What happened to me…(big changes).

I've been thinking about what happens when someone dies, and the world begins to respond to this news.  I've also been thinking about what this particular loss (of two parents) means to me.  And I've been thinking a lot about not thinking (denial).  And then there's the part that I think, and think.

I see myself as a person who enjoys cherishing every experience.  I make sure to live, feel, breathe and reflect.  So, when I consider what it's like to experience other people's outreach to me after the loss of parent number two, it is with the great energy I give to taking that moment to share their feelings, thoughts, self.  Yeah, this is mumbo-jumbo, touchy-feely, but this is the deal: when I let people know that this thing has happened, and especially when I let them know that it's a big stinkin' deal to me, the mirror goes up.  Without fail, not only is the person trying to grasp what this means to me, they're also thinking about what it means to them (I remember my own loss, what happens when I lose my blank) and so forth.  So that's when I breathe, and listen, hug, and calculate how much we can stop in this moment and be.   Everyone plays their part.  This is the beauty of community.  Not one person's response to me has been the same as another.  All of these responses are simply perfect, because it's a member of my community, a living member, flaws and all, showing up when they are ready to show up.

My life, since January has been an absolute delight.  I say this only because I feel so fully alive and engaged and passionate that I'm grateful for my own company.  As low as I've felt, at times, I've never felt like a dull light dimming.  Early on, I felt the awful fear and terror of waking in the middle of the night to the scary memory that yes, it's true, this is over.  Even then, even amidst the hard stuff, I've been galvanized into action and good action.  I returned to a bitter humiliating winter that brought all of Chicagoland to its knees.  I breathed, drank my coffee, my wine, slept at night, and began the cathartic process of purging my entire home of objects that needed to be moved.  I pursued a level of organization and order and logical living but never to the extent of over-obsessiveness.  I knew that I would be useless in the out-there world, so I worked, day-by-day, at rebuilding the sanctuary of my own home, my own family, and a gathering place for my community.  As winter dragged on, my own home took on the look of my favorite place to be.

I've been saying that purging and organizing serve two purposes.  One, I'm expecting myself to be grown up, and in my family, order is a sign of maturity.  Second, I needed to find a way to move forward in all of our lives.  My parents dying, at an appropriately old age, is difficult because it is a sign that myself, my friends, my offspring, my hobbies, everything is getting old.  Every object adorning my house, all of my clothes, jewelry….when is the time right to say goodbye?  Tough times provide an opportunity to ask those questions.  

All I can add, for now, is the part about thinking and thinking and thinking, and still finding myself in solid denial.  Early on, I would lie in bed and remember conversations Mom and I had in the last few weeks.  I cataloged the food I prepared for her, I remembered her playing Charades on that last Friday before hospitalization.  I retraced days, meetings, and more.  I would lie in bed counting the nights that I tended her, and the nights that I double teamed with my siblings.  I recalculated when I made calls to which nurse and what happened next.  I saved four days of Newspapers, because there were only four days of the Register Guard left, in a pile, that she didn't read.   And then, when she did leave us, it was all very real.  We were there with her at home, we went about all of the work and letting go that seemed appropriate right then.  January kept us busy.

But, still, now that all of the time has passed, I still talk about Mom's likes, dislikes, attitudes in the present.  Her sense of humor, her sense of order.  As I moved steadily toward a place where I would accept and truly let go, I began the process of assuming possession of all sorts of things that would keep her near me.  Starting with this hundred-year old ceramic cat.  The same cat that she took from her own Mother's home, many years ago, in a similar rite of passage.

And Where, in God's name, have you been and What in God's name have you been doing?

Thus evoking some of the tone and word choice of my Mother, who somehow, strangely, shockingly, peacefully and completely, died about three months ago.  Somewhere smack in the middle of my absence from blogging (I miss you, I do, I do) the world has changed (doesn't it all the time?), but my little world has turned itself inside out, rolled itself around a few times and then spit me out, right back where I started.  A friend said to me, somewhere along the way, that she imagined I would gather a tremendous amount of learning, creativity, thought power and the world would probably be witness to my discoveries vis-a-vis the blog and other outlets.  Sure, I thought, but I'm wondering, still, what that might look like and when the urge might take hold.

