Party of 75

It was two months of planning in secret. Secret calls and emails, incognito communication and code words. It was finding a venue, looking over the menu, picking the band, ordering the cake, getting the decorations, and coming up with a story. And it was all done by my wonderful man for his father’s surprise 75th birthday party. And it was marvelous.

My man came up with the idea and it was a big hit. He contacted friends from 20 years ago or longer, all the way up to the most recent. He poured over every single detail, making sure it was all in place and on schedule. It was fun to be his little helper, doing the things he needed to make sure his father never knew..

And it was getting the house ready for all of the company. So many boxes were still unpacked, and family was coming from out of town to stay for the weekend. Fifty boxes of books to be unpacked, sorted, place on shelves. Pictures were hung and furniture that remained was moved in to fill the spaces and rooms. And it was marvelous. And exhausting. And inspiring. And all that work has been the spring board for the plans we have now.

And then the family came into town. And there was laughing and conversations, and showing the house, and cooking and eating and getting to know everyone better. And anticipation of the party. As I fixed and put out snacks and hors d’oeuvres, I used my mother’s dishes, platters, plates and snack forks, I thought of her. I missed her greatly in that moment. There were always gatherings growing up, and she always made sure she had the proper things about. She would have been proud of me, I think, zipping around, with all the delish treats, using the things she gave me. And I hope she was smiling.

And then it was here. And his father was overwhelmed with surprise as he smiled and hugged those he loved but had not seen for many years. and there was more laughter, and drinks and dancing, and cake.

And that is the thing when you have a family man in your life. There are always gatherings, always love, always relatives close by, always sharing.

Life is short, too short to be isolated and never have any one over. Too short for lonely nights with no family. So celebrate every moment you have with those you love. Make it loud and fun and memorable.

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Daddy’s Hands

Two years ago you started your final journey…Hard to believe it has been that long since I have seen you, hugged you, held your beautiful hand. My first love, my teacher, my dear father. I am proud that I was a Daddy’s girl, and honored to be with you during your final journey. I know you and Mom are having a blast, laughing at your silly daughter. I look at my life now, and see how far I have come since first losing you. I made it through the grief of losing both of you, and am thriving now. I am happy. You were the best father in the world, and I cherish our time. Thank you for everything. I love and miss you so much. Tell Mom I love her. Please visit me in my dreams.

The Last Night

It was the last night at the compound, after two of the most difficult weeks. The contractor refusing to finish the job, having to get more contractors in to finish everything, lots of family drama, lots of loose ends to get tied up, lots of rain making things hard, not much sleep and a lot of stress.  And then…suddenly, it was the night before closing, and all through the house, I was the only mouse stirring.

It was surreal as I gently packed up the last of what I would take and arranged everything to look good for the new family that would move in in less than 24 hours. I cried, as I thought of all the wonderful memories of the good times here, while we were all still a family. FAMILY. A sacred word in that space, in that house in that time.

But it was time to let it all go.  Life then is not the same life it is now.  So many are gone and not coming back. It was time to pass the torch to another family, to make wonderful memories in that beautiful place. Other laughter, other good times, other gifts given to others from others. Yes, it was time to let go.

And on that last night, there was closure of the circle. And I slept sound, comfortable in the knowledge that all was as it should be.  That the saga was over, and life is budding with new opportunities.

And in that last night, I said goodbye. And is saying goodbye, I found Peace.  And isn’t that just how life is?  Sometimes, even when it is difficult, when it is time to let go, there is a peace at the end of it. And after all, that which gives you peace will lead to happiness. And so it goes…

Proud

There are things that make us proud of our parents.  For many years I have been proud of the kind of people they were, and what hey taught me.  I am proud of their professional accomplishments and how many lives they touched as well. Recently I fond another reason to be proud of my wonderful father.

Dad was a professional engineer and had an amazing career.  He thing everything from designing the control systems for ballistic missiles, to the control systems and equipment for nuclear power plants, to designing many inventions and then having his own firm. And he designed the family compound, which was hit pretty hard by the hurricane.

The storm was a category 4 when it hit, maybe a high cat 3. And yet, the only damage to any of the buildings is where the trees made contact.  Nary a shingle out of place other than that. My father designed and built everything so strong and solid, that it all withstood the storm.  There was a lot of damage sustained from the trees, but the windows are all in tact, the structural integrity of the buildings still fine.

And I am so very proud of him,my father.  I just want to give him a big hug and tell him how brilliant he was to know that the family home would need to be built to last through a storm like that. And I love him all the more.

And isn’t that also the case with life?  That we are stronger than we think and capable of handling even the toughest of hurricanes in life?  Through hard work, faith and prayer.

The Hole Life

These days life is good and complete and wonderful.  This summer is one of re establishing myself, love, passion, fun, and just life in general. And I am thankful for each and every second.  I am ever aware of how delicate this life is, how love connects us all and how the dark and light dance together every day.

This summer is a combination of every thing good.  Lazy days and sleeping late and resting, followed by concerts and explorations.  Going skydiving, taking trips, drinking wine, working out, rehydrating, and building the life I always wanted.  But it is all about balance. Only when we are balanced can we truly enjoy all that life has to offer. And I am thriving.

My mother taught me that life carves out deep spaces within us every time we are hurt.  These deep spaces make us into the amazingly deep works of art that our souls are meant to be.  In that sense we are always evolving. But great depth comes at a great price, so you do have to go through a lot of life to get there.

Because even as wonderful as life is now, the truth is I still have moments of overwhelming grief.  I will hear something or see something that brings it all back. And there I am, tears streaming down my face. Because I miss my parents and my siblings. I miss having a family.  I miss someone caring where I am at midnight, and someone to tell when I have landed safely from a plane. I miss Christmas shopping, and wrapping presents.  I miss the innocence of not knowing grief and death. I miss calling my parents and sharing exciting news. I miss coffee and talks and listening to the crickets or watching storms with them.  I miss the smell of my mother’s Banana nut bread, and I miss my father’s voice. I miss the million little things you do when you have a family that loves you.

And not having a family leaves a huge hole.  Psychology says that you must look within to fill that hole, that you cannot fill it with anything external.  And I agree.  Except with grief, the hole remains, because the loss of your family leaves a huge empty place that can never truly be filled because they can never be replaced.  But this doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

What I have found is that if you accept the fact that the hole is there, then you can move past it.  And you can build a beautiful, wonderful life around it.  Because the hole, and missing all of those things, does not mean that you cannot have a complete life. It just means that you recognize and acknowledge that life has changed. It is called acceptance.

I think trouble starts when we try to fill this hole with all that is external instead of accepting it’s existence.  Then it becomes a blackhole, sucking every bit of life out of you and everyone around you.  It is then that people become bitter; angry that they cannot fill the hole no matter what they try.  So stop trying to fill it.  Accept and build around it instead.  I cannot change that I do not have a family, but I can change how how I deal with it.

For me, not only am I building around it, but I am going to make this hole the place from where love comes.  Love comes from God and flows through us. But what if that hole, that big, beautiful hole, that goes down so deep that it makes even the human soul seem shallow, where I miss my loved ones so much, becomes where God’s love flows through me and touches others in my life? What if I turn that hole into that gate, so to speak?  Then it is not just a giant hole, instead it becomes something beautiful and amazing.

And that is the great thing about life – it is your story, and you can change your story at any time. You can write that story if you want. And I am. So it will be the Great Hole of Love (no, scratch that, way too many jokes there). OK, maybe it will just be a new way of life. Because life is what we make it. So make it good.

