The Long, Long Journey

   This is perhaps the most difficult blog post I will have written to date. During the last eight years, my daughter Jessica and her husband Bryce have tried every possible method to have a child. They suffered through every combination of IVF, even trying donor eggs and donor sperm. Nothing worked. There were a few hopeful moments, but they always ended in tragedy. There were painful injections, painful procedures, a miscarriage...Jess was finally actually pregnant, but it ended in an ectopic pregnancy.
    As the years ticked by, their hopes and dreams seemed dimmer and dimmer. I wept with them, sent flowers, prayed, and did everything in my power to make the universe welcoming for that infant grand baby that just never came. Finally, two years ago, Jess and Bryce decided to adopt. This was great news! She had a shower at school (she's a teacher.) She had a family -and -friends shower. The happy couple outfitted a nursery fit for a prince or a princess, with every doodad and invention that had ever been created to welcome a newborn into the family. And then they waited. And they waited. And they waited. They made a book about themselves as required by the adoption agency that was so well done. Jessica is a writer, and her well-honed skills came to her aid. But still they waited. And they waited some more. 
   Every now and then we would get an update that there was almost a match…They had 6 opportunities. Once, they were actually chosen, but the expectant mother ultimately chose to parent. The waiting couple weren’t getting any younger, and expectant moms seemed to want to choose couples who already have another child. My daughter and son-in-law continued to hope…again, they waited. And waited. Finally, the constant state of readiness and disappointment came to a head. There was too much physical and emotional stress involved in the constant waiting. They decided to stop the adoption search.
    Now, they are beginning to heal. Now, they are celebrating who they are, not who they wanted to be. They have emptied the beautifully-appointed nursery, and donated all of their equipment, clothing, and furniture to a shelter for young mothers in crisis. Jess has carefully re-created the little empty nursery into a beautiful writer's nook, a lovely office that is calm and welcoming. There may never have been a baby in that room, but I know for sure that many great ideas, stories, and poems will be born in that space. I am so in awe of Jess and Bryce. They have had such strength throughout their eight years of waiting...Jess's mother-in-law and I have ridden that roller coaster with them for all these years, eagerly awaiting that miraculous moment when our first grand baby would come into our children's lives. Now we can all move on. We can celebrate the children that we have, the adults they have become, and the tremendous talents and abilities they bring to the world, just the two of them. May we all have the grace to accept what we cannot change as well as these two amazing people.
    I have struggled to accept this loss the same year that I lost my brother, and even my cat - all within a few months. I'm 61 now, hardly a spring chicken. I, too, must focus on what I have - who I have - and not dwell on the infant grandchild who never arrived, the brother I lost too soon to cancer, and even the beloved feline companion who left us so abruptly. I am a person of faith. I don't have answers as to why all of this loss happened, but I do know that it is all part of life. In previous generations, when tragedy struck, people didn't ask "why" as we do today. More often, they asked "how." How do we carry on? How do we pick up and move forward in spite of our sorrow? That is the question. It is my belief that we do not walk this long, long journey alone. The Almighty sits with us in the silence, in the sorrow, in the slow realization that life will not happen as we assumed it would. God is not Santa Claus, filling our stockings with all of our desired gifts. However, prayer can help us focus...on strength, on compassion, on wisdom, and on finding contentment with who we are, who we love, and the life we've been privileged to live. I must dry my tears and move forward, celebrating the family that I do have - a terrific husband, two wonderful step-grandsons, two fabulous daughters, and the two sons-in-law who are so very perfect for my girls. I can and will continue this journey, with all of its highs and lows - grateful for what - and who - I have.

   To visit Jessica's blog, My Path to Mommyhood,  click on this link:
My Path to Mommyhood

The Lone Silver Wolf

Tomorrow I am leaving for Ohio again, this time for the last time of this six-month journey of saying good-bye to my brother. Yesterday I was filled with grief. Nothing would make me feel better, until I spent several hours in my little home studio and made a few small paintings. One of them, "Ghost Pack," was a bit unusual in terms of symbolism. Maybe I didn't know I was processing my grief. After all, what does the image of a wolf have to do with losing a brother?

