COVID19: Farewell to Normalcy

  When I began this blog in 2016, it was intended to be a discussion of grief and loss brought on by death.  Now as I return to it, it's an entirely new discussion of grief and loss - of normalcy.  As I write this, our country and the rest of the world are reeling from a new crisis, the COVID19 virus.  I wish I could say we didn't see this coming, but some of us did.  As long ago as 2006, Dr. Larry Brilliant foretold this pandemic through writings, talks, and as a consultant for the disaster film, "Contagion."  We didn't listen.
In December, China experienced the first cases of COVID19.  They tried to warn us.  Our leaders didn't listen.  By January, South Korea and Italy began experiencing the virus, with quite a bit of television coverage.  Our President called this a hoax, propagated by the Democrats.   Concerned scientists tried to influence his opinions.  It was of no avail.
   Finally, cases of the virus began to explode in Washington State, then New York City, spreading to New York State, where I live.  Within the space of one week, the cases in New York, now the highest concentration in the U.S., rocketed from 1400 on March 18th to 8377 on March 21st.  I had heard on the news that the virus would expand exponentially, roughly doubling every six days.  Meanwhile, cases in Italy have overwhelmed the system.  At last count (this morning), I read that there are over 8000 cases in New York, 20,000 cases  in the U.S., and 277, 300 cases in the world.  These are only the cases that are being tested, verified, and reported.  It's suspected that there are many, many more.
   One week ago today was the last "normal" day I've had.  I went to my YMCA to work out, came home, went to the grocery, and gassed up my car.  By that evening, all the schools in my county, the YMCAs, and most churches had closed.  As of tomorrow, all of New York State, with the exception of "essential businesses" (grocery stores, pharmacies, media, doctors' offices, hospitals) will be asked to stay home.  100% of the workforce not included in the "essential" category may not return to work until further notice.
   It could be weeks.  Or months.
   There was panic in the grocery stores.  Long lines, some fights that required police intervention, and shortages ensued.  People are hoarding things, causing further shortages.  In short, our lives are beginning to resemble a disaster movie.  "Contagion," perhaps?
   The international stock market continued the tumble that had begun a few weeks ago.  At this point we estimate that it has lost approximately 50% of its value...not a pretty picture for retirees.  Not at all.
   What will become of us?  We honestly have no idea.  Hospitals are being built in state fairground buildings.  Hotels, motels, and college dormitories will be taken over to house patients, and possibly military troops who are called in to help organize food pantries and keep order in the streets.  There are currently so many shortages of medical supplies that some hospitals are asking civilians to sew home-made medical masks.
   When I began this blog 4 years ago, I had no idea that it would become a place to discuss an international pandemic.  It was a blog created to be an intergenerational discussion of grief, as I was taking a course on death and dying at seminary and needed a project that would be open to all for discussion.
   Now it's going to be a discussion of what a pandemic looks like.  Our lives are changed forever.  How are you coping?  Feel free to discuss, and add to the conversation.  And truly, yesterday never looked so good.  And yes, it is hard to say goodbye.

 
 

When a Child Takes His/Her Life

"Hold on, hold on to yourself...
this is going to hurt like hell."  - Sarah McLachlan