Going Skydiving

We all have those moments that define us and who we are.  If we are lucky, we have many of those moments in our lives. We also have those things that we have always wanted to do, those things that are on our bucket list.

Next Friday, I mark one of those things off my bucket list.  I am going skydiving, on Friday July 13th.  And I figure it is the perfect day and date for the event. An early morning with a good breakfast, then a shoot two hour drive to Chattanooga.  We will go through training, get suited up and go up in the air.  It is a tandem jump, so I will not have to be the one to jump out of the place – which is good because I would probably freeze on my first jump.  Also, who wants a klutz jumping out of a plane?  Better leave that to the professional…and let me be tied to them.  That way if I do trip and fall, and take them with me, at least they know what to do.

The day is the 2nd anniversary of my Mother’s death.  And instead of moping and being sad, I choose to celebrate her and her adventurous spirit by jumping.  And I have a letter for her, that I will give her on the way down. The first Mother’s day I swam out to the ocean, and the the letter go in a big wave, for the sea to give to her. This year, she will find her letter in the clouds.  And it is a little defiant as well.  She forbid me to skydive while she was alive, so I waited.

And maybe in that adventure is where we will find ourselves. Because maybe we all get a little lost sometimes. And when we are lost we need something to help us remember what matters, what is sacred, what is true. When we are lost, we need to see things from high up, the big picture, to understand how to navigate and how to be unlost. Maybe from high up we can see all of our pieces and know where to go to find them and put ourselves back together.

I am going with this company, Chattanooga Skydiving, Friday July 13th at 11am central time (12 noon ET). If you are reading this come on out and jump with us. The more the merrier. It will be fun, it will be trilling, it will be a moment to remember. A way to celebrate life, love and adventure.

And if skydiving is not your thing, have an adventure somehow.  Do something that scares you, excites you, makes year heart beat faster and makes you remember that you are alive. Have a life that is well lived. Life is what we make it, so make it an adventure, make it good and make it happy, my friends.

Steak and Honor

This Sunday is Father’s Day, a day to celebrate and honor fathers everywhere.  This day can be bittersweet for those who no longer have a Dad on this earth, but I will celebrate it with Joy.

Dad loved a good steak.  Especially on a Sunday.  For many years, we had family steak dinner night on Sunday, with Mom at the grill and Dad anxiously waiting with his fork.  And so this Father’s Day, I will sit down to a delicious steak dinner and have a toast for my father.

The last Father’s Day he was here was probably the best one he had ever had.  He was happier than I had ever seen him.  All of his children were with him, at the same time, in the same room.  That had not happened before, and he just kept smiling and saying he never thought is would happen, never thought is was possible. Having ever one there was the best gift that could have been given to him.  I am so glad you had that experience.

So this year it is about celebrating him, and being thankful that out of all the Dad’s in the world, he was mine. My Dad was my hero. And steak dinners are delicious.

A Walk with Dad: The Last Day

The hospice nurse came in early the next morning to examine Dad.  He held his stethoscope to Dad’s abdomen and listened.  I held my breath and asked if he heard anything. he said No.  I quietly said I know what that means.  The nurse, Terry, seemed relieved that I knew, because he did not want to tell me.  The other nurse came in too. After they both talked and reviewed everything they told me what I already knew, that Dad had maybe 24 hours left.When there are no more sounds in the abdomen, the body is shutting down. The kidneys, liver and intestines are shutting down.

I called everyone to let them know . Then I tried to get in touch with my closets sister. I sent test messages, emails, emails to he sons and husband…but heard nothing back.  I had no idea if she got the messages, if she believed me, if she was going to be there or skip out like she did with mom.  I was terrified that I would have to go through Dad’s death alone.  One of my best friends told me that no matter what, if my sister didn’t come, she would be there.  I would not have to go through this alone. She would hold my hand as I held Dad’s.

I told my ex that he needed to get there if he wanted to see Dad and say goodbye.  And he also tried to get a hold of my sister for me as well, calling her and her sons, and emailing as well.  I can’t say many good things about the ex, but I was frantic trying to find my sister to let her know.  And I appreciated his help.  I didn’t know if she would show up, but if she didn’t, I had to know that I did everything to let her know.  No matter what, I would have a clear conscience.

She did get one of the messages and said she was coming and bringing her family to say goodbye.  I knew Dad would be happy.  Even when a patient is not conscience, they can hear, they know who is around them and what is going on.  Dad would know he was surrounded by those he loved most – his children and grandchildren.

The staff and I met everyone before they went in and explained Dad’s condition. None of them had ever seen anyone like that, and I knew how terrible it would be.  But even when someone warns you, you are still never prepared.  They were so upset, and were crying even before they went on to see him. It broke my heart to see them like that.

We went in and the next few hours was spent crying, praying taking, laughing, saying goodbye. One of my best friends had come to say goodbye and make sure that I was OK. My ex had come to say goodbye, but left to go meet a prostitute names Pearl Prime after he got an email from her. A man from Hospice came for music therapy. O never knew how comforting it would be, until this kind man sat quietly and played his guitar softly for us. His compassion was tangible and he played beautifully.

A priest came to give Dad Last Rites, and the man from Hospice played Ava Maria, which was Dad’s favorite. It was beautiful and I cried. My best friend and my nephews left after that.  To my surprise my sister stayed and stated she was not leaving.  I was beyond thankful.  I wasn’t sure if I could do it alone. I thanks God for answering  my prayer that she would be there.

And so they left and it was just the four of us – Me, my sister, Dad and the continuous care nurse. She had been there since early that morning. A continuous care nurse is a beautiful service Hospice provides. It is a nurse whose entire purpose s only to take care of the patient, no matter who else is in the room.  They stay with the patient 24/7, until they pass.  They make sure they are comfortable, and have everything that they need.  But it is more than that. This nurse was there  only to tend to Dad. She made sure he was more than comfortable, she made sure he was peaceful. The staff at the assisted living facility were amazing. They checked in on Dad and also us, making sure we had everything we needed – Did we need food?  Or anything to rink?  Would we like some hot tea or coffee?

And so it was, My sister and I stayed with Dad, held his hand, told our favorite stories, I sung to Dad, and told him I loved him. And his breathing slowly became less and less…until…it was his last at 2:55am.

It was beautiful and he was peaceful. He actually had an almost smile on his face. He was surrounded by love. And Mom took him across, I am sure of it. He passed away on Ash Wednesday, his favorite day of the religious year.

I love you Dad. And I will miss you always.

 

A Walk with Dad: The Conversation

The next day was the the news that what dad was going through was 90% the dying process.  They said that miracles do happen, but it did not look good.  I didn’t know what to do.  I paced around a lot. That was the the 27th, Monday.  I called my cousins and aunts to let them know.  I called my friends, and i called the three siblings to let them know, find out of they wanted to fly in to say goodbye. They did not, just to keep them updated and let them know when he passed.  I still could not get hold of  my closest sister and wasn’t sure if she wold believe me if I told her anyway. Then I called the ex and asked him to see me after work because it was an emergency and I needed and face to face conversation.  To my surprise, he agreed to come.

That day was spent talking with nurses and staff, making plans, telling family and friends. Praying, a lot of praying. And crying.  Dad was not getting better. He was getting worse it seemed.  He was not really talking much, and terminal restlessness has started. That is when the patient gets restless, cannot get comfortable, picks at the covers or tubes, tries to get up, sit up, lay down, etc.  It is incredibly distressing, even when you know what it is, which is a natural part of the dying process.  I recognized it it from when Mom was dying. Even then, it was hard.  I recognized other things as well.  But Dad was comfortable and well taken care of.  He was at peace with dying, he had said it before.

