I Remember Mama

December 7th is a major remembrance day, not only for me personally, but also for our country. It marks the 75th anniversary of Pearl Harbor Day. Eight battleships, three cruisers, three destroyers, and 188 US aircraft were destroyed. In all, 2403 Americans were killed and 1178 were wounded. It was a horrific loss. For me personally, the day marks many remembrances. 41 years ago on that date, I married my first husband. 38 years ago on December 7th, we moved our very young family to New York from southern Ohio. Two years ago on December 7th, my mother passed away while my husband and I were on the Danube in Vienna, beginning a river cruise of Austria. And tomorrow, December 7th, my husband and I are headed back to Ohio, to spend time with my brother who is not well. Tonight I performed a ritual of remembrance, starting with the sewing of Christmas gifts that I can't mention (brothers might be reading this), and ending with baking the cookies my mother used to make for us so many years ago. While I sewed away, dropping bobbins and jamming threads and scaring the cat with my rather loud commentary on the art of sewing, memories of home flooded back...There were four of us kids, our parents, and our grandmother (and another orange tabby cat) in the house. It was full of color and light, especially at this time of year. Flash back to the future: both parents are gone, Grandma is long gone, and the four of us "kids" (ages 72, 68, 66, and 60) are scattered to the four winds. But tomorrow we will load up the car with homemade gifts, homemade cookies, a cooler full of fruits and cheeses, and a blizzard bag (you never know, driving across the Great Lakes states) to our destination, my middle older brother's house in Columbus, Ohio. Some of us kids will be together again for a few days. Of course, the great wheel of time has rolled around, and we are now the grandparents, we are the oldest generation. We'll sit in the kitchen, with nieces and nephews and one grandniece, plus the brothers and their wives, and catch up. And remember Christmases of long ago, and remember those who have come before and are now passed away. Enough time has passed that I can remember Mama in the kitchen at this time of year without tears in my eyes (mostly). Two years ago, she was 96 and in relatively good health and mind, so my husband and I felt OK about taking a "Christmas on the Danube" tour. The first day we spent in Vienna, sampling a Kristkindlemarket and preparing for our voyage down the famed river. That first night, I couldn't sleep. As the boat began its nighttime voyage, sleep would not come. I stood at our large window and watched the river and the locks in the darkness as we passed through them. In my mind, I could hear strands of the beautiful Strauss waltz, "The Blue Danube." I imagined my parents waltzing to that music, which they both loved (my father was a fine dancer.) When I finally went back to bed to try to sleep, there was a knock on the door...back in New York, my dear mother had passed, just as the strands of Strauss faded away in my memory there in Austria. It was December 7th, that fateful date that has held so much loss for so many. There is so much to remember on this date. I remember Mama.

Something About December

December is a very difficult time for many. It seems as if the whole world is bright, happy, and filled with the joy of the season...after all, the Christmas carols start around Halloween, and by Thanksgiving all the stores are decked out in green and red. TV commercials try to sell us all the things, and online popup ads are relentless. Hanukah is way late this year, December 24 - January 1st, but still falls within this month of December. I was born in December, on the Winter Solstice. I've never minded having my birthday so close to Christmas, because it seemed like everybody everywhere was celebrating something. For years, my older brother Jim and I traded birthdays...his is August 8th. I always appreciated his generosity and willingness to make sure I got a birthday gift that wasn't really a Christmas gift serving two purposes. The years passed, and now we are adults. We lost both our parents in December, Dad in 1993 and Mom in 2014. I've always prided myself on not being depressed during the holidays. After all, most of the December holidays are about darkness and light...whether it's Hanukah or Advent, the candles increase until the darkness is filled with light. But this year is different. For you see, now my brother Jim is facing lung cancer. My dear brother who taught me how to climb trees, who traded birthdays with me, who used to dry dishes in our childhood kitchen while singing songs from "Brigadoon" (practicing the sword dance in a dishtowel "kilt"), and who did two tours of duty in Viet Nam, is now facing the greatest battle of his life. Today he had a lung biopsy on the campus of Ohio State University during the lockdown that resulted in the shooting of a lone-wolf terrorist, a student who drove into a crowd then began attacking people with a butcher knife. What kind of world do we live in? Where is the light in all of this darkness? Regardless of your politics, your religion, or your background, we all want the same thing...peace on Earth, long life and health for our families, and a light in the darkness. In the face of all this sorrow and loss, I struggle to reach within myself and find that light, still shining. For me, it's the increasing glow of an Advent wreath, in which another candle is lit every Sunday for four weeks until that great Light enters the world on Christmas day. This year may be the first year that I struggle to find the joy in the season...We expect our parents to pass before us. It's another matter altogether when your siblings become sick and begin making their final preparations. And so I will light the candles, say the prayers, and pray for light in this world. Grief and loss are hard at any time of the year, but there's something about December...

