April 16

You may recognize the first lines of “The Way of the World” by poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox: Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone. It’s true that it’s easy to have friends around you when things are going well; most people can handle the good days.

I’ve been blessed with a large, close family. Regardless of the moments we’ve gotten angry or frustrated with each other, when it comes right down to it, we are there for each other. And we’ve had times over the years when that’s been proven. Times when one or another of us has dropped everything and gone to be with the other. Not every family is that way. I’m lucky mine is.

But I’m also lucky to have friends I feel the same way about, especially since my family is so scattered. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve had numerous people extend their condolences over the loss of my father. I’ve gotten cards from unexpected people. Hugs from colleagues. A plant delivered to my house. But what’s touched me most is that I’ve also had several close friends who checked in with me daily, sometimes several times a day. Grief manifests itself in strange ways. I’m not usually an outwardly emotional person. I don’t like to cry in public. I don’t like to draw attention to myself. I’m much more comfortable being the one other people can lean on. But I’ve found myself close to tears periodically with random triggers. A song, a card, a memory. While I feel like I’m doing ok, I know that the grieving process isn’t over. Death has a way of making you reflect not just on the life of the person lost, but on your own life. For me, it’s reminded me of the brevity of our days and reinforced my desire to live a meaningful life.  I’m sure this reflection is part of the process, but it also adds another emotional layer to an already stressful event. And I know that for other people, it’s not always easy to know what to say or do for someone during this time. Therefore, I’m so grateful to have people in my life who look beyond my I’m ok and check on me anyway. It means more to me than they probably realized.

April 8: Dad

My dad died today. My sisters and mom and I sat by his bedside all night last night, listening to his labored breathing, holding our own breath every time he stopped too long between gasps. He never woke up. So we chatted amongst ourselves and cried intermittently and finally, around 2 am, requested pillows and blankets and tried to sleep on wooden folding chairs. There’s something exhausting and guilty-feeling about waiting for death. The constant wondering if the next moment is going to be the last one together. Just after 5 am, when it was just my mom awake by his side, my dad simply stopped breathing. My mom said she had just told him he didn’t have to hold on any longer. He could go, and so he did.

I have to admit that when I first got the call yesterday that my dad had taken a turn for the worse and maybe wouldn’t survive the day, I didn’t want to go back to the hospital. It wasn’t that I had just made the three-hour drive back home, it was that I didn’t really want to face it. I wasn’t sure I had the energy or the strength to watch my dad die. But then I knew that whatever I felt didn’t matter. What was real was that the man who spent his life taking care of me and my sisters and my mom would be gone within hours, and I had the privilege to be there by his side. No matter how much it would hurt to see, this was a gift, to say a final goodbye.

I’m thankful my dad was a Christian. He believed that he was headed to a better place and had absolutely no fear of death. I know that made his final days easier for him. And I’m sure he was looking forward to seeing the many people he had lost in his almost 67 years: his own dad who died too early in his 30’s, his mom who suffered from Alzheimer’s, his brothers, his son, his best friend. It must have comforted my mom also, allowing her the strength to tell him to go to the others she believed were waiting for him.

The world lost a wonderful man today. A man with a hearty laugh and a deep love for people and animals and the Lord. A man of strength and honor and commitment. A man who loved my mother and her children as his own. He was my stepfather, but I never thought of him that way. To me he was always my dad. I’m thankful he entered my life so long ago. And I’m thankful I was there when he left so peacefully this morning.

April 7

It’s not surprising how the end of someone’s life brings family together. In the last few days, I’ve been able to see my aunts and a cousin whom I rarely see anymore. Not because we don’t want to see each other, but because we don’t live close and it’s difficult. I’ve also gotten a chance to see my sisters who are scattered across the country. We’ve had a chance to reminisce a little and catch up. I’m thankful for the closeness we share, even across the miles that usually separate us. When someone you love is getting close to leaving this world, the important things tend to emerge. I’ve been reminded once again that life is short and death is the only certainty. What we do on our way to the end is the important thing. Live while you can. Love gently but fiercely; live passionately but with dignity; forgive and move on. In the end we only have each other.

April 3

It’s been a difficult day. But I’m thankful for the friends who have checked in with me and offered support one way or another. Life is so unpredictable; that’s why living, truly living is so important.

My dad is back in the hospital, only this time they found that it is cancer again. It’s spread throughout his body. It’s hard to talk about or even think about right now. As with anyone in this situation, it seems so unfair. But I’m going to travel there tomorrow to be a support for my mom if nothing else. I’m grateful I live close enough to do that.