Blogging seems to be a commitment that I seem to fall just shy of these days, so I'm going to chunk it down. Let's start with a commitment and an outline. Maybe it'll look a little like this, over the next period of days/weeks:
1.What was I doing in. say. November. December. (What was it about. Then?)
2. What happened to Mom? (Where'd you go? Why?)
3. What happened to Me? (in other words…Big Changes).
4. What's really hard? (Knot in my stomach)
5. What's really terrific? (where do I feel unencumbered?)
6. What makes me hurt a whole lot? (Why do I never cry anymore?)
7. What is this "Unencumbered" business, and where is this *brand* going…or…do we put it to bed, finally? (new avenues, avenues, avenues!)

-Seven Days of Blog Posts. Seven days of writing. Go figure.

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What was it about. Then?

 What was I doing in November and December? Barely hanging on.  I was exhausted at work, overcoming a bout of shingles, the weather was heading to a very bad place, and it was all I could do to enjoy sleep and some exercise.

I managed to craft a few nice things:

A gift for a Sixtieth Birthday

 And had some R&R in away towns...

Lazy Jane's, Madison

But now that I think about it, I kept on repeating the phrase, "If one more thing happens, I'll implode."  You know the place.  The place where your ears are ringing and you're hardly sleeping but you're not technically ill, insane, or even non-functioning.  So now that we're thinking in this fashion, we were at a steady clip in the fast lane and all we needed was a little water to hydroplane on and it would be over for me. For us (as in, the family), and certainly, for any pretense left of feeling Unencumbered.  Somewhere along the way, my spouse and I looked at each other and realized that it would be great to visit Oregon for a week following the major holiday celebrations.  We booked tickets, didn't give it a second thought, and started looking forward to a week on the Oregon Coast that would most likely deliver the quiet, rejuvenative energy we've come to expect from a visit home.

Night Swim. Nothing better. Outdoors.

Puzzle, Run, Coffee.

early-seventies tape recorder...cleaning the closets.

Bye Bye, 2012.  The blender that is my mind has hardly slowed it's relentless grinding, even now that I've been in a somewhat restful state for at least a week. And when does the insanity stop?  I guess, LF, I owe you a summation of sorts, after all, there was the long build-up to Dad's departing, and the saying goodbye, and the grieving, so what now, end of year reflecting? Amidst the sadness of losing somebody who was dear for eighty eight years, there's so much tragedy that assaults our mind every day that our own authentic pain lies somewhere, lost between the personal and the news transmissions that reach us instantaneously and hit us like tremendous waves.  The urgency of technology and communication is profound and deadening to the senses.  In cleaning out some more objectia from parents' house, brother and I stumbled upon our tape recorder that had survived at least twelve years of enjoyment back in the 1970's and '80s.  I can glance across the room, almost any hour of the day today and see some member of my family glued to a silent device: laptop, ipod, smartphone, iphone. We resist only so much, and then, bam! it's in every seam and crevice of our daily life. 

Can we even remember this?  Imagine.

 One of the things that I love about these rare moments of retreat for family is the opportunity to plod about as if time hasn't raced ahead.  A jigsaw puzzle, a cup of coffee, a cloudy day on the coast.  Are there enough days left for all the puzzling I'd like to do?  If only, but a girl can dream.  I get swept into the puzzling of it, talking through my problems in my own head, while methodically assembling the object. 


Oh, indulgences, pastimes, sitting with oneself, pondering it all.

  And as per the cleaning that comes with loss and years' end.  We also took a stab at Dad's shotglass collection, which may have numbered in the area of three hundred?  I sat with Mom and took them all off the shelves, pushed aside the ones that bore no great significance to us, and then replaced the forty or so that she or I thinks worth keeping, at least for now.  Antiques, colleges, travel memorabilia.  Feeling fresh and lively to look at.  Lighter for the new year, but never finished. Never finished saying goodbye and looking through the memories. It's what we have, after all.

Dad's shot-glass collection, pared down to under 40. 

Hawaii, rooster, Oregon Coast





My new heroes. Hello New Year with the Florence 5K!

And then New Year's Day came.  Sunny, clear, cool, brilliantly clean air.  Friends gathered on Bay Street, much as we had two years ago.  This year I managed to recruit two newbies.  Ashby, for sure, the youngest participant.  She attacked the event with vigor and a great big smile.  Peter thoroughly enjoyed his morning on the river front.  And so it goes, the cycle, warm hearts, exercise, energy and hope for a new year! Ashby said to me, upon finishing, "Mom, can I run with you again, maybe tomorrow?" Dad's not here anymore.  Mom's still here, healthy and dosing us with snappy retorts here and there.  We're here, making the very best of what we can.  Puzzle, Run, Coffee. Puzzle, Run, Coffee. Puzzle, Run, Coffee.