Honoring her spirit

Me and the Patty

Tomorrow is the 2nd anniversary of my mom's death. Great way to start a blog post, eh? I only mention it because tomorrow my husband and I leave on a trip to stay with friends in FL for a few days. 

I hadn't planned on hopping on a plane on May 9th because of this sad date. It just worked out that way with everyone's schedules at work and school. But I'm glad it did.

Last year I spent the day mostly with my dad. Taking him on a ride up the coast and out to lunch. Trying to just be there for him. I wasn't there for myself at all but that's rather typical Kathy behavior when it comes to my family's needs.

It was also typical mom behavior. She never ever focused on herself. Even when she was dying. I don't know that it's the best way to be but it certainly worked for her. 

The friends we're staying with are very fun and we expect to have a lot of laughs and hugs. Mom would have approved and, in fact, if she were able to communicate with me now, she would be applauding our trip on this date. I can just hear her, "Go live your lives! Remember me in the happy times!" 

In my mom's eulogy, I mentioned my friend Patty who my mom adored even though they really only interacted a few times in their lives. Patty is as full of life as my mom and an even bigger extrovert. She's also a great hugger. 

Some might think it's disrespectful of a loved one to go out and celebrate on the anniversary of their death. I beg to differ. I'm not forgetting her. I'm actually honoring her wishes to remember her when I'm smiling. I also went out on her birthday last year and danced my ass off with Ron and my friend Henry. Mom would have approved of that as well.

Tomorrow night when we are out to dinner with our dear friends, we will raise a glass to "the mumsie" and continue on with our fun and our hugs. Maybe mom had a hand in this after all.

Boston on my mind

Boylston Street in winter

I don't know how others process trauma, but I do it by writing. I need to get the horror out of my head by pulling it down through my fingers and out onto a keyboard. 

Last night, like a lot of people in Massachusetts and the rest of the country, I spent many hours in a daze watching the same scenes over and over again on the television. I don't know what I expected. Maybe that the result would be different every time they showed the pre-explosion scenes. Or that the killer would show his face. But probably more that it would become real to me. It isn't now. Still.

This was how I reacted to 9-11. Dazed and sick to my stomach for days. Watching the carnage and the panic-stricken faces breaks my heart. Seeing strangers run toward an explosion to help fills me with awe. Thank God for the strong and the selfless. 

But this time I wasn't able to go to work the next day. I'm home. On the same spot on the couch that I was last night. My grieving isn't just about the people this time. It's also about my beloved Boston. 

My NY cousins went through this too, I'm sure, when their city was terrorized that gorgeous September day. A day so much like yesterday.

The area of Boston that saw the bombs rip through flesh is my favorite part of town. I have spent some of the happiest times of my life hanging around there with my husband and our friends. Laughing while we walk, proud of "my" city for being so filled with history. 

I watched the marathon on Boylston four years ago after the Sox game I was attending with my brother spilled out onto the streets. Proud of my city again then too as it hosted so many people from around the world. 

Will I be able to go back to my favorite spots again without being sucked into the memory of yesterday? It feels like it does when I think about my mother now. It's impossible for me to think of the happy times without returning to the memory of her final days. That trauma for me has never subsided though it's been almost two years that she's been gone.

I wonder how many more good memories will be lost to the reality that there is an end to it all. My mother could keep the sad and unfair at bay. She told me once that she practically denied the sad times and thought only of the good. What a skill. One I wish I had at times like this.

Maybe the trick is to never forget that good can turn to bad in an instant. Temper my knee-jerk joy with thoughts of Patriots Day 2013. It's not who I want to be. But it might keep me off this corner of the couch and back out into the world sooner. 

A compassionate distance

I often get revelations about my life at odd times. Once while I was chopping vegetables I realized that the reason I love to cook is because I own the outcome. If it's great, I get the credit; if it's bad, I have no one to blame but myself. A true control freak if there ever was one.