   This one is going to be hard to read.  Death is a difficult thing for us to think about, to discuss, to understand... and when a child dies by her own hand, it's off the charts difficult.  In my lifetime, I have personally known four people who have taken their own lives:  three girls/women, one man.  Three happened in my home town.  One was the daughter of one of my mother's friends.  One was the sister of two of my friends.  One was the daughter of one of my own friends.  And the fourth, the man, is the son of one of our close friends.  That one happened only a few weeks ago.
   What is wrong with this world that our children are in too much pain to stay with us?  Two of the hometown girls/women who died did this decades ago, so we can't even blame it on the current opioid crisis.  The third hometown woman was a talented artist, very successful, happily married...Why?  Why?  Why?  The man who recently took his life (22 years old) had already made two other attempts, and yes, it did involve drugs.
   I go to a very small house church made up of roughly 16-20 people from a very diverse sample:  Black, White, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, male, female, Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, Native.  Last week we prayed for no fewer than three suicides - all recent - of young people.
   What the fuck?  I don't use that work lightly.  It's one of the ugliest words I know.  But this horror of young people offing themselves is also the ugliest thing I know.  Want to punish your parents?  Kill yourself.  They'll suffer for the rest of their lives.  You'll finally be out of your pain, but they will have endless sleepless nights wondering what they could have done differently to save the child they brought into the world from self destruction.
   I try to make sense of this yawning grave of sorrow by looking for patterns.  Did they have anything in common?  Were they all mentally ill?  Were there substance abuse issues that were kept hidden in the darkness?  Were they abused in other ways?
   I have even more friends and relatives who have shared privately that they have struggled with the desire to end their lives over the years.  Some do indeed struggle with mental illness, and have tried to find help over the years with varying degrees of success.  Some felt that they had no purpose in life, that their lives were not worth living.  Still others fight the urge to self-destruct because of the state of the world today in terms of politics, climate change, social injustices, abuse...the list goes on and on.
   What about the fact, though, that these four people were still young adults?  That they still had their whole lives ahead of them?  That they didn't know that there might be a less permanent solution to their pain?
    I don't have an easy answer to any of these questions.  I put this out there because I see it as a growing trend, and I believe we need to talk about it.  Please - if you have any input that might shed light on this heartache, I welcome your responses.
    Until then, please live.  Wake up to live another day.  Know that your life matters.  Understand that suicide is murder turned inward.  Please get help.  Please.

Letting Go of Fear

Sunrise, Annapurna, Nepal

   In the Christian world, we have just come through the forty days of Lent and have now entered the liturgical season of Easter.  During Lent, many people give something up as a way to participate in Christ's selfless love.  Like, say, chocolate.  This year, I decided to give up fear.
    Why fear?  Why not something tangible, like cake?  Or candy?  Or wine?  Or, as one dear friend suggested, plastic?
    I gave up fear (as best I could) because I see that as being a major contributor to not moving forward in my personal growth.  Fear keeps us from doing so many things.  If we step out of our comfort zone and venture into new territory, we can experience anxiety...but also freedom.
    A few months ago, I went on a three-week journey through India and Nepal, looking at culture, spirituality, and education.  My husband and I did this on our own, with help from our friends in these two countries who found drivers and English-speaking guides in the various Indian cities we visited.  When we reached Nepal, we went trekking with the help of a small trekking company that my husband had found three years ago.  I was frankly afraid of stepping out into such a huge adventure without the shepherding of a tour group.  My husband had worked internationally for 33 years, and has always travelled more or less on his own.  I've travelled with him quite a bit, but this new proposed  adventure caused me to experience real fear.
    Perhaps it's my age (63), or the belief that I have had an interesting life, and therefore don't expect to have a boring death...but I decided to bite the bullet and step out in faith, to leaving fear behind, and to explore these two countries with him.  I had to let go of my fears.  These fears included, but were not limited to:

Mount Dhaulagiri, Nepal

* Heights (We trekked in the Annapurna Circuit in the Himalayas of Nepal)
* Crowds (India, and its magnificent monuments such as the Taj Mahal, is very crowded)
* The unknown (We stayed in a different place each night, sometimes without a lot of pre-planning)
*  Poor sanitation (Don't get me started on pit toilets, or the fact that you have to carry your own toilet paper with you everywhere)
*  Terrorism (Sad, but true:  when we came home, we saw the movie "Hotel Mumbai."  We had had lunch in that very hotel in which India's 2008 terror attacks began.  It could happen again.  In fact, as soon as we came home from our trip, the horrific Easter terror attacks in Sri Lanka occurred.

The Taj Hotel and Gate of India, Mumbai

   Giving up fear doesn't mean giving up caution or safety.  It means giving up the notion that we can actually control our destiny, that we can somehow will away any random evil that might wait for us in the shadows of the world.  It means living life to the fullest, in spite of the fact that our lives could end at any given moment.
   When we went to Israel in 2015, friends and family feared for our safety.  If you think about it, we would be far more likely to be shot in a shopping mall, theatre, house of worship, or elementary school in the U.S. than we would be in any of the "third world" (also known as the "two-thirds world") countries.