March 15: bequest

Not every day seems like quality time with my kids. Thankfully, today was a good day. I’m glad I still have some of those.

bequest

some days I have nothing in me to offer
to you my daughter
the burden of living puts strings on my love
worry is a hard master with many demands
I’m a slave to the rose bed I’m buried in

I’d like to wrap up the wisdom of the trees
in gold foil and shiny bow to offer to you
as a parting gift the day you cut yourself free
age gets its wisdom through the mistakes of the young
I have nothing else to learn on my own

promise me
you’ll reappear as a beautiful apparition
in and out of my lonely days
when I have time to tell you of a mother’s love
and you can absolve me of my sins
and prepare me for rest

 

March 9

I am not a great picture taking person. I never have been. I’m the type who shows up at special events and thinks, oh, crap! I should have brought my camera! There have been countless functions over the years–school plays, musicals, sporting events–where I sat watching all the other parents vying for the good camera shots while I sat empty handed, expecting someone to come take my mom card away from me. (Although driving a mini-van probably ensures that can’t happen.) I’m not sure why taking pictures has never been a priority. I actually really love good photos. Maybe I’m just lazy. Even now I rarely remember to take photos with my phone camera when I should. But I’ve also never been the type to fill my home with family photos either. In my house now, I have only four framed photos: one of my kids from a couple years ago, a small one of me and my sisters when we were kids, a rather large black and white of my great-grandfather holding a cigarette (it’s just really cool), and one of me that was taken by a photographer friend who won a national award with the print. (You can’t really tell it’s me, so I don’t feel too vain with having it up.) Although I usually have a couple pictures on my fridge. Right now there’s one of my parents and one of my mom and sisters.

So I got to thinking a few months ago that I should have good pictures taken of me and my kids before they move out. I hired an artist friend who recently got into photography, someone I have known for years. She is super creative, and I knew she would find an unusual backdrop and some non-standard poses for us. We ended up going to another artist’s studio. He works with found/industrial elements and had several areas for us to use. We brought a change of clothes and spent a couple of hours feeling like models and having a blast. In one series of shots, the three of us sat in rubber chairs that had come out of a mental institution (I wanted one). In another we sat on a workbench in formal gowns. In yet another we stood in front of shelves of found junk, posing with pieces that seemed meaningful to us. When I finally got the proofs back, it took me forever to narrow down the ones I wanted to buy. If money were no object, I would have gotten them all. My daughters are beautiful and so photogenic. However, there was one particular picture that all three of us immediately chose as our favorite. The irony of it is that we weren’t posing in it at all. We are laughing together, a moment in-between the poses that the photographer simply captured with us unaware. It’s the perfect embodiment of my relationship with my kids…such joy. It was the first print I decided to order for the wall–in a large canvas. It arrived this weekend.  I’m so thankful I decided to have the photo shoot and can’t wait to add this picture to the wall.

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March 7

Today I am thankful that I got a chance to see my sister and niece for a short visit. They stopped by my place yesterday and spent the night on their way to my niece’s college. She had an orientation today, and I happen to live along the route there. While I didn’t see them but to say a quick goodbye before they left today, we were able to hang out a little bit last night. Well, my niece hung out with my daughters, while my sister went to dinner with me and some of my friends. Overall, we had a fun, albeit short night. At one point, my niece made the comment that she could always come to my place on holiday breaks instead of going all the way home, which was actually a welcoming thought. Not one I think my sister would prefer, but I liked the idea that my niece may feel comfortable doing that. It also reminded me of how much I wish I had family who lived closer. For most of my adult life, I have not lived in the same town as anyone in my family. I’ve gotten used to it, of course, but every once in a while I long to be able to simply drop in on a sister or my parents. Just to hang out and stay for dinner. Or have them do the same to me. In the absence of that, I love that sometimes impromptu visits like yesterday’s happen. And now that my niece is going to be away at college next year, maybe the visits will become more regular. That would be cool.

Feb 3

A friend of mine asked me if I’d like to help out with a fundraiser she’s in charge of planning for an organization in town called Healing Pathways. It’s dedicated to providing free psycho-social services to cancer patients and survivors. The fundraiser is an annual Bow Tie March/5K run for men’s cancer awareness. I went today to the committee’s monthly meeting to get an overview of what they’re doing and how I may be able to help out. Of course, I knew by simply going, I was dedicating myself to the cause. But I wanted to. I wrote previously about my sister’s battle with breast cancer and mentioned briefly that my dad was also diagnosed with cancer. Two months prior to my sister’s diagnosis. His was in his stomach.

According to my friend, one reason they are doing a specific event for men’s cancer is because a lot of men put off seeking medical advice, even when they suspect something is wrong. And as we know, when it comes to cancer, early detection is crucial. Women have been told for years to do self-checks and mammograms; who hasn’t seen or heard of the pink ribbon campaign? It’s hard to miss. What are men told? Get a yearly exam? And how many really do? Let’s face it. There is one gender stereotype that has a lot of basis in fact. Men typically don’t discuss problems, especially health-related concerns, with their buddies. And often not even their family members. Women, on the other had, typically do. I have four sisters. We’ve had group discussions of aches and pains, menstrual issues, childbirth, mood swings, bathroom habits…you name it, we’ve discussed it. And with women, the discussions aren’t always limited to family members. It’s not at all out of the ordinary for a phone call from a girlfriend to start with, Can I ask you a personal question? followed by Have you ever experienced (xyz issue)? By this difference alone, women are more prone to make appointments with their doctor to check out something that doesn’t seem normal.