Today the meaning came to me. I remembered a story about Barrington Bunny from a book called "The Way of the Wolf," by Martin Bell, that came out in the 70s. Today I looked it up, and there it was...the lone, silver wolf, by the forest's edge, looking out for the little guy. Looking out for someone he loved. The lone silver wolf would not leave a friend alone in the snow... The story of Barrington Bunny may be found here: http://www.angelfire.com/music/lefantome/bunny.html.

Silent Night, Holy Night

And so the holidays came and went. My husband and I spent time with our daughters and their families, and travelled down to NYC and up to Orillia, Ontario to visit family and friends. As always, the ghosts of the past floated through...family and friends who had passed away, some during the holidays. Some of our friends passed away last year during this month, January. In fact, last year I lost four friends in one week, two on the same day. None of them knew each other. It was one of the most devastating weeks of my life. My husband and I were on vacation in Florida, enjoying the relative warmth and sunshine with family and friends who had made their move South years ago. Upon our return, I attended four funerals, stunned and numbed by the unexpectedness, the suddenness of their departure. Yesterday all of this came flooding back, as I began planning and packing for another upcoming trip south. Yesterday was also darkened by a loss of another kind, sustained by family members. I was struck by the unfairness of life. Yesterday, it just seemed as if all the wrong people were rewarded and all the right people were punished. Of course, I know that in reality, bad things happen to good people all the time, for no apparent reason. However, that does not dim the loss. As I dragged through the day, feeling the heavy weight of baggage both old and new, I felt like I was 100 years old. Where is the justice in all of this? I am a person of faith, and yet my prayers had not been answered. Of course, I know that God is not Santa Claus. He doesn't check his list for who's been naughty or nice. I've played by the rules. My family and friends have played by the rules. We've been good. Why was life turning out this way? Then, last night my husband and I did our first shift at the Hospice house since November. (The house was closed when we were supposed to work in December; the two then-current residents had died.) A friend asked if I was really up for working there last night, given my dark mood. Yes, I said, I need to go. When I'm down for the count, I know the value of serving. Of giving. Of leaving my personal pity party and sitting by the bedside of a dying woman, whose daughter is keeping vigil. And so we went. The evening went quickly, as instead of a quiet time spent while the resident slept, I was called upon to do quite a lot of patient care. Thank God the nurse on call came in, because I had forgotten how to do the most basic things. She patiently guided and watched me as I repositioned the resident, gave her the pre-measured medications, offered her sips of water, comforted her daughter, and sat by her bed keeping vigil after her family went home for the night. There's something about being present with a person on her final journey that erases all of the sadness, sorrow, and exhaustion of my own problems. Life looks pretty good when you're sitting with the dying. In an interesting twist, this lovely 90-year-young woman had the same name I have. I felt like Ebenezer Scrooge looking at his own gravestone shortly before he had his epiphany and became a better person. Epiphany...according to the online British Dictionary, the secular definition is "A moment when you suddenly feel that you understand, or suddenly become conscious of, something that is very important to you." Its religious meaning is the recognition by the wise men that the baby Jesus was indeed the savior that had been foretold in the Old Testament scriptures. Here I was, not in a manger, or even an inn, but in the room of a dying woman, and I found peace with God. My epiphany. When our shift ended very late that night, I left a calmer, more centered person. As the night aide came on duty, I had laid hands on the resident, silently calling upon her spiritual Guide to bring her stillness and peace as she entered what might be her last night's sleep. My hope for all of you, my readers, is that you might also find your Guide, and that you might also be able to live with the injustices of life. We all hope for the best for our families and friends, but that doesn't always happen. But we can find the strength and the courage to be the best partners we can as they make their life journey. Happy New Year to all. May you find strength and peace in 2017.

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.