When the ex arrived, I pulled him aside and explained to him that Dad was dying, that he was not very responsive, that he had terminal restlessness.  That it would be very stressful to see, but that dad was actually not in any way suffering and was natural part of the process.  Even then, the ex had never seen anyone dying and it was very distressing to him.  I asked the ex to be in the room with me when I told Dad that it was OK to let go and be with Mom.  You have to tell those who are dying that it is OK, you have to break your own heart and tell them to let go.

And so I did.  I held Dad’s hand and told him that I loved him more than words could say, but that I knew he was tired.  I knew that he missed Mom, the love of his life, and that he wanted to be with her.  I told him that I would be OK, that all of his children and grandchildren would be OK, and that if he wanted to let go, to be with Mom, it was OK.  I understood, and that he could let go. It was the second hardest conversation I have ever had to have in mu life.  The first was the same conversation I had with Mom.  Dad was not responsive with words, but he held my hand and squeezed it. I knew he hard and understood.  That was the conversation.

After that the ex went and got cognac and beer for Dad.  I had been giving Dad water  on little spurge to keep his mouth dry.  Dad could no longer swallow so he could not drink any liquids or take his medicine.  So I would take the sponge and squeeze it as drop went into his mouth.  When the ex came back. I put some cognac on the sponge and asked if he wanted some.  He parted his lips and grunted enthusiastically. I put some on his lips and in his mouth.  It must have hurt his lips (they were cracked) and then out water on them  We sat with Dad for a while longer, talking to him, making sure he was OK.  He was restless and kept trying to get out of the bed or sit up.  That was terminal restlessness.  The Hospice nurse gave him something to help calm him and he was OK.  The ex however, was visible shaken, so I told him I would take him for a beer. We went to a terrible restaurant were we both had a beer and two double shots.

I stayed with Dad that night.  I sang to him, and talked to him about my favorite times we spent together.  I wanted to make sure that he knew he wasn’t alone.

 

A Walk with Dad: The Last Visit

It is about this time that the exact days get a little fuzzy.  I was so exhausted and sleep deprived that is it hard to remember.  What I do know is that one day of that last weekend was my last visit with Dad. I went either Friday of Saturday. I never in a million years that that would be the last time I would see him, talk to him, hug him while he was strong enough to be up and around.

The last day we spent together was good.  He had been getting stronger, but was still tired easily. He had already eaten but I did roll him around the to get him outside of his apartment.

I had been keeping a close eye on his health and any issues he had been having.  Hospice had informed me about symptoms to look out for and let them know about immediately. They had also said to make sure any visitors were aware of what to watch out for and to tell me about how he was doing during any visits.

Dad had a few visitors and they all told me how Dad was during each visit – if he seemed stronger or weaker, if he had trouble speaking, swallowing or moving or breathing.  Also if his cognitive abilities seemed OK or worse. If he complained about about pain. The creepy cheating ex kept up his super controlling behavior up by refusing to share any information about how Dad’s health seemed during his few visits, or if Dad  displayed any of the symptoms Hospice warned about.

Dad was in a good mood that day, but he wanted desperately to go home.  His missed being home.  Right before I left for the night, he talked to me about what he wanted to do once he was well enough to get out and go home.  I had to tell him that this was his home now, and that is why all of his favorite things were there in the apartment.  I explained to him that it was not safe to be “home” anymore, because he fell a lot and I could not keep him safe because I did not have the medical training that was needed to keep him safe. And Dad’s face fell.  It was like telling a child they could not have candy any more.  I told him that as soon as he was strong enough I would take him home for dinner several tomes a week.  And keep him there over night even when he was able.  It broke my heart to tell him that.

Dad slumped over in his chair, his disappointment physically visible. It broke my heart.  And he said softly, but matter of factly, almost as if he was talking out loud to himself, “If that is true then I have to change the way I think about a few things.” Even then the way he said it seemed a bit ominous.

I said goodbye, hugged him tight and told him I loved him. He said it back.  But that was the last conversation I had with my father.  The next day I was so exhausted that I slept most of the day.  I didn’t go to see him.  I needed the rest and I figured he was in good hands with the staff.  I wish I had gone that day. Later the staff told me that Dad had a burst of energy.  He got up, walked with the walker, he joked with the staff, he ate meals in the dining room, with one of the staff members (staff would eat with new members to help them meet and integrate with the other members). The lady he ate with said he told her about all the projects he worked on, all the ballistic missiles, the designs for the white house and presidents, all about his amazing career.

As much as I wish I had gone to see him that day, I wonder if he needed to tell his stories to someone who had never heard them before. I was so proud of him, but I knew all the stories, new all the projects he worked on.  He had the opportunity that day to share his life stories with others.  He got to make people, the girls who spent time with him that day, laugh and smile with all the projects and the amazing things he worked on.  All the ways he, his designs and his ideas changed the history of technology. And maybe he needed to know that others would think he was special too, and understand his contribution, when they were not related to him and somewhat obligated. All of them told me how charming and adorable he as. And how so incredibly smart, how they loved hearing what he had done and worked on. and how they wanted to talk to him more.  How they loved spending that time with him.

I do know Dad enjoyed the last day he was out of bed and moving around.  I know that he had a great day, that he laughed, enjoyed good food, good company and charmed the staff.  And I suppose we should all pray to be that lucky.

A Walk with Dad: The Phantom

This day, Thursday, was a good day with Dad, though he was tired from all the activity from the day before.  Eating in the dining room, socializing and moving around so much just wore him out.  I went to see Dad around lunch and he had already eaten in his room.  The staff were wonderful about making sure he had what he needed.

The staff also made me aware that the first Hospice that we used was good, but was not doing everything needed.  So I had another Hospice assigned.  And they were amazing. They gave a thorough examination and made sure I had their numbers.  They had chaplain who came while I was there.  Dad, who was a man of few words, immediately trusted him and opened up.  Dad smiled and talked easily.

The chaplain had a way about him that put people at ease, myself in included.  And he said he would come back, when it could be just the two of them, and really talk to Dad and make sure that he did not have any emotional or spiritual issues with the situation.  He said he would talk to Dad about loosing Mom, about his children and family, about God and make sure Dad was a Peace. He said that he was there for Dad, in whatever he may need in that capacity. Dad smiled and said he was looking forward to seeing the chaplain again.

Dad was in good spirits that day, though tired. He was still also in a bit of pain from the fall earlier.  He also fell at the assisted living place, and that jared him a bit, so he was sore from that as well.  Dad was having trouble balancing and walking.  He would shuffle his feet and sometimes would not lift them up quite enough when stepping.

Dad was still able to eat by himself and wasn’t shaking as much.  When he first went into rehab back in December, he was so weak and shaking so badly that he could barely hold a fork or spoon to get food to his mouth.  It was heartbreaking and I took video of it him if I was accused of exaggerating Dad’s condition. But he was doing well in assisted living. He was easily fatigued but doing much better. And that day he was in good spirits, so that made me feel much better too.

I was excited because I was going to see Phantom of the Opera with some friends.  I had bought 3 tickets a month before, originally for my then boyfriend and father.  Dad had not seen a stage production in a long time, and this was a great one to take him to – the amazing costumes, the effects, the music…it would be perfect.  But he was too tired and the then boyfriend was now the ex. So my friends and I went instead.

