A Work in Progress

Grief Relief

Sometime in the next week, a plate filled with home-made chocolate brownies will appear on my front porch. There may or may not be a note, but it won’t matter. I know the identity of the baker.  My neighbor, who drove me to the Emergency Room 12 years ago when my husband suffered a fatal arrhythmia here at home, leaves this gift each May to let me know that she remembers.  Sometimes I carry the plate down to her home to share the brownies and some conversation, and sometimes I choose to reminisce privately.

In a recent conversation, a friend asked me specifically whether she should reach out to a dear friend on the “anniversary” of her mom’s passing.  She confessed to being unsure, and didn’t want to do the wrong thing by either reaching out or not reaching out.  I thought about it a bit. As I just shared, there are times when someone reaching out to me is more welcome than others.

Comforting someone in grief, it seems, can be as individual a journey as experiencing grief.

So, how do you help someone who is grieving?  I’ll try to avoid using the word “don’t” and focus more on the “do” list.

• DO continue to speak about the person who has passed. Use his/her name in general conversation, as you always have.
• Following a similar theme, DO share a personal story/memory.  Whether you are sharing in person or incorporate it into a sympathy note/card:  “I’m so sorry and I don’t know what to say, but I remember when X...”  These are priceless gifts to those who grieve.  Notes with shared memories are welcome on “anniversaries” too.
• DO realize there are no rules for grieving and there is no timetable.
• If you can be the person to whom the grieving person can turn to tell their story over and over, please DO it. It is not easy, and not everyone is able to give this kind of support, but it can be a lifeline.
• DO ask to help in specific ways; “I would like to bring dinner on Tuesday”, “I would really like to have the kids over my house to play on Friday”, “Let’s get together for coffee on Monday” are offers that are so much easier for a grieving person to accept rather than “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
• DO touch!  Especially if the grieving person is a “hugger” – there are times when a touch can provide some comfort when mere words cannot.
• DO realize that a loss carries forward into the future, as the grieving person faces the fact that dreams and plans may go unfulfilled, or become altered.

So, how did I answer my friend when she asked about reaching out to someone on the anniversary of a loss? I gave her this "DO" list, and a recipe for homemade brownies.

Mother's Day Gifts

I find the ads preceding a holiday to be particularly distasteful.  “If you really loved Mom, then you’d buy her this wonderful necklace or this new-style charm bracelet (does anyone ELSE think some of those new bracelets are clunky and just a touch ugly?”) But, the overall message is the same: you have to spend money to show Mom that she is
important – send flowers, buy jewelry, take her to dinner.

I still have the handmade wall-hanging with the imprints of painted little hands, and the mini-terrarium made from an upside-down baby jar with a little plastic rose inside.  As my sons got older, I regularly received a hand-made sign for my bedroom door (I always made one for their doors on their birthdays), and several gifts of letters filled with an extensive discussion of why I was such a great mom.  Over the years, creativity increased – and although those letters always included loving messages to me, they would take a humorous stab at the antics of whichever brother was not that letter’s author. Treasured gifts – all.

I’m a huge proponent of sharing feelings and gifts on any particular day of the year, not being driven by a randomly chosen day that appears to exist now as much for the economy as anything else. So, as I’ve watched the never-ending series of ads lately, I’ve thought about all the other gifts I’ve already received in my role as Mom:

• Those moments at 3 in the morning, when the rest of the world is seemingly asleep, and you have that one-on-one time with a hungry newborn;


• The sleepy toddler’s head that settles on your shoulder at the end of a long day, secure in the knowledge that he is safe in his mother’s arms;


• Feeling for the toe during a shoe-shopping trip, and realizing it doesn’t tell you what you really want to know (how fast their feet will grow in the next 2 months!);


• A son’s willingness to listen to one of my “teachable moment” stories just ONE MORE TIME;


• Moments when 2 boys, a mom and a full-grown border collie make a queen sized bed feel very small while watching for the local school’s name to come across the "closed school television crawl" during a snowstorm;


• That look of half-joy/half-terror when your son shifts the car into gear during your first driving lesson;


• The experience of accompanying a strikingly handsome band member as you both are acknowledged during the Senior Band Member Night football game in the pouring rain (somehow it ALWAYS rains on Senior Night);


• The image of a confident young man walking away from you after that last hug when you drop him off at college for the first time, and you are the only one that’s crying;


• The phone calls, g-chats and facebook chats that happen on a regular basis, helping you to still feel needed and loved.

Treasured gifts – all.

Tax Re-"Form"

When I was in my early teens, I had this quirk – I enjoyed filling out forms.  In those days, our TV schedule was printed in a guide that was delivered weekly with the paper. [I know – how archaic!] This little mini-book was also filled with ads for all sorts of home improvement products and services, and most of them included a form to be filled out and mailed to receive more information.  For some reason, I enjoyed filling out those forms.

One afternoon, my parents called me into the kitchen for a conversation. They were both sitting at our kitchen table, and my dad looked particularly concerned.  On the table was the most recent TV guide. Seemingly out of the blue, my dad asked me if I was embarrassed or bothered by the fact that he was pretty much bald. Surprised, I responded with the truth – nope, didn’t bother me at all.  My dad then flipped open the TV guide to the page where I had filled out the form to receive information on curing baldness.  Fortunately, I had been my meticulous self, and it was fairly easy to demonstrate that I had filled out ALL the forms in that week’s guide (they hadn’t really thought to look, but jumped to a more obvious conclusion).  Alongside completed forms for basement waterproofing, new gutters and house-painting, it was clear that I had merrily just completed any form in the TV guide.  Honestly, I must not have read the ads for the forms I was completing, or I’d like to think I would have skipped the one on baldness to make sure I wouldn’t hurt my dad’s feelings.  In any event, my parents chuckled, my dad was relieved and I limited my