   Perhaps it's my age, the fact that I've had a wonderful life, and the fact that my children are grown and are happy that give me the courage to give up fear.  On our recent trek in the Himalayas, I faced several situations that initially scared me, usually involving great heights and narrow trails.  I faced my fear, and realized that the likelihood of actually falling was pretty slim.  A song kept running through my head as we climbed higher and higher:  the blockbuster hit "Shallows," sung by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper from "A Star is Born."  The refrain says, "We're out of the shallows now."  I take that to mean that we (or I) have moved beyond the shallow waters of day-to-day living, and are now ready to move into the deeper waters of living fully into the rest of our lives.  Step out into the waters of life.  Leave fear on the shoreline.  Be careful, yes.  Don't take unnecessary risks, to be sure.  But above all, don't limit your life to what is too safe.  Let go of fear...and embrace fulfillment.

Step out...and experience life

Amer Fort, India

What is it About December?

   It's been a very long time since I've posted to this blog.  Now, as 2018 draws to a close, I feel compelled to write again.  Tonight I learned that I have lost yet another friend, and again in December.
   This is a month that is known for darkness.  Today is the Winter Solstice, the darkest and shortest day of the year.  Many celebrations surround the concept of darkness and light during this twelfth and final month of our calendar year:  Hannukah, Advent, Christmas, Solstice, New Year's Eve.  Since the dawn of time, humankind has taken a moment during this wintry month to pause and reflect on life and death.
   For me, each year that passes carries a little more sadness during this month.  Both of my parents died in December, and several friends died, as well.  I was born on December 22nd, and have always loved being born at such an energy-infused time of year.  For beneath the frozen ground, seeds are sleeping...new life will come in the spring, and this long period of sleep is necessary for their growth. Each year that passes in this decade of my 60s brings more loss.  The deaths of friends and family must, by natural law, increase as I age, until one day I, too, will pass away and become memory.
Is it morbid to focus on death at a time when most of the Christian world is focusing on birth?  No, because both are intimately entwined.  The Wise Men brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh - foreshadowing the death and burial of Jesus Christ.  These were the precious gifts they laid at the manger in Bethlehem.  And even as Jesus was born under the brilliance of a Star, Herod ordered the death of all Jewish baby boys under the age of two...just in case.  Birth.  Death.  Entwined.
   It's certainly much less dramatic for me.  My mother told me long ago that I was born on the coldest day of the year.  Perhaps that's why I've always loved the cold!  As a child, I slept in an unheated summer porch.  I remember putting my little hands on the chimney that passed from the kitchen below through my little room to the roof, feeling the warmth of it.  I was never cold.  In fact, since our grandmother lived with us, the house downstairs was kept uncomfortably warm.  To this day I gravitate to the cooler places in our house.
   Today I lost another friend.  Just yesterday she was commenting on my photograph of dawn in Ontario, and hours later, she died of a heart attack - no previous warning.  We must all be prepared.  Who knows who will go next?  In my family, the women live to be quite old.  My mother was 96.  Her aunt died at 104.  I may well live to be well over 100.
   My motto is, live each day as if it is your last, but plan as though you will live forever.
Now, as the longest night of the year is in progress, my wish for all of you, dear readers, is that you reflect upon your lives, and realize that you, too, could disappear into the night without warning.  Yes, we celebrate the return of the light beginning tomorrow (my birthday), but we know deep in our hearts that the great wheel of time will continue to roll, and bring around December after December.                What do we bring to the manger?  Does the Star shine down upon us, too?  What is it about December?