A Different Kind of Grief

Sometimes it doesn’t take the death of a loved one to spark feelings of grief and loss. For example, the outcome of the recent presidential election has produced the same symptoms of grief and loss in a large segment of the population as those who have lost a loved one. In this case, the loss is of hope. This post is not intended to be a political statement, but rather a comparison of similarities between these two types of grief, and a look at taking steps toward healing. According to Mental Health America, there is a wide range of emotions that a person experiences when a death takes place. These feelings include numbness, denial, disbelief, confusion, shock, sadness, yearning, anger, humiliation, despair, and guilt. I have personally experienced all of these feelings after losing a loved one. However, until the most recent election, it hadn’t occurred to me that these same feelings might result from a profound sense of hopelessness due to loss of a collective dream, or hope for the future. I have heard a number of people say that on election night, they felt that they were living a nightmare, from which they could not awaken. There have been articles that list the Kubler-Ross stages of loss and grief, (denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance) adding one, “activism,” to the list. Online communities have tried hard to rally their followers to action, such as calling their government officials, writing letters, and sending e-mails to people in power, hoping to effect a change in the President Elect, the Vice-President Elect, and their incoming cabinet. What can a person do who has become so devastated by recent national events (such as the rise in racism, anti-Semitism, sexism, hatred of LGBTQ people, and hatred of religions other than one’s own) that s/he feels an interruption in his or her ability to function normally? Once again, I turn to the literature on coping with grief and loss. According to Mental Health America, there are a number of ways a person can try to live with their grief. These include seeking out caring people, expressing your feelings, taking care of your health, being patient, and seeking outside help, if necessary. If others around you are severely depressed by recent events, you can help them by sharing their sorrow through listening, not offering false comfort, again, being patient, and encouraging them to get professional help if necessary. If you feel called to take action, to be part of the resistance, then you should find like-minded people and move forward with that. As for myself, I take enormous comfort from nature. As a photographer and artist, I am constantly seeing “signs” in the natural environment around me that function symbolically as strategies for coping with stress. This morning I rose before dawn, and spent time meditating and reading philosophy. When I looked up from the text, the sky had lightened and dramatic storm clouds from yesterday’s winter storm painted what can only be described as a battle ground in the sky. How will you cope with your idealogical grief? You are not alone.

Saying Goodbye to Gloria

Early this morning my first Hospice patient, "Gloria," died peacefully in her sleep. I know this is the natural outcome of most Hospice stays, but it's my first experience with the death of a resident. I'm glad I had those four visits with her during training and then as a supervised volunteer...but I so wish I had had one last visit. In fact, my husband and I were called a few days ago to volunteer either last night or tonight, and by the time we responded, only tonight was still open. We'll be there with only one resident, who no doubt will be sound asleep, as we have the last shift of the evening. I can't tell a lie, this is hard for me. It's my faith tradition to believe that Gloria is in a better place now. I was lucky in that the last time I sat with her, we had a lively conversation about Thanksgiving Dinner. She was in and out of our reality; at one point she asked me how many people were coming (I said 6), how we should cook the turkey (I vetoed the pressure cooker), and if dinner would be held "here." In class later that week, I asked the instructors if it's OK to go with the reality of the dying...they said yes...so Gloria and I had planned a feast for either the past or the future...perhaps for both. Time seems very elastic for the dying. It is hard to say goodbye. Even though I only knew Gloria for a brief while, we took comfort in each other's presence. She tolerated my singing (for the most part), and I held her hand while she dropped off to sleep. As a Hospice volunteer, I know this pattern will repeat itself over and over again. I only hope that I can be fully present, be engaged, and then be able to step away as each person makes their final journey. Good bye, Gloria. May your Thanksgiving feast be a beautiful one.

Welcome To My Blog

This blog is for people experiencing grief and loss, whether from death of a loved one, friend, pet, or loss of something deeply meaningful to them. This is intended to be a safe place to share stories, information, photographs...