We had a great time that night and it was a needed break.  Sometimes when dealing with difficult emotional situations, you need to be reminded that life exists outside of your current experience.  That life does exist, period.

 

A Walk with Dad

As I sit back enjoying a quiet evening after a hectic and long day, the memories flood back. This time last year with my father.  The thing about memories is that they are often not chronological.  They just come in sometimes random order, leaving you to figure out which ones came first and on what days.

I remember visiting my Dad every day while he was at the Hospice House.  The rooms there were set up to look like real bedrooms in real homes.  They even had a sliding glass door with a wonderful patio.  I remember looking out and wishing that it was warm so Dad could enjoy the warmer temperatures.  But this time last year, it was still freezing.  Looking back it seems like last winter started in October and lasted until mid April.  Dad was miserable when it was cold.

I would stay and talk with him until he was tired and wanted to go to sleep.  Only then would I leave.  And we laughed and just talked. I would tell him about my day, about work, about things in general. And sometimes we didn’t way anything, we were just silent. He was tired often, and talking, thinking and keeping up with the conversation would take all of his energy. I went to leave, and I hugged him and told him I loved him like I always did.  And he looked at me and thanked me for everything that I had done for him…because I was the only child that would be there for him and do these things.  It broke my heart.  He was so sad when he said it.

I know he wanted so bad for my other sister to be there, but no one could fine her or get a hold of her. She had refused to help, then just disappeared, and no one knew why or how to reach  her. So we just thought she changed her number, since all we got was a recording when we tried to call.  I didn’t know what to tell Dad…what do you say when a number is disconnected and no one hears from that person?  What do you say when emails, phone calls, text messages, get bounced back when they have said they have no time or interest in helping?

And I desperately wanted my sister too.  I didn’t know what to do, or how.  We had lost Mom so soon before, how could I handle loosing Dad? But we are often stronger than we realize. There was no way to even tell her that Dad was in Hospice, or that his treatments had stopped and we did not know how long he had left.  And even if I did tell her, would she dismiss it like she had before and just told me that I was exaggerating, like she said about when I told her mom was sick?

The creepy ex had left, and I was devastated. Then trying to be there for Dad, talking to nurses, Hospice staff, making arrangements and getting all the legal things in order for the assisted living facility. And all the medical records and coordinations between the assisted living and Hospice. Trying to keep all the family – Dad’s siblings, cousins, my siblings and his childhood, high school, college and other friends updated. Oh, yes and still working a regular job,, though they were being incredibly understanding of my situation. I was crying all the time.  I wasn’t eating or sleeping. I was exhausted and distraught.  There was no one to help and I desperately needed help and advice, I needed a shoulder.  My friends called and did what they could. But I was just lost.  And I felt so very alone

And that had to be nothing compared to what Dad was feeling and going through. I can’t even imagine. He was a good and honorable man, he worked hard, he loved my mother and was a wonderful husband. He was my hero.

And so I loved sitting with him, talking with him, eating those boiled peanuts, fixing up his room. And when he got to the assisted living place, his room was lovely, with all of his favorite things.  And I left a little not on his pillow, letting him know that I had to be at work, but that I would there later…and in the meantime, there were boiled peanuts and his favorite beer in the fridge.

And I made sure he was Ok there, and almost spent the night with him that first night.  But I was exhausted, and needed to try to sleep.  Plus, the staff was checking on him every hour at night.  I kissed him goodnight and hugged him so tight that first night as assisted living. I was both relieved and scared.  I prayed he would be OK, and not feel lonely.

The next day I was there and he was still very tired as the moved the day before had taken a lot out of him.  But I went and talked to him and laughed and made sure he was OK.  I talked with the staff and nurses, they were looking after him well.  They we checking on him, making sure he ate, helping him shower and get around, as he was still unsteady.  That was on Tuesday.

Wednesday the 22nd I went and we had dinner or lunch together (can’t remember which).  But I remember wheeling him down to the dining area and we ate. The food was good, and we enjoyed the conversation. Afterward we listened as a few of the other members who stayed there played the piano. He loved it, and for the first time in a while, I saw him smile and his eyes dance.

It was a warmish day and so I took him outside for a little while.  The grounds were lovely, and there was a little patio with chairs and a little garden at the end of the hall, which was one door down, from his apartment. We sat out there are talked a bit before I wheeled him around the grounds.  Everyone was do friendly, and I think that maybe for a brief minute, he wanted to feel better so he could enjoy where he was living. There was a cool breeze that felt c=good to me, but gave him a chill.  So we went back to his room and sat and talked for a bit.  He was soon tired and ready for a nap. I hugged him tight and left for the evening. And as always, told him I loved him so very much before I left.

I still love you so much Dad. I know you wanted to be to home, but you were trying to enjoy where you were.  They took such great care of you, better than I could have honestly.  I am thankful for that day and that time together.

 

 

 

Hi Dad, it’s Me

I found one of your cards today, one of the ones you left for me to find. Somehow, I always find them right when I need them. I guess you are just magic like that.

Your 1st year anniversary is coming up soon. I know it will be a hard day. There are so many difficult memories this month.

I didn’t know how I was going to make it after you passed. I knew I would, just didn’t know how. Or when. Those were some dark and sad days. And I was feeling mighty low.

You never get over losing your parents, but I think you would be proud of the progress I have made. It has been a long time. And so much hard work. I hope that you would be proud.

I miss you. I miss your voice. I miss you hugs. I miss eating boiled peanuts with you. And I miss you sharing your thoughts on what mattered. I miss your laugh and your one-line zingers and your quiet sense of humor.

I love you so much. Thank you for the card today.

Sweet Memories

A rare photo of the four of us together. Although we were very close, there are not many group pictures.  Love × Infinity.

Be My Roots

“I will be your roots.  Your friends, we will be your roots.  Root in us. Root in those who love you.”

We all have those friends who are just so wise and wonderful, who tell you not just what you want to hear, but what you need to hear.  They love you enough to tell the truth, to encourage you to see what is really there, no illusions and to help you, through all of your troubles and follies. I have been blessed with several of these friends and I cannot tell you what I would have done without them.

I had lunch with a dear friend yesterday and some much needed girl talk was had.  And during that time, she said some very profound things – as she usually does, since she has wisdom beyond her years. I spilled my heart out to her with how I had been and where things are.

It’s has been hard finding my footing after loosing both parents so close together.  My friend made a great observation:  She said that I was grounded in my parents, family is where I put my roots.  And now that they are gone, I have no roots. So now I am desperately searching for my roots now.

My parents and I were very close, as I talked to them once a day.  And they were always visiting because of Dad’s cancer treatments. No matter what problems I had, they were there for me. I was so very blessed.

So now what?  She looked at me, smiled and said “I will be your roots.  Your friends, we will be your roots.  Root in us. Root in those who love you. We will root each other.”

And I cried.  To have such love and friendship is beyond a blessing.

And so I move forward, finding a place to put my roots in the fertile ground of Faith, Friends and Family. While I am still fragile and vulnerable, I know I will be OK, safe in the arms of such unconditional love.

The Service and a Pillow

I have long known that a funeral or memorial service is more for those who are left than for the person who is gone.  A good funeral is the last thing we can really do for our loved one. It is the last send off, the last honor, the last “right” thing that is left.

And so it was with my father’s memorial service this past weekend.  The church service was beautiful, an Easter service of celebration. He passed away on Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, one of his most cherished religious seasons. Dad respected Lent as a time of quiet introspection. And he had made peace with his situation, so it is fitting that this Lenten season is about grief and grieving.  Forty days to reflect on the past 7-8 months. It is as if he knew. And maybe he did.

At the service there was the family including all of my siblings.  It was truly wonderful to have us all together along with aunts and cousins. My three longest and best friends were there for me, sitting behind me to give me strength, catch me if I fell or make funny faces at me if it looked like I couldn’t make it through the service.  They are the reason I could breath.

And when the service was close to and end, the Honor Guard came, played Taps and presented my father’s flag to me.  If you have never seen that presentation, it is beautiful.  They march out, at attention, then Taps is played.  When that is done, they slowly, silently, purposefully, unfold and refold the flag.  Every movement is crisp and marked by a click of their heels. And when the flag is folded, and they give the proper respect to it, they march, at attention, and kneel down to the next of kin. They say thank you, on behalf of the President of the United States, and of the country and of the Air force (or whichever branch).  I sobbed. I  gently accepted his flag as tears ran down my cheeks.  And my tears fell on my fathers flag before I could get a tissue. That flag is sacred to me.

And then the celebration of life, and the stories and the beer and the food.  I heard the food was delicious and what little bit I ate definitely was.  I spoke, as well as several other friends and family members. And I learned a few things about this humble, quiet man I called Dad.  There was laughter, there were a few tears and there were a lot of hugs and much love.

The siblings got together afterward, along with  my Angels, and we had a great time talking and taking time to decompress after the last several days.  And there was a lot of wine.

And then there was quiet.  And there is still quiet. A silence that is a bit uncomfortable as the finality of the situation sets in.  They are really gone.  And life moves forward. But what life is this that lay before me?  For the first time in 8 years I am taking care of only me.  And I am not sure I know what to do with myself.  One part is very liberating – knowing that you have done right by your parents and loved ones. And another part is terrifying, not remembering what you did before.

It is the blue after the storm. That time after the service, after the commotion, after the shock, after the after…where things are quiet and you are left to figure out the “new normal.” No doubt I will be fine, as everyone goes through this at some point in their life. But it is unsettling and strange.  A person is still delicate in this time.

There was no quiet after Mom passed; it went straight into Dad moving in and me taking care of an elderly parent. It was chaos for 7.5 months. So this in new. And if I am honest, it is a bit scary. The empty nest…but I am sure I will find my way, awkwardly as always. But eventually I’ll get the hang of this thing called life. The fact of the matter is that they are gone. I am here.  Life is here.

In the meantime, as I learn to sleep alone in the house, I am wrapped up in the peace and knowledge that I did right by the Bible and honored my parents. When they are gone, having done right by your parents is the most comfortable pillow in the world.

James Burch Obituary

James (Jim) Lamar Burch was a man of few words, but was known for his quick wit and one-line zingers. Even more so, he was known for his love of God, his country and his family. Most notably, Jim was known for his love and devotion to Geneva (Genny), his wife of 49 years until her passing in July 2016.

Jim was born September 2, 1936, in Jasper, FL, to James Oswald Burch and Martha Agnes Green. He graduated from the University of Florida in 1959 with a Bachelor’s degree in Mechanical Engineering. He also earned an Electrical and Communications certificate from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in New York.

In 1958, he married Byrne Booth with whom he had three children – Carie Burch Quigley, Pleasant Hill, NY; James Oswald Burch, II, Wilmington, NC; and Boots Burch Quimbey, Bethesda, MD.

From 1959 to 1963 Jim served in the Air Force Reserves and was a certified value engineer in the U.S. Naval Facilities Engineering Command. Jim was employed at the Department of Defense in Washington, D.C., where he worked on the Nike Zues and Atlas projects designing ballistic missiles. He also designed phone systems for The White House.

He later married Genny and they had two daughters, Rita Lynn, Marietta, GA, and Ada Lamar, Dunwoody, GA. Jim and Genny also fostered 63 children.

In 1969, Jim and Genny moved to Ontario, Canada, where he was an electrical controls engineer at the Atomic Energy of Canada.

He also worked for several other companies, including AT&T,  Martin Orlando, Miller Brewing Company and Kun-Young Chiu & Associates. Jim and Genny moved from Wauchula, FL, to Valdosta, GA, in 1985 where they were members of St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. Jim partnered with Ed Locke to start an engineering firm, AEC in 1990.

Jim loved classical music, WWII history, beer, and hot dogs.

In 2001, Jim and Genny moved to Donalsonville, GA where they built their dream home and lived their last years enjoying gardening and fishing. Following Genny’s passing, Jim moved to the Atlanta, GA, metro area where he was cared for by his daughter Ada and a dear family friend Michael Mulé.

On March 1, 2017, Jim reunited with Genny in heaven after succumbing to a long illness.

He is preceded in death by his parents, his brothers Brent, and Billy and his sister Margaret. In addition to his children, he leaves to cherish his life nine grandchildren – Patrick, William, Karl, Coleman, James III, Tyler, Allen, Thomas, and Brian; two great grandchildren, Finely and Bexley; sisters Lena Mae and Nelma, and a host of extended family members and friends.

A memorial service will be held Saturday,  March 11 at 1:pm at St Barnabas church, 3565 Bemiss Rd, Valdosta, GA 31605. Celebration of life will immediately follow at Park Place, 2215 N Patterson Street, Valdosta, GA.

The Siblings Are Coming

We all have those weekends where we are excited and can’t wait.  This is one of those weekends for me.  The siblings are coming. I have three older siblings that live in other states, and they are coming to visit.  Dad is doing well now, and they want to see him, want to see where he lives and where he will be living. My two older sisters are coming this weekend, and my brother will arrive in a few weeks with his two sons.

Due to age difference and geography, we have not always been close. But there has been constant communication since I have been Dad’s care taker and that has fostered a closer knit existence. No matter who we are, our siblings hold special place in our lives and in our hearts.  And in this time of everything disposable, family relationships are the ties that bind.

It feels good to have a home where they are welcome, where there are spaces for chats.  We are blessed to have the home we have. But a building is not enough, I want a home where you walk in and feel love and warmth.  No doubt there will be much catching up, wine and laughter.  And there is something about actually laying eyes on someone you love to make sure they are OK.

Dad’s eyes light up when he talks about his children coming to see him, getting to spend time with them.  He is tinkled pink about this weekend, and looking forward to seeing his sons in a few weeks as well.

The past 7 months have been extraordinarily difficult. But a new phase is beginning, and with it brings new opportunities for strengthening relationships.  Life is all about love and love is what makes time worth while.

When Superman is Human

I have always said that my Dad is like Superman. He is my hero.  He has always been the strong silent type; a man of few words that came in and did the right thing and lead by example.

When Superman is Human

But then there comes a day when you look and see that Superman is really human, a mortal, and can die.  That he isn’t going to live forever.

And being the caretaker of someone with a terminal illness is not for the faint of heart.  And there are many times where you have to decide to laugh or cry…and most of the time I choose to laugh.  I have long said my life is like a sitcom – or dramedy, depending on which moment you may catch.  These moments are no exception….

Before my father went into the hospital the last time for his ammonia levels being too high, he was very confused and acted like someone who has severe dementia (a symptom of too much ammonia in the body and affecting his brain).  My father gets cold very easy so I bought him some special thermals for Christmas, called base wear, which are for people who go on exhibitions in the tundra.  We were all getting ready to go to brunch one Sunday when he came out ready to go. And he had on these very tight fitting base wear thermals. After getting over the initial shock and panic, I remember thinking that all he needed was a cape and a giant “G” on his shirt (G for Geriatric-Man).  Never one to miss a detail, he even found a place for his wallet in his tight new outfit.  He had figured out that the thermal bottoms were tight enough that he could place his wallet inside the “pants” midway between his knee and hip. After gently explaining that his thermal underwear was called such because they were not appropriate for outerwear, he reluctantly changed into real clothes.

Another time was after he had been admitted to the hospital. When the patient is in a confused state as was he, they ask if a family member can stay with them at all times in the room to make sure that they are OK in between nurse visits.  The only time my father is more miserable than in the dentist’s chair is in the hospital.  And he did not really understand why he was in there in the first place, but he knew he was going to get out. At least get out of the bed anyway. Several times during the first few days and nights I caught him in various positions and steps of “escape.” One time in particular I woke up to see him, lying on his side, pulled up hanging onto the side bar of the hospital bed, with his leg going over the bar.  I caught him juuuuuust as that leg was being flung over.  The look on his face was one of serious concentration.  He knew what he had to do, and being a detailed professional electrical engineer, no doubt he had thought about it and planned it all out.

“Dad!  What are you doing?!”

You could see his expression change from concentration to “Crap, foiled again.”  He let out a sigh and the leg went back on the proper side of the bar as he stated to settle back down.

The image of that moment will live with me forever.  And had I had a camera. I would have snapped his picture and captioned it “The Escape.”  Both moments reminded me of Cloris Leachman’s character on Raising Hope.  She plays the adorable, but slightly deranged and kooky, grandmother.  Sometimes she comes out with her bra over her clothes, sometimes she tried to eat mashed potatoes through a straw.

What I have learned in the 7 months of being a care taker, is that you have to have a sense of humor. You have to be willing to take a step back and laugh when the smoke clears.  Because some of these moments are brilliantly comedic, once you get over them. And if you don’t laugh, you will go crazy. So take a breath, then take a step back and have a giggle.

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Editor’s Note:  I don’t talk about this often (publicly), but my mother basically died from medical negligence. There were several issues that were ignored by her GP and instead of treating her, he actually said to her “You are just an old woman, and all this is part of getting old.” By the time we truly found out the extent of her health issues and how long they had been ignored, it was too late. Now, it is a blessing and a gift to see my father get such amazing care and attention to every detail of his physical, emotional, spiritual and mental well being. The doctors at Emory are the best (Anywhere). I often wonder if my mother would still be with us if she had the same experience. We are blessed to have such great care now.

The Routine Order

We all have things that seem to be the bane of our existence. They gym, the dreadmill, I mean treadmill.  The dentist…and for me, routine.  I am a writer, creative and do not like routine.  Until I take a closer look at my life.  Growing up, my mother believed very much in routine, that this is what children needed in order to be healthy.  In addition to three square meals, lots of love and some discipline, we also had a lot of routine.  We had dinner with a certain time frame and went to bed by a certain hour.  We had so long to do homework, chores and piano practice.  She said that routine could bring order into an otherwise chaotic world for a child.  And indeed we did thrive.

But in my adult life, I just seem to do well without schedules.  I do what needs to be done when it needs doing, and do my best to manage time.  And I am constantly running 15-20 minutes late. But lately I am seeing more value in this thing called routine of which she spoke. And I think it might just save my sanity.

Since Dad moved in life has been on the hectic side, running from doctor appointment to doctor appointment, learning to be a caretaker of an 80 year-old and everything that comes with it.  It can be so overwhelming at times.  So what do you do when life gets that overwhelming and big that you can’t seems to see over the top of it?  Routine.

There is comfort in routine, in knowing what comes next and when. It allows for you to free up your time and space to be creative and concentrate on what is really important. It allows you to follow a natural order.  And when you think of the science of it, it makes perfect sense.  Even the human body has schedules.  The heart beats on schedule, we do not have to think about it.  We breathe on an automatic schedule. Our blood and lungs work on schedule and to their tasks and we do not have to think about it.  We go on with our lives.

And that is what I hope to accomplish with this new order, so to speak.  Dad will have a pretty set schedule – approximately when to get up, I will fix his breakfast, then when physical and occupational therapy happen, when his companion care comes over to help with tasks or run errands, when to go to the senior center to meet friends and be social. When he doesn’t have to constantly figure out what comes next, what he is going to do and why, constantly coming up for a reason for existence without my mother, then maybe he can relax and just enjoy.

And maybe I can relax a bit too.  Certain things will be on autopilot, so to speak. I can focus on my work, my relationship, friendships and such. Gears can be shifted to I can just be a good daughter, good friend and co-worker.  This routine may be just what the doctor ordered to get life back to manageable.

And maybe the secret to order is being flexible enough.  Flexible enough to work within the bounds of routine but still allow a loose schedule. With exercise we much stretch ourselves, our muscles, to give a little. Life can be messy. And if we are puritanical in either direction of too much schedule and routine or nothing at all, then things can spiral. We feel overwhelmed and out of order.

So I am looking forward to this new schedule that sets the pace for the new year.  I am looking forward to being able to concentrate on what is truly important while the everyday things take care of themselves.  It takes a lot of hard work to put a routine in place, but we are almost there.  And in that order, we can make a life of spectacular.

Finally

We did it. We survived our first Christmas without you. It was hard. Then it was OK. And there were moments of true joy. And then moments where my heart felt it would burst. Through it all you were in our hearts, and I think whispering around us, in the warm breeze, in the sounds of the birds and in the spirit of Christmas. I could feel you close, even if not able to touch you. We will be OK. You made sure we were strong. We will continue to move forward every day and make you proud by finding beauty in this world and many reasons to smile. Love and miss you always Mom. – Me

We all have hard times that we have to get through.  And some are harder than others. This was a tough one.  This was a big one.  What do you do when these times come about?  I don’t know.  My guess, or at least what seems to work for me, is just putting my head down and get through it.  I am not sure that there is a formula for getting through the hard parts.  I know that is not the popular thing to say, as many writers have made millions writing thousands of books on how to get through it.  The secret – It’s just time.  You put one foot in front of the other and take many, many baby steps.  And after time, a lot of time, you look back and see how many miles further you have traveled.

I received many messages of love and support about how hard this first Christmas without Mom would be,  And it was; there were moments that were brutal. I have always said that my life is like a sitcom, but this Christmas was more like a dramedy…Dad took a bad fall and had to be in a rehab facility building up his strength during Christmas.  But we were allowed to sign him bust him out for Christmas.  Never did I think I would be spring my Dad out of rehab for Christmas, but I live for adventure. And I have never seen anyone so excited to be home.

Christmas Eve, after everyone went to bed, I sat on the couch sobbing while looking at the beautiful Christmas tree, wishing, hoping, aching, for my Mother.  I cried for everything I have lost and would never have again.  I mourned the things that we would never do together, my mother and me.  The gifts not bought, cards not given, and adventures not to be had. And I fell asleep for a bit, there on the couch, by the tree with so many of her ornaments.  And I thought I felt her arms around me, heard her voice whisper on my ear. And I woke up feeling very loved.

And there were moments when Joy came in, like the sun breaking through the clouds.  Christmas morning came and there were gifts and smiles and so much love.  Seeing Dad excited, looking at all wrapping and bows and ribbons.  Unwrapping everything with childlike enthusiasm.  And my wonderful man, our second Christmas together, much different than we thought it would be. Watching them both get gifts that they loved. And there were Christmas carols, and the Christmas movies, and Christmas stockings, and then…Christmas dinner.

And I swear I could hear her laughing and see her smiling.  She loved Christmas. And at that moment I knew.  We were going to be OK.  We had finally turned a corner in this thing called grief.  We got thought it, we survived. We laughed and cried and remembered.  And at the end of the day, we were all OK.  And that’s the thing about love and grief.  Even when you feel like it is going to kill you, it really doesn’t.

Today it has been six months since Mom went into the hospital for her procedure.  I met her at the hospital to stay with her so she wouldn’t be alone.  The time spent with her then in priceless.  And we just had Christmas.  And finally, FINALLY, the sadness is not overwhelming. And I think she would be proud.

I looked at pictures of my mother from several years ago when she was still happy and healthy.  She was so beautiful. Always smiling with that mischievous look in her eye.  I had forgotten what that smile looked like, she had been tired for so long by the time she passed.  I choose to remember her that way – beautiful, happy, smiling, free.

And finally I can smile.

Winter Camp

Life is a learning experience. And sometimes you just have to find the humor and laugh a bit. I found this moment when getting my father’s things together for him to go to the senior rehabilitation facility.  Since he will be there a few weeks, they had a list of things to make sure he brought with him.

I think I must now know what parents go through when preparing their child for summer camp.  I went in his closet and gathered everything I thought he might need. And he definitely has the closet of a man who has lived in South Georgia.  It’s is 35 outside and he has 4 sweaters.  I had to dig in the bottom of a back drawer to find the thermals and a few sweatshirts.  (Santa will be bringing him warm clothes this year…).  His favorite blanket, pillow, glasses, house slippers all added to the pile.

But before any of those items can make it to his room, they must all be labeled.  So I got out the trusty marker and wrote his name on everything.  This is definitely like summer camp.  He gets fed three times a day.  They have activities for him to do.  There are doctors and nurses on staff.  They make sure he is not bored and stays busy.  He gets to meet new friends…

Then I go down the list admittance gave me …Underwear, check.  Shirts, check.  Pants and jeans, check.  House shoes, check.  Tennis shoes…um??  He is 80, he doesn’t wear tennis shoes.  And sweat pants for him to work out in?  Oh, dear…I saw a trip to the store in the near future.

While at the store I fought back the mischievous urge to buy the flashy fluorescent colored tennis shoes and went with the more sensible looking ones.  Only to have to return them because they were the wrong size.  Only to have to return them again because his feet were swollen and he needed a larger size. He now has some jazzy new sweat pants and matching shirts.  No doubt he will be stylin’ and profilin’ in the physical therapy gym. All he needs now is a great pair of sunglasses.  And he is scheduled for a hair cut and shave later today.

I have noticed that he is in the sweat pants all the time now when I go see him.  He may never wear jeans again. At some point when I visit him I am fully expecting to hear ZZ Top’s Sharp Dressed Man playing in the background as he walks down the hallway.

Yes, he is a man on a mission; that mission being to work hard and get strong enough to come home.  Until then he will be whooping it up at Winter Camp.

 

 

 

Oh Christmas Tree

In life there are many firsts.  Some of them good, some of them bad, some fall smack dab in the middle.  This first is bittersweet.  It is the first Christmas without my Mom.  Which means many other firsts too – the first Christmas tree without her, the first gift wrapping without her, the first year of my life that I will not be buying Christmas gifts for her.  You never realize just how many gifts that a person would enjoy until you lose them….and you still see gifts around the holidays that they would love. But somewhere along the way, you have to find more sweet than bitter if you are going to survive the holiday season.

This past weekend was time for another first. We went to pick it out, and Dad searched and found just the right tone.  I admit, I have never had a real one.  Growing up we always had an artificial Christmas tree.  This dates back to, what I have been told, the first Christmas that Mom and Dad were married.  They got a real tree, and loved it.  And then the holidays were over, and it was time to take the ornaments off and put the tree, well, whereever real trees go after Christmas.

This is where there was an impasse.  Dad firmly believed that it was the woman’s job to handle the Christmas decorations, including the disposal of the tree.  Mom felt that it was the man’s job to carry the large Christmas tree out the curb.  Both my parents are very stubborn.  Neither one was willing to budge.  And so there the Christmas tree sat, needles brown and falling off- through New Years, past Valentine’s day, and St. Patrick’s Day.  It was the Easter tree, the Maudi Grad tree…

I have been told that late in the spring, when they moved from that house, the movers finally took the tree and put in on the curb.  Thus there were no more live Christmas trees.

Until now.

So we went to the nursery and  found the perfect 8ft Christmas tree. And it does indeed smell wonderful.  And we have been decorating it a little each night.  And that is the hard part.  Because my mother collected Christmas ornaments for over 40 years.   And now I have them.  And they are wonderful and beautiful and amazing and make me feel close to her….but they also make me aware that she is not here. She Loved Christmas

I sobbed while hanging the first few ornaments on the tree. It was surprising how hard it was to see these glistening ornaments, some I remember as a child and was not allowed to touch (Small klutzy child + delicate ornaments = disaster). There were all the angels, and animals and Christmas mice, and even the cute little Christmas Octopus ornament (I bought that one for her).  There was the little sequin drum that she made with my sister and cousin.  There was the ball with the cork oriental building inside. There was the Christmas Skunk ornament (it sounds weird, but is really cute).

And there was putting up her absolute favorite Christmas display – the nativity.  It is a sight to see.  While it is not an ornament on the tree, it is a display that was very close to her heart.

Slowly, as each ornament is hung, and each display or decoration is arranged, and the tree  glistens with its lights, it gets just a tiny bit easier.  Because I do feel like she is near.  And because she did love Christmas.

And so as I smell the scent of the tree, and see her ornaments hanging, I find the sweet in the bitter. I find the comfort in the quiet glow of the lights and the soft sound of Christmas carols…I miss her so very much, but know somehow, someway, she and Santa are having a great conversation. I hope she puts in a good word for me.

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The 49th Year

To most today is just another day, nothing special.  But to my family, this day has been a day to celebrate for 49 years now.  It is my parent’s 49^th wedding anniversary.  They met 54 years ago and were married in 1967.  My wonderful mother passed 4 months ago, but we still celebrate.

To stay together so long, through the ups and downs of life.  Theirs was truly a time when you stuck with it. It was wonderful growing up with parents who loved each other so much.  It was wonderful to see them, even in their older years, holding hands and being affectionate.  They have been a wonderful example as to what a relationship truly should be.  And they taught me not to ever settle for less than what they had.

And what they had does not change with the times or social opinion of the masses.  Because they taught me about basing a relationship on similar values, friendship, trust, respect and faith.  Those are the things that last, long after looks and the superficial fades.  They taught me about doing for the other not because you owe them, but because you love them.

I have called them many times over the years to wish them a happy anniversary and they would have completely forgotten about it.  They just went along, happy with each other no matter what day.

Today, we talked about many things he remembers about her.  We laughed as we talked about fond memories and talents she held.  I want to take all those memories and put them in a place inside my heart that is so Holy and sacred, that they will always be bright and unfaded. Afterward Dad went to visit my closest sister in age and geography.  Being so close to Thanksgiving, I am very thankful for her interest in keeping in touch with him and hope the trend continues.  Tonight will be a dinner of his choice and lots of hugs.

Today marks the start of the first of many holidays and celebrations without Mom.  Truth be told I do not know how to make that sound optimistic, or nice.  It is a journey that we all must go through at some point in our lives.  I do not know how to truly process that she is not here for this anniversary. I do not know how or what to feel. In truth, all we can do is hold those who we love just that much closer.  We can make those anniversaries of whatever a celebration…of life that is here, in front of us.  And maybe therein lies the key.

So tonight I raise my glass to the 49^th year. I am only 43, so I cannot even fathom what it is like or what it takes to stay with someone for longer than I have been alive.  But I do know it takes a lot of love.  I want to take those memories of love and be inspired moving forward.

This Thanksgiving

Change. It is a fact of life. Everyone, at some point, must accept it, learn to deal with it, adapt to it.  But that can very so very hard.

Usually I write about everything I am thankful for in the Month of November – a new list every day.  This Thanksgiving that seems too strange. I do look around and acknowledge the many blessings.  But I am not sure how to act really.  I am very thankful Dad is still here, thankful for my wonderful boyfriend, the fact that we have been blessed to have such a wonderful home and are building a life of love. That I have such wonderful friends who are there for me and love me, that I have a job I love at a great company.

And that I had 42 wonderful Thanksgivings with my mother.  That I was there in her last moments. And for all the wonderful talks and whispers and moments we shared, mother and daughter.  When she looked at me in the hospital and said “I know you truly love me.”  When she smiled and said “I know what that means.”  When I read the letter and notes she wrote labeled “Don’t open unless I am dead”…and how truly funny they were.  Thankful for the way she always knew just what to say, and when to say it, to make me smile and feel better.  Thankful for the taco soup and fresh cut corn that she froze, just for us, knowing she was going to pass. Still taking care of us, even now.

This Thanksgiving will be very different from the ones in the past.  Every Thanksgiving has been at my parent’s place.  Even when I lived far away, the trip would be made to make sure I was there with the rest of the family.  There was always so much food because Mom loved cooking for all of us.  The exception was last year when I begged to have the holiday feast at my place.  Mom and Dad reluctantly agreed and made the trip up to the big city.  It would turn out to be the last with my Mom.  My sister and her three boys were there too.  I treasure those memories.

This is the first year in my life that Mom will not be here for Thanksgiving, or Christmas.  This change is not welcome, but it is as it is and so I must adapt.  Thanksgiving is coming whether Mom is here or not.  And so this year we will spend Thanksgiving around M’s mother’s table. I am thankful for their generosity of taking us in. And no doubt there will be lots of love around that table. Truth be told Dad and I are at a bit of a loss this Thanksgiving…and holiday season in general.

But that is the thing about change – it opens up new opportunities. New ways of thinking about and doing things, and new possibilities.  This Thanksgiving may have a melancholy feel, but it can still be special.  This Thanksgiving is about love. And love is always a good thing.  Because love feeds the Human Spirit, fills in all of our cracks and makes us stronger.

Pace Yourself

In this world of bigger is better, more is best and the more you can accomplish and cram in one day the more important you are…it is important to pace yourself.

There is so much to this week, even with things slowing down a bit. And I struggle not to be overwhelmed and not to be tempted to unpack and organise trough the night.  Not everything has to be done today or tonight.  Indeed, one must have a good pace in order to complete the race.

My schedule has been non stop since early April, maybe March.  Dealing with Mom’s degrading health, planning the sibling reunion, having the reunion, Mom’s death, moving Dad in with us, organizing the move into the bigger house, unpacking, getting ready for moving all of Dad’s things in, and getting settled in a new job – in addition to family issues. It’s a lot!

And I am feeling burned out.  I am struggling to not burn out.

What is the solution?  I don’t know.  What I can say is that tonight, I must pace myself.  Tonight I put our relationship first.  Salmon steaks, wine and some smiles and plans.  Your must make sure your priorities are in line and conducive to a healthy, happy life. And that takes effort.  It takes effort to pull away from the brink of burnout to make your partner know that they are important and that you appreciate them.  It takes pacing yourself to make the time necessary for care and nurturing that relationship.

It is so important right now, with all the changes, that I take care of those I love, including myself.

And so it goes tonight.  And maybe the answer is the pace of it all.  Maybe it is in slowing down, taking a breath, saying a prayer and making the effort that we find ourselves anew.

With Love

I have long had the theory that if you do something with love, it will be felt throughout.  This past weekend is a great example.  My father wanted several of his belongings and pieces of furniture moved up.  A new home doesn’t really feel like it’s yours until you have your most favorite things around you.

And so my man and I went down to Mom and Dad’s, loaded up a 16’ truck full of his favorite things and drove them up to the new house.  Dad is taking full advantage of the fact that there is space for his things now.  So, with the help of some wonderful friends, we unloaded the truck and arrange Dad’s new room.

When my father returns, he will find his room full with his bed, his desk, his favorite chair and other items he picked to have with him.  My man and I arrange everything last night, moving heavy solid wood furniture, pulling out the tape measure with blinding speed, trying not to fall over the cats and trying not to trip over each other. The result is warmth that you can feel as soon as you walk in the room.  A room filled with, arranged with and designed with thought and love.  It is my favorite room in the house so far.

It seems that when you are doing for another, being of service to them, whatever love is felt is returned ten-fold.  Doing things for Dad helps me feel better.  It makes me feel as if Mom is smiling as she watches over us. It melts away all my heartache, channels it into something positive, and makes me smile. Serving others helps me heal. I can no longer do for Mom, but I can do for those she loved most and make sure they are good. And the is no doubt she loved Dad the best and the most.

Now, to arrange the rest of the house in the coming weeks.  To make it ours, warm and comfortable.  A sanctuary in a crazy world, a place of rest and peace.  And love.

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Special note:  I am the luckiest woman in the world to have such a wonderful man as my partner.  He has been there for me, putting up with me in my emotional, grieving state.  He has been patient, letting me cry when needed.  He has been amazing to my father, treating him with nothing but kindness and respect.  He has lifted and moved heavy furniture, called on his friends to help, done dishes and laundry, eaten questionable cooking, and watched TV shows just because I liked them. I have been treated with more kindness, grace, gentleness and love that I deserve or could possibly hope.

There is a saying that when a woman is loved the right way, she becomes 100 times more than she ever could have been.  He has shown me this is true.  And I am blessed.

The Wonder They Hold

Sometimes we find ourselves in interesting places while trying to get back into the rhythm of life. This is where I find myself.  Three months after Mom’s passing, which still seems so surreal, we are all starting to get into the rhythm of forward movement.

In many ways is it the land of Almost (Which I wrote about here). I say almost, because I am not there yet.  But it feels like the brim of many things.  I am almost back into life, almost feeling like myself, almost back  into the swing of things.  We are almost unpacked, almost settled, and I almost know what I am doing. At work I am almost done with a few projects, my clothes almost match, and I almost feel like I look like I have it almost together.

It is peculiar, this place.  No longer there, but not quite at the other. It is better, as I come out of the darkness. I almost have a routine, and it feels good.  Get up, make coffee for Dad, discuss what is going on for the day.  At lunch it is either running a quick errand, eating at my desk or running home for lunch. After work is maybe going to the store for ingredients, then cooking, a little clean up and spending time with talking with my boyfriend about the day.  Still have to finish unpacking and figure out things like when to work out or watch TV.

A return to the routine after months of holding on, letting go and breathing out. The bittersweet relief of normal.  I look pictures of my mother, noticing her features as I inspect my own in the mirror.  There are enough similarities that I know I can do this. And I sleep warmly under a blanket which she picked.  She and God equipped me with all that is needed, and she loved me enough for a lifetime. Soon it will no longer be Almost…soon it will be a rhythm of life and love and hope and all the wonder that they hold.