The Color Purple

   This week our community lost a dear friend.  By "our community," I mean not only greater Rochester, but also the large family of music educators who knew her.  To protect her family's privacy, I'll call her Tammy.  I knew Tammy from my final position as an arts director in a local outer-ring suburb.  I knew her not only from endless staff meetings, many informal classroom visits, formal observations, concerts, and the like, but also from social events - parties at my house, gatherings at her house.  For you see, music educators are a very large family.  One of the comments that appeared in my own annual performance reviews each year was the fact that I was "too close" to my faculty.  That one always made me smile.  My superintendent finally said to me, "You're one of them, aren't you?"  You bet I am.  I was, and I always will be.
   Even though I've been retired for 5 1/2 years now, I still have friends - former colleagues - in the school district who do a bang-up job of keeping me informed of all manner of news.  Sometimes I get news reports before the official word comes from their current central office administrators...This brings me to how I found out my friend and colleague was ill, a little over a year ago.   Through Facebook and messaging, I was able to follow Tammy through her slow, relentless downhill journey.  Thanks to social media, I was able to send Facebook messages, texts, and e-mails, along with one or two calls to let her know I was thinking of her, that she was in my prayers.  She was diagnosed with cancer right around the time that my brother was diagnosed...I offered to go visit her on several occasions, but she never felt well enough to take me up on my offer.
    When I realized she was no longer checking in to her Facebook account, I began posting photos on her wall occasionally.  Sunrises, sunsets, beautiful scenes that I had the privilege of seeing...it was my way of visiting.  And of course, she was always on my daily prayer list.
   This past week, Tammy passed away.  There was an amazing half-page article in the local paper, as well as a lengthy obituary.  The obit gave not only the times for the calling hours and funeral, but also a request that her friends and family wear purple to these events, as it was her favorite color.
   Purple.  The color of royalty.  I only have one or two things to wear of that color, purchased one summer to match my purple cast on whichever foot was operated on that year.  I wore one dark purple sweater with matching scarf to the calling hours at the funeral home, and a lavender top with a black jacket to the funeral itself.  And I was part of an absolute tide of purple in both places.
   The tributes to Tammy were beautiful.  There were photos of every aspect of her life, cut short at too young an age.  Her Celebration of Life was a glowing tribute to her faith, her love of family, and her adoring friends.  I must admit that I considered not attending the funeral.  After all, the family seemed surprised that I showed up at the calling hours.  I had originally decided I would remember Tammy by driving to a nearby state park to observe the "ice volcano" that has recently appeared on local news - a fountain that has a 27' ice pinnacle growing up around it.  Tammy had been a camper, a hiker, a lover of nature, interests that I share.  I would remember her by spending some time in a beautiful place.  Only, when I made the hour-long drive to see the ice volcano, the final stretch of road was closed!  I turned my car around, and realized that I still had time to go home, change into yet more purple, and make it to the service in time.
   I'm so glad I did.  The chapel was packed.  I was once again a part of a purple tide.  I saw a number of people I had worked with - music teachers, administrators, all members of that community.  I was content to sit in the back pew alone, singing along on the hymns, tearing up at the testimonials, and above all, basking in the glow of a true celebration of life.  Tammy was beloved among her peers, and that love was very evident that day.
   Today I wore purple one more time.  The funeral may be over, but I believe that Tammy is now leading a band in Heaven - I have no doubt that she's in charge of the elementary angel instrumentalists, cheering them on in their heavenly music making.  I know angels are supposed to be wearing white, but I believe Tammy and her little band are all wearing purple...the color of royalty.  After all, they are performing for a King.

When Feasts Collide

   For years our family has celebrated Epiphany with one last present, one little gift for each person in our family to remember the Magi reaching the manger.  Sometimes we even had a celebration of Twelfth Night, like a dinner party (sometimes in costume).  Epiphany still holds magic and mystery for me.  Now, as an adult entering my “golden years,” I feel the historic tension of that period in Christian history.  It wasn’t really on a silent night that Christ was born.  Holy, yes.  But silent, no.  Herod had caught wind of the birth of the Jewish King, and ordered the death of all newborn male Jewish babies.  I think of Rachel weeping for her children, who are no more.  Of the Magi, accidently alerting Herod of the birth of the newborn King of the Jews.  Of Joseph and Mary, returning home stealthily “by another way” – through Egypt – which is quite a detour.  To escape what?  Violence.  Death.  Injustice.

  This year, Epiphany collides with the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord, an interesting contrast of events.  For me, Epiphany evokes the idea of gifts, royalty, and flight from the threat of evil.  For me, baptism evokes the idea of the gift of Grace, the crowning of the young King, and freedom from sin.  These two holy days both involve gift-giving.  The Epiphany occurred in an atmosphere of flight from violence, and Baptism occurred in the symbolism of the saving grace of water, and the powerful force of life overcoming death.

