Back to Normal... ?

Life goes on. Despite the urge to stop time and just be in the moment, life marches on - for better or for worse.. or for both. 
 
First week back to work has had its moments. The students were mostly glad to see me. That was both nice and surprising. Some of them gave me a hug and said how sorry they were. Once child shared how he had lost his grandmother the year before - and that he and his dad had lived with her until just before her death. Another young man said, "Hey, Ms B.. my condolences". Another child in my class lost a sister last year.. she just hugged me. I am amazed. These kids, with so many issues of their own, offer empathy and support to me - an adult. Their teacher.

 I guess I never really think about the affect I might have others. Like many folks, I am more concerned with how they affect me. I like people who make me feel good about me, about life. I like people who laugh, appreciate irony, and know when to just nod. I'm lucky. I have a number of friends who fit that description. I have friends who look out for me, check on me, and share their lives with me. I get to play with their dogs, their grandkids. I get to hang out when I get tired of being alone. And they love my irreverant comments, and laugh at my foibles - with me, not at me. But I move through life, being me, and not thinking about what my affect might be on them...

This week, however, tells me that I must be offering something of value. People have come up to offer a hug, to give one. The school nurse came out of her office, looped her arm through mine and walked me to the door at the end of that first day. She told me that she too had lost a parent. She offered condolences, kindness, and an ear if and when I need/want one. It's funny-strange. I don't know why this woman likes me. I've spoken to her only a time or two, and once was to consult on a computer problem - which turned out to really be a server issue that I couldn't fix on my end. Nice lady.  I wonder.. if things were reversed, would I offer such things? I like to think I would. I do believe I have. 

It's been a week for my dad too. I arrived home at the same time he did on Tuesday evening. It was also his first day at work. I'm sure the hugs and condolences he received affected him greatly. He too looked like he had been crying while driving. Earlier in the day he had sent me an email that made me smile and cry... almost at the same time. I love that man. I really, truly do. It's no wonder I have remained single all these years. They don't make men like that anymore.

The subject line on his email said 

I may have to start drinking

Now, my dad is not really a big drinker, though he does like a Brandy Alexander at Christmas (and he makes a damn good one too!) and a nip of good scotch now and then. I keep some on hand - as much for him as for me. We both have developed a taste for single malts. But, his subject line amused and confused me. Opening it, I see line one:

Well, the canary died... does Mom need birds in heaven?"

the insurance company sent forms, addressed to her to change the beneficiary... has she changed her mind?

 My dad has the most delightful writing style. I like to think I have inherited some of that. And, at this point, I am amused and amazed.. and laughing out loud... but the next lines.. 

took the thankyou cards to the people that rescued Dolly... wanted to ask them if they would like Dolly,..

lost my composure; tears welled up and couldn't ask

...had me in tears as well.

This man, my dad, would have loved it if I had stayed young and innocent. Given a choice - his choice - I would never have dated. At the same time, he deeply regrets that I have not found someone special, someone who cherishes me, loves me, and is willing to stay married to me! My dad has been my hero. He has rooted for me, counseled me, listened to me, and supported me - all the way, every day. I love this man. And while a piece of me wishes there was someway to ease his pain, to be there for him, I also know he just wants me to be here - in case. And here I am. He can drop me emails, stop in to visit. We can talk or just be in the same room together. We are both ok with silence. We are both ok with who we have turned out to be. Both of us are a little afraid or maybe just unwilling to break down in public. We keep our pain to ourselves most of the time. Maybe it's a midwestern thing. A local minister calls us humble folk..

What I know is this: my dad is the strongest, funniest, and most interesting man I know. I am proud to be his daughter. And I do believe that he is very proud to be my dad. 

To us! To Mom. To life. To love.

 

Dinners with Dad..

How odd that I knew my mother so well and yet knew so little about my dad. Or, maybe that is not so odd. He was never one to talk about his feelings and our time together was mostly spent while he was in his role as Mr Fix-it. Toilet broke? Dad was here. Sink leak? Dad was here. Lawnmower misbehaving? He was Johny-on-the-Spot. Since my mother's death, he has become a human being. And, an interesting guy. Last night we rode together into town to have dinner with my son and his lovely girlfriend. We talked.

My mother left behind a lot of things that interested her. She had a lot of stuff, and given that she was home all of the time, the stuff was everywhere. There is a collection of funny faced nuns sitting on the mantle of the fireplace. There are these decorative houses that are generally found under Christmas trees - she liked them so much that they sit on the shelf above the couch. There are reading corners everywhere with small piles of books, along with a kindle or two. And there is a bird - bright yellow canary - along with a psychotic dog. My dad says the dog is on probation. Dolly is the one we had to hunt down the morning of the day my mother died.

Last night's discussion, in part, included what to do with this dog. She has been lying in my dad's arms at night, as he sits in the chair that was primarily occupied by my mother. You can see that she does it under duress. Given her own choices, Dolly would stay in hiding these days - under a chair, under the couch, under a bed. He's not giving her a choice. He promised my mom that he would take care of her. He wonders if it is possible to take care of her by finding her a home where she is happier and has the company of a young child or another dog. He would like a dog that is happy to see him when he comes home; a dog that wags its tail and follows him around a bit. Dolly is not it. And you know, that's ok. The dog is not my mother. She is the dog.. and I have a feeling there is a little boy who would make her (and himself) very happy.