Today I had an epiphany in a place where revelations should happen - Sunday service at my church. We had a guest minister who co-led worship with my minister and they knocked it out of the park.

There's a lot going on with folks in my church right now. It seems that bad luck comes in waves and there are many of us who are feeling an undertow. The service and the sermon were centered around holding each other in times of sadness. It was also about finding the greater truth in personal struggles, allowing ourselves to do a very human thing - fail.

At one point during the sermon, my mind wandered. Taking with it some spoken phrase or sentence and leading me to its logical but very personal conclusion. 

I'm one of those struggling in my church right now. There are others with much much greater sorrow than me but we've all got something weighing our hearts down. Mine is my dad and his current medical situation. 

Yesterday I had to tell dad that he is moving from the rehab section of the facility he is in over to the long-term nursing section. His very serious hip break coupled with his dementia have caused his rehab progress to plateau and the insurance company has stopped paying. He is not well enough to go home and we are at a crossroads.

He did not take the news well though I used everything I've learned in grief counselling to make it easier for him.

I've been overwhelmed with anxiety and sadness for months about dad. Thoughts of him consume me every day and night and I often feel that I will crack under the pressure. 

I'm a fixer by nature. Hate to not be in control. But this situation is not like cooking where it is all on me. I'm making it into that, but that's not right. I realized today that I never learned an important lesson from my mom's death two years ago. I tried to own that too. Coaching her to open up and share her feelings when that was clearly not what was right for her. Feeling like I failed because she died never really accepting - in a way that spoke to me - that she was at the end of her days.

How arrogant I was. And how arrogant I am still. 

My insight today during the service was about this arrogance. The only person whose dying I own is mine. I can walk with someone on their last journey but I can't carry them. 

Dad's story will unfold in his time and on his terms. The only thing I own emotionally is bearing witness to his story. Respecting that the universe has its own plans for him as it does for me. And being by his side when he needs a hand to hold.

I feel freer today than I have in years. Finally realizing that the paths we walk are paved with stones we've laid before us. 

Merry Christmas, mom

It wasn't anything I hadn't done before. Singing in a chorale for elderly residents of a local nursing home is something I did for over a year. Every month, we'd go and sing five-foot-two standards and other songs that folks in their 80s would remember and enjoy.

Today was different, though. Today I went with members of the First Parish youth groups who had never done that before. I wasn't sure how they'd feel about it once we were actually standing in front of elderly residents, some bound by wheelchairs and the ravages of dementia. I wasn't really thinking about how I'd feel about it because I was focused on the kids.

I hung out and sang at the back of the group letting the kids have the spotlight since this was their moment and a time of social outreach made more safe by being with each other.

At the end of our "performance" I went out to chat with the front row of residents, all of whom took my hand and thanked me. They told me how much they enjoyed having us and singing along. They loved having the kids there. 

One man in a wheelchair, whom I found out later was crying through some of the songs, told me that this was the best day he'd ever had. 

I moved to his right and took the hand of a woman who was also in a wheelchair. She looked in my eyes and was trying to get the words out but was having difficulty putting a sentence together. But the look in her eyes told me that she was grateful and was touched by the visit. 

I didn't want her to struggle any longer and I knew what she had in her heart. I  instinctively kissed her forehead and she rested her head on my shoulder for just a moment. It was then that I felt what I hadn't since my mother died 19 months ago today.

What I felt surprised me but felt so familiar at the same time. I can only describe it as a moment of complete spiritual connectivity. It wasn't a stranger in a wheelchair resting her head on my shoulder, it was my mother. It felt like I was physically with my mother in that instant. She was there, connecting through the touch of another in a moment of pure love.

When my mother visited my grandmother in the nursing home she always stopped to visit others, especially those who had no other visitors. I remembered the times I went with my mother. We'd walk in the front door of my grandmother's nursing home and there they were. All lined up, seemingly just waiting for my mom. 