   As I write this, I am looking out over Tampa Bay.  The roar of fighter jets fills the air before dawn.   MacDill Air Force Base is across the bay.  Yesterday, we went for a walk in a beautiful little nature park in urban St. Petersburg.  In a linear nature preserve that runs alongside busy I 275 South, we walked on boardwalks through swamps and by a canal in which alligators basked in the sun.  There were no fences, no barriers, no gates to keep us separate from these ancient creatures.  Walkers stayed on a raised boardwalk, sort of safe from the possibility of a charging reptile.  But these reptiles were very cold, and were happy to laze in the sun, absorbing the warmth.  The park lies next to a residential neighborhood, but residents of both habitats appear to be able to live side-by-side in peace, without fear of attack.

   Today, Rob and I will attend the simple and beautiful Episcopal Cathedral in St. Petersburg.  Then we’ll drive South to spend the afternoon and evening with grandson Brady.  Again, there is symbolism in this activity.  Brady cared for 240 college students who couldn’t escape Hurricane Irma last Fall, in a job he had just begun only a month earlier.  Baptism by fire…And yet the storm decreased from a Cat Five to a Cat Two by the time it reached Fort Meyers.  The decimation of Puerto Rico and other islands was not visited upon Florida Gulf Coast University.  I remember thanking God – experiencing gratitude for a lesser storm.  Those words came back to me today, in the pre-dawn darkness punctuated by the roar of the ascending fighter jets.  I am grateful that we are not at war on our own soil, although much of the world is suffering.  I am grateful that the beautiful, terrifying creatures of the Floridian swamplands – even in the midst of a city – still exist.  And I am grateful that today we can see our grandson at the university where he became a man, helping others through the storm. 

   My prayer today is that we might not destroy ourselves as the human race.  It has been said that if all the animals were to die on the Earth, mankind will perish.  If mankind were to die off completely from the Earth, all of creation would flourish.  Through Baptism we are marked as Christ’s own forever.  I pray for an Epiphany for this world, for the grace of God to save us from destroying ourselves, and our precious Earth.  I pray for the gift of a lesser storm.

Out with the Old, In with the New

   Good New Year's Eve!
   I've been thinking for months now that my blog needs to move in a new direction.  The experience of death, of aging, has been a central concept for me in this blog design.  I now feel the need to move it in a new direction.  Not that the work of aging and dying isn't in need of its own platform, it's just that there are other topics that I would like to explore.  I would like to include you, my readers, in this venture. Please feel free to post your own reflections, artwork, dreams, poetry...Argue with me.  Agree with me.  But by all means, please engage in dialogue with me.  Feel free to present your own beliefs, similar or dissimilar to mine.  This is about sharing, about thinking, about opening our minds in a new way...about ancient things.  Engage.
  The Holidays are difficult for many.  Both of my parents died in December; it was in December of 2016 that we realized that my brother Jim was indeed on his "journey," as we euphemistically call it in Hospice work.  He was engaged in the work of saying goodbye.  Of dying.
   Now, a year later, his family continues to process that time of unstoppable transformation.  Of preparing ourselves for the loss that would come, for the new life that would arise as a result of my brother's departure.  For example, even as he was passing, his son was expecting his second child.  A beautiful baby girl who would be named for my father, Emerson.  Her nickname is Eme.
   One soul leaves this Earth, another enters.  Are they related?  I do not know.  I do know that the cycle of life constantly revolves around death and birth, birth and death.
   It is on birth that I would like to concentrate my Blog this coming year.  Birth.  Life.  Transformation.  And yes, death, too.  Ultimately, it is Death that brings us back to Life.
    And so, my friends, I invite you to join me on this journey in 2018.  I will not judge you; I ask that you not judge me.  I will share my stories, my reflections on various readings, and I invite you to do the same.  Out with the old, in with the new.
    Blessings,
    Patricia
Christmas 2017
New Year's 2018

"Christus Natus Est" - Collage.  Patricia Wheelhouse.  Mixed papers and watercolor.