But, we talk. He talks about things, about ideas, about politics and life. My dad has a lot to say about things. And although I have no idea what my dad is feeling right now, he shares with me some little things - the way she left things out, the relationship she had with animals - hers and those in the wild -, his own feelings about the yard and the bird feeders and the fish in the ponds. I listen to him share ideas with my son, ask questions, and participate in the exchange of ideas. I like the way he chose to sit next to me instead of across from me at the table last night. I like seeing him with the room and space to simply be who he is, without having to be what my mother needed too. These past years have taken a toll on him, on all of us. I hope, I trust, that as my mother looks down from the heavens, that she is smiling. I hope, I trust, that she is happy to see him relieved and at peace. I trust, I hope, that he is both of those things and comfortable with himself. I'd like to keep him around a while.

 

One Week Today

How does one say goodbye? I know she is at peace. I know she is without pain. I know that heaven does have a new angel on board - a woman I know as Mom. She was my friend.

It is funny how life goes on. Friends call with dinner invitations. The bands play at the local clubs. My dad is back on the regular schedule at work, and I will go back to my students on Tuesday - taking Monday to help out a friend. Friendship. So important.How does one say 'til we meet again, when meeting again means I will also be at the end of my life?

I think about my children. They are so vital, so involved with their lives. I'm glad they have had things to do and people to see, relationships to nourish. I wonder if the powers that be had a plan for me, if perhaps this is why I am single. And, I wonder where to go from here. How to go on from here. My mom was such an important part of my life these past years. Coming home early to have dinner with her. Staying home to be on call, to be there in a storm. She was so afraid of being alone, of being stuck, of being helpless and in danger. Fear. Is that what I am feeling? Adrift and afraid? I know my mom is no longer fearful, My dad also seems at peace. Such new territory. A new world. I wonder. 

So, I say goodbye. We say goodbye. We wave to the heavens, we smile at the sky. I sing. I dance. I talk to her. I don't know if she hears me, but I do know that I still need to talk. To share. To believe. And I know that she would want me to go on, go forward to love and be loved. I know she loved my children. I know she loved my brothers, and their families. I know they will miss her to. We honor her by moving forward, into our own lives and letting go of our children so that they can live theirs. 

I'll miss you mom. Dad will too.

Healing

After the births of my children, I was granted 6 weeks of time. Time to heal, to adjust, to gain a new rhythm. Now, following the death of my mother, I wonder why bereavement isn't 6 weeks as well. It is, after all, a rebirth. I feel as if I am becoming reborn.. to a new way of looking at things, a new approach. My lifestyle is changing. My pain is going to take time to heal. Sometimes the deepest cuts are the ones we cannot see.

My dad is selling off all the signs of her illness. He placed an ad for her scooter yesterday. Sold it today. I'm thinking this is positive movement but a piece of me is worried. Is he simply taking care of business? He did show me his insurance policy and where I should look for important papers. 

I can see signs of relief on his face. He looks younger again. The toll of my mother's illness was born by all of us. It has been a very tough time, this past year or two. The past week was very intense, but we have been building to it, for a very long time. I have moments of complete clarity followed by minutes of complete pain. My mother played such an important role in my life. In his life. Such an amazing woman.

We move forward, a day, a moment. We slide back. It is the rhythm of life. I watch my friends deal with the same pain, the same moments, and then some. My best friend lost her son in August. My mom lost hers - 3 years ago this past April. My loss is no less important, yet it is much less than those. Our children should outlive us, always. Our children are our legacy, as I am my mother's. 

I sit. I mourn. I sing. I dance. I cry. Each day is an opportunity. To step up. To step out. To be. We can't help it. We move forward. 

The Morning After...

The dust settles, literally and figuratively. Brother 2 tells me brother 4 is angry with me.. feels I take over and make the rules. I have to admit, that there is something to that.. but then I am 10 years older, and have been here, with my parents next door for over 20 years. I have not had nor taken the option of not being available. This, in itself, makes me privy to things that they are not. Certainly to things he is not. I know my parents. I know the needs without being told. I have learned to step in surreptitiously and, ninja-like, help. He is jealous. He feels that it is my fault he is not in on it, that he is not the one my dad looks to, or comes to. His ego says I want to be the one that my parents look to. I can't help him with this. I have 20 years of being here. He has one week of wanting to be. And in another week, he'll be too busy again.

This isn't news to me, though everyone acts as if it should be. And, I get the feeling they want me to fix this somehow. I can't. And I'm not. Time to grow up, maybe? Me. not him. I don't need to be a hero. I don't want to be the hero. And I have no need to justify what I am, who I am, or why I am here. It just is. And I do wish he would step in, be available, be here. You know it is not about quality time. It is simply about time.