She would always be beyond cheerful (in her usual upbeat, positive, I-love-people way) as she stopped and talked to each one. She remembered their stories and even their wardrobes. If anyone had a new pair of earrings on, a new sweater, or even a new hairdo mom would always notice. She would ask about their latest doctor's visit and knew them all by name.

I loved those moments with my mother. I was so proud and amazed at her big heart. They loved my mother and my mother's spirit. 

I had forgotten about mom's honest and sincere connection to these lonely people who probably had no other visitors until she came again. That was, until I kissed that woman's forehead today. 

I've been pushing Christmas to the back of my brain since my mother died last year. I don't look forward to writing cards, decorating the tree, or wrapping gifts. I just want it over with. Moving through the tasks as I do at my job. Meeting a deadline so I can move on to the next project.

That all stopped today. Maybe it was the meaning of Christmas that finally hit me. Doing something that brings me back to the true spirit of the season. Maybe I was just filled with joy and pride of the kids I mentor every Sunday morning. 

Or maybe my mother found me, in the corner of my heart that I share with her. Reaching out to someone who can't find the words but doesn't need to. Meeting at a place more important than spoken language. A place that is love, simple and pure. 

Thanks, mom, for teaching me a great lesson. If I ever end up needing to be in a nursing home, I know you will be there with me through the kindness of others. 

Everybody hurts. But hold on.

"Abuse is abuse." That's what my shrink said 20 years ago when I was getting panic attacks so bad that I was afraid go to work or leave my house.

I was in my mid-30s. Everything was going great. My life was amazingly wonderful. Great marriage, great job, great friends, travelling and enjoying life. Why did this hit me now? What could possibly make me so afraid that I was unable to function?

Things got so bad that I had no choice but to go to a psychologist. I dreaded telling my story. I had pushed it down into my gut for so long. I feared telling someone about it for fear it would consume me.

And it did for a while. I remember getting into my car and playing REM's Everybody Hurts on the way home from the shrink. Sobbing into my steering wheel, barely able to see through the tears as I drove in rush hour traffic. But when I got to the end of the song where Michael Stipe sings, "Everybody hurts sometimes/So, hold on, hold on...", I felt better. I would hold on and get through this. 

Verbal and emotional abuse, though it doesn't leave a scar that you can point to as proof of your pain, is no less real or painful. That's the first thing I learned from Peggy, my psychologist who listened to my story and held my pain and fear with me for 50 minutes each week. 

I got through this emotionally exhausting three years of my life feeling stronger every day. I was worth more than the words that were spit out at me by the abuser in my life. I deserved to be treated with the respect I earned. 

I learned that love doesn't come with a jagged edge if it truly is love. 

Every year in the high school youth group I facilitate at my church, I spend a Sunday morning exploring the topic of bullying. It usually centers around school-related bullying but I think this year we'll talk about bullying by people who say they care about you.

It happens in families and with those who call themselves friends. People can tell you they love you while still treating you like you are the reason for their own vile souls. 

Abuse is abuse. All it takes to remove its power is for someone to name it.

Mirror, mirror on the wall

Ever since search engines were invented, I've searched (now "googled") every question I've ever had. "What does a poison ivy rash look like?" "Why did The Ohio Players break up?" "Who invented meringue?" 

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's not knowing the answer to a question. That kind of stuff used to keep me up at night as I searched the memory banks of my brain. And once I thought I had the answer, there was no way to verify it quickly. 

I used to go to libraries and search books there so I could get a missing factoid out of my head once and for all. Searching a library in the old days meant sifting through little cards, writing down questionable cross-referenced book titles and locations, then searching the stacks for what you hoped was the book that held the magic answer. Oftentimes, it did not. Or it was checked out. Or it was only a step in a long feather-strewn goose chase.

One of the reasons I turned into a decent business systems analyst years ago was this constant quest for answers. And not just the answers, but the quest for relevant, probing questions as well. Search engines, then, became my best cyber friends.

But there are some things that Google cannot answer. 

