at http://dreammoods.com, and it said that a parachute means that I feel protected despite the turmoil that surrounds me. The boat shows that I'm dealing w/ my emotions, and the fact that the water we landed on was smooth means my unconscious thinks I can handle what comes my way. It's good to now that my unconscious is handling all this so well, but I wish it would start transferring that to my conscious. If Mom were here she'd have the perfect way of telling me to be patient. Something like, "All things will come to pass." I guess all those years of her guidance have paid off after all.
I had another dream last night but couldn't remember it in as much detail. The only part that still sticks w/ me even now is being in a boat w/ a parachute attached to it. It wasn't like para sailing b/c the entire boat was in the air, but the parachute helped place us gently onto the water. I looked this up again at http://dreammoods.com, and it said that a parachute means that I feel protected despite the turmoil that surrounds me. The boat shows that I'm dealing w/ my emotions, and the fact that the water we landed on was smooth means my unconscious thinks I can handle what comes my way. It's good to now that my unconscious is handling all this so well, but I wish it would start transferring that to my conscious. If Mom were here she'd have the perfect way of telling me to be patient. Something like, "All things will come to pass." I guess all those years of her guidance have paid off after all.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Saturday, 02 January 2010
I'm tired and cranky. I cleaned house today. I hate to clean house, but I love a clean house. I love the end result but hate the process. It's true then that love and hate are indistinguishable. Mom enjoyed cleaning; there's not an apartment or house that I've lived in that she didn't help me clean. Well, except for that first apartment after my divorce in Austin, TX. If she'd seen that place, she would've worried about my safety. She once told me that the only thing she was really good at was cleaning. I'm glad I got the chance to tell her before she died that this was far from the truth. She had so many talents, but that woman certainly knew how to clean. She always said that she actually liked cleaning when houses were really dirty b/c then she could see how much progress she'd made. She would've been able to see A LOT of progress in my house today. You might think from all this that Mom was a cleaning lady. A lady certainly, but the cleaning she did for others, she did out of love and friendship, not for hire. And, yes, she did windows.
I cleaned and rearranged three rooms. I like rearranging furniture--makes it feel like a new room. I remember a time after Mom had cleaned and rearranged the living room. When she got up during the night to go to the bathroom, she forgot that she'd moved the davenport (that's what my folks always have called a sofa). When she climbed back into bed, my dad thought something was wrong because the bed was shaking. She then burst out in uproarious laughter as she recalled how one minute she was walking back to bed and the next, she was doing a somersault over the sofa (davenport). One of the rooms I rearranged today is my bedroom. I have to remember Mom's story to I don't walk into the dresser. If I do, it won't be laughter that wakes my husband but rather a few choice expletives.
I cleaned and rearranged three rooms. I like rearranging furniture--makes it feel like a new room. I remember a time after Mom had cleaned and rearranged the living room. When she got up during the night to go to the bathroom, she forgot that she'd moved the davenport (that's what my folks always have called a sofa). When she climbed back into bed, my dad thought something was wrong because the bed was shaking. She then burst out in uproarious laughter as she recalled how one minute she was walking back to bed and the next, she was doing a somersault over the sofa (davenport). One of the rooms I rearranged today is my bedroom. I have to remember Mom's story to I don't walk into the dresser. If I do, it won't be laughter that wakes my husband but rather a few choice expletives.
Friday, January 1, 2010
New Year's Day 2010
Mom would always call on each first day of the new year to wish me well. I called my dad. He was visiting his sister so I got the answering machine. At least I got to hear Mom's voice on this first day of the new year, and I was able to listen to the entire message w/o crying. I wish me well for 2010 and anyone else who may happen to read this.
I finally finished reading Angela's Ashes: A Memoir, by Frank McCourt, which I started a couple of months ago. Longest it's ever taken me to read a book. Mom was an avid reader, but while she was taking chemo and radiation, she lost the desire. She said she couldn't focus and concentrate, and then later she was just too tired. I remember many years ago seeing a Twilight Zone episode w/ Burgess Meredith. He worked in a bank and always took his lunch in one of the vaults so he could read. One day a nuclear bomb wipes out everyone, but he was saved b/c he was underground in one of the bank vaults. He didn't mind that he was the only living being b/c now he had all the time in the world to read. He goes to the public library and stacks up all the books he wants to read on the library steps. He counts off each year's worth of books that he'll be able to read in peace and w/o interruption. Somehow his glasses fall of his face, and while he's blindly searching for them, he crushes them. Now he has all the time in the world to read, but lacks that ability. Which would be worse: to have the desire but lack the ability or have the ability and lack the desire?
Back to Frankie's memoir.....near the end he has saved enough money for him to leave Ireland and return to America. His family throws him a farewell party at which his mother sings:
I finally finished reading Angela's Ashes: A Memoir, by Frank McCourt, which I started a couple of months ago. Longest it's ever taken me to read a book. Mom was an avid reader, but while she was taking chemo and radiation, she lost the desire. She said she couldn't focus and concentrate, and then later she was just too tired. I remember many years ago seeing a Twilight Zone episode w/ Burgess Meredith. He worked in a bank and always took his lunch in one of the vaults so he could read. One day a nuclear bomb wipes out everyone, but he was saved b/c he was underground in one of the bank vaults. He didn't mind that he was the only living being b/c now he had all the time in the world to read. He goes to the public library and stacks up all the books he wants to read on the library steps. He counts off each year's worth of books that he'll be able to read in peace and w/o interruption. Somehow his glasses fall of his face, and while he's blindly searching for them, he crushes them. Now he has all the time in the world to read, but lacks that ability. Which would be worse: to have the desire but lack the ability or have the ability and lack the desire?
Back to Frankie's memoir.....near the end he has saved enough money for him to leave Ireland and return to America. His family throws him a farewell party at which his mother sings:
"A mother's love is a blessing
No matter where you roam.
Keep her while you have her,
You'll miss her when she's gone."
(p. 357)
I found solace in a book, not surprising, I often do. For even though these words could depress, I know no matter the year, no matter the day, no matter the place, even though Mom is gone, she'll wish me well.
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