My dad’s cancer diagnosis was a shock. He got the confirmation just weeks before Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, stomach cancer doesn’t always have early warning signs. But we all wondered. He suffered from heartburn for years. He’d drink Pepto Bismal and Alka Seltzer on an almost nightly basis. I remember my mother telling my dad more than once that he should go to his doctor. And I’m sure he did go at some point. But I’m also sure he wasn’t really persistent about issues, nor was he willing to go for every thing that may have felt strange. Like most men I’ve come across, that wasn’t his thing. But he’s one of the strongest men I know. And like my sister, he met his fate head on. Mayo clinic doctors are probably still talking about him. He had his stomach taken out and left the hospital ahead of schedule, in time to eat Thanksgiving dinner with us. In a wonderful, unexpected stroke of luck, his cancer had not spread, like a lot of stomach cancers do. He was blessed in that regard. But, of course, cancer has left an indelible mark on my dad. He’s literally almost half the size he used to be. Life has been drastically different for him. But he’s a survivor of a long, hard battle. Again, another courageous role model I look up to in my family.

I’m thankful today that I have the opportunity to help out with this fundraiser. It’s important. This one’s for my dad.

Feb 1

So my daughter and I were talking today, I don’t remember about what, when she said to me, “You sound like Grandma.” Hmmm. I wasn’t quite sure what to think of that at first, so I replied, “Well, I guess that means you’ll sound like me one day.” “I’m ok with that.” No hesitation on her part. Immediate response.

That got me thinking. First, I was touched that she really saw nothing off-putting in eventually taking on some of my mannerisms or traits or whatever it was in me that prompted her to say I sounded like my mother. Once again, it reminded me that I have a pretty special kid. Then I wondered why it bothered me a tad to think that I’m echoing my mom. After all, I love my mom.  But I guess there’s a stigma attached to turning into your parents. Something about it smacks of being old and out of date. Maybe because it’s usually the time someone starts saying things like you really shouldn’t be doing that and it’s getting late, I should be going home or when I was your age…  However, that’s not always accurate, and it’s ignoring the truth of life. We all influence each other; the closer we are, the more influence we have. Why wouldn’t I want to sound like my mother? To emulate her? After all, she’s loving, she’s funny, she’s generous and loyal. She doesn’t harbor grudges or ill-will towards anyone.

It’s also from her that I learned that being silly and having fun are essential parts of life, no matter how old you are. I have fond memories of my mother doing things like starting food fights or water fights at home. Sometimes she’d even succeed in getting my dad involved. And when my mom and sisters came to visit for our girls weekend last November, my mom, who rarely swears and never misses church on Sunday, was the first one telling a raunchy joke. She’s as quick-witted and sarcastic as the rest of us, but she also readily laughs at herself when she knows she’s been bested.  She’s also the first one in my corner when I need something–even if it’s a hard dose of the truth. Mostly, though, she’s quietly supportive.  I have a collection of cards from her over the years. The kind that start with, I’m so proud of you… or I was just thinking of you… 

My mother. One very cool lady. I’m thankful today that my daughter reminded me of that. I really don’t know who else I’d rather be like.

Day 30

A couple of quick things today.

First, my snow blower works great. And I was able to help out a neighbor with her drive. Ok, I didn’t actually use the snow blower on her drive, but I did send my kids over with shovels to help her while I figured out how to start my new machine. I’m just sad I actually needed to use it. Show of hands on who is tired of winter.

Second, I have a friend who asked me to attend her daughter’s school play with her tonight. I ended up not going, which is not what I am thankful for (not really). Although I do have to admit to some harsh parental realism…school plays and other general, auditorium-based functions at the grade school level are torture for me. Don’t get me wrong, I was as proud as any parent to see my kids squirming and semi-singing from 50 yards away. They’d be dressed up in whatever holiday attire was appropriate at the time and inevitably standing behind someone twice their size, with me thinking…why? Why were they required to wear a Hawaiian grass skirt when it’s not even visible? My kid looks like a floating head. They should just require headgear. But even that isn’t what bothered me the most at these school functions. It was the lack of space and terrible sound systems. So many family members crammed into a hot, smelly gymnasium to hear a mashing of voices or just those couple of really loud kids… Then again, maybe it was just the schools my children went to. I’m sure there are probably schools that put on wonderful programs by talented children in spacious auditoriums that have fabulous sound systems. I would then have to amend my thinking.

I jest, a little. I know these school functions are a passage of child rearing that plays an important role for kids and their parents. They are moments to be proud of our kids and let them know it in a visible, public way. My children always looked for me in the audience and I always smiled and waved excitedly. And I would have done that tonight for my friend’s daughter. Being asked to go made me feel like family. And when it ended up that her boyfriend was able to get off of work, I let them go as a family without me. I’m sure there will be other opportunities over the years to join in. But today, I’m thankful to know my friend thinks highly enough of me to be part of her child’s life in that way. For that, I would have happily gone.