I'm at the point in my life where things are getting more complicated. Family members' health issues, uncertainty about retirement and my own aging, and complicated relationships are just a few of those things. I thought life would get simpler as I became solidly entrenched in mid-life but that doesn't seem to be happening. The wisdom I gained in the past 50ish years did not prepare me for some of life's current challenges.

There are nights when I can't get myself off the couch and into bed because I want a little space in my head to think things through. Oftentimes, I find myself reaching for the MacBook and turning my gaze to the empty Google search box.

My cursor goes there and blinks at me as if to taunt me. "Go ahead. Try to google that one!" And I try. Entering words and phrases that yield some information. Yet information is not the same as answers.

I want to put my hands and head around a solid, proven approach to whatever personal mess I'm tangled up in. I sometimes get frustrated with my lack of answers on the web, trying even more to find the right words that will yield breadcrumbs leading my way out of the mid-life woods. I found myself getting angry that Google couldn't tell me when the pancreatic cancer would finally take my mother from me.

One of the Kathyisms I've got stored in my repertoire is, "You can't know everything." I've said that to others who have searched in vain for answers to life's elusive spiritual questions. But I have a hard time following my own words of wisdom.

In a world that has turned answers into a billion-dollar product, the priceless answers are nowhere to be found.

Eddie Van Mozart

Music is a fairly common theme on this blog. It was huge to my mother and she passed that down to her kids. Old musicals, piano lessons, guitar lessons, stereo always on while she dusted. It is so huge to me now that no matter how loud it is in whatever venue I'm at or how wonderful the conversation is that I'm involved in, I always hear the music over anything else.

Ron and I have a zillion CDs, tapes and albums. We know all of the songs and most of the words. Music speaks to us in a way it does to countless others but not everyone is as connected to the meaning of music as we are.

This week, I brought up Van Halen to Ron and we reminisced about the band. Ron dug up the Greatest Hits CD for me and I've been listening to it all week in the car.

The first half of the CD is the Diamond Dave days and the second half is mostly Sammy. There's a constant dialogue among Van Halen fans about what version of the band was better. It seems the vast majority likes the cheeky days with David Lee Roth.

Dave was and is a bit of a musical and social clown. He wore the front man costume with great ease. He is very very bright and articulate during interviews but is a complete nut on stage and in the popular videos from the 1984 album that kept them in heavy rotation on MTV (when MTV actually played videos.)

Personally, I like both versions of Van Halen equally. The band changed when Dave left to start a solo career (which didn't last long) and Sammy Hagar came on board. I liked Hagar and thought he'd be a different but great addition to the band.

While listening to the band's greatest hits it became clear just how much better musically the band became when Sammy came on board. Lyrically the songs ditched the girl-chasing themes and started talking more about true love and other important things in life.

Musically Eddie's keyboard work became almost as important as his guitar god status. The melodies were more complex, the harmonies were richer, the mixing became more robust. 

I've always thought the song Right Now was the best song Van Halen ever wrote and produced. In fact, upon listening to it a few times this week, I would like to say it is one of the best songs ever written.

The video won all major awards at the MTV video awards that year. Watch it once because it's great stuff. Then "watch" it again with your eyes close. You cannot adequately hear the musical creation while watching the video.

I found it interesting that Eddie Van Halen and then-wife Valerie Bertinelli named their son Wolfgang. Eddie is a huge Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart fan (as am I) and I often think that Mozart would have been blaring Right Now in 1991 - the year that Wolfgang Van Halen was born, Right Now was released, and the music world marked the 200th anniversary of Mozart's death.

The song's opening is a simple yet fast-moving piano solo that winds its way through the song at different points. My favorite work by Mozart is his piano concertos. They are often very light-hearted pieces with great "hooks" and playful melodies.

There are those who will disagree with me, but I believe that some of my generation's music is on the same level as Mozart's concertos. 

Eddie, in his heydey, was the Mozart of the rock world. I wonder while I'm listening to Van Halen's songs again if 200 years from now another Amadeus will break onto the music scene and name his son Eddie.