I have been blessed with time. Time to sit. Time to walk. Time to tell jokes and laugh with them. Time to talk. I had time. In the end, I made time. You can't take that back and you can't fake it. One is either present or not. 

Life is about survival until the day it is over. How we survive, who we travel with and how we travel is another matter altogether. We can be as fair as possible to one another. We can step in when help is needed, even if unasked for. We can be available.. make ourselves available. And that is all we truly can do. That is all I do.

My brother? I wish I knew.. or maybe I am glad I don't. I have, however, asked to remain uninformed in the future.. if it is not mine to fix, do not hand it over to me.. please.

Singing.. Loud and Clear

Today we gather one last time around my mother's body, if not her spirit. There'll be no grave, no graveside, and no place to go to lay flowers on birthdays or Christmas. No headstones with night lights. And yet, none of that is necessary. My mother is everywhere. And she is our night light, still.

My mom was always the one who saw the silver lining. She knew you could go through life angry and depressed over injustices or you could look for the side-door, the escape hatch, and make it better. You could cry or you could sing.. singing made it better, and roses are wonderful things to smell. Opportunity was everywhere if you just took the time to consider it. My dad is a lot like that too. 

Just before their 50th wedding anniversary and a renewal of their vows, the doctor found some lumps that were suspicious. She had lymph nodes that were swollen and hard. A few were removed for biopsy and my parents considered cancelling a trip to England and Ireland. The doctor encouraged them to take it, as they might not be able to do so again, at least not anytime in the near future. His words became prophetic. Upon their return, my mom learned she had Hodgkin's Disease. Chemotherapy was required and she would lose her hair.

We went shopping. I cannot tell you how many wig shops we visited or how many we tried on. And, I do say we; it became a bit of a game. I remember trying to talk her into a long blonde style, and a curly red one. We laughed, tearfully, as we joked about how my father could have all these different women in bed with him over the next year and months. We finally found a few that looked most like her own hair and she bought a couple of them. For my mother, losing her hair was devastating. She never liked being seen without her teeth either. I would never have called my mom vain, but self respect was very important for her. 

We went through chemo. My dad was with her most of the time as she sat in that chair with needles in her arm and fluids passing through. I sat with her too. Those were very poignant moments. She spoke with me about death and what she wanted me to do. She told me about her childhood and her parents. She told me the story of her life, and of meeting my father. She told me about us, our family, of losing a child and a home, but gaining a place near her grandchildren. She held my hand, wiped away tears, and asked me to tell her a joke, something funny.

She didn't want to die, but she was a realist. The chemo was awful. It caused pain. It caused nausea, sometimes it burned. And she did lose all of her hair. She told me she would never go through that again. It was awful. I held her hand and cried alongside her. We hugged. And we told jokes to relieve the pain. We shared jokes the day she died too.

My mother's life changed drastically after the chemo. Looking back, neither she nor my dad were certain the right choice was made. Not that we would give up one moment with my mother, but for her, life became about chronic pain and discomfort. She may have lived through the chemo and the cancer, but she lost the life she had come to know - one of hiking, walking her dogs, and playing with grandchildren. Over the next few years her world narrowed to a living room, with oxygen tubes and pain pills. Her social calendar became one of doctor visits. And yet, still, she smiled, admonished us to be nice to one another, and invited us over for holiday dinners. 

She was the bravest woman I know, and funny too. 

I'm leaving the light on...





 

Monday, Monday..

Today has become our day of rest. A day of reprieve. Nothing to do but be. All the business for tomorrow is done - with the exception of some cleaning at my house. My dad asked for my reassurance on this yesterday, three times. He needs a day. He also told me that my brother has a problem - he thinks I am bossy. And, the truth is, I am. It comes from years and years of people asking me what to do, how to act, when to go.. it's a double edged sword and it was given to me years ago. Does he want it back? Does he want it at all? I would gladly surrender it, but first you have to stop asking me what to do and telling me to decide. Not my dad. My brother.

My mother was the glue. She held us together. When I wanted to kill my brothers, she made me think twice. Behind the scenes, she was also working on them. Her last wish was for us to be together and to be nice to one another. No bickering. That is going to be a tough one. We have a a lifetime of sibling rivalry going on here. I want to smack him, and I want to do it now. My dad suggested that maybe he has low self esteem. I just wish folks would smile and nod, and stop passing such information on. It's like repeating the sky is blue, or the earth is round.. do we have to act as if it is new information and like something will change because this information has been shared? It makes me half crazy, but not today. 

Today. A day to wander. I went back to bed this morning, after one cup of coffee. Couldn't keep my eyes open, and I wandered through school. A few kids in the hallway could see me in my robe. My son came to get me, to take me back home. And home, it had an extra fireplace that was falling apart. I could see through the walls to another place, where folks played tennis, or so it seemed. They looked through the holes in the walls and waved. Was my mother there? Did she play tennis? I don't often dream, in fact, I would swear that I usually do not dream at all, but when I do, the dreams are odd and unusual. 

Today. A step away from the hustle and bustle of work. A step away from chores. A day to sit, wander, think, and reflect. A day for compassion. A day for love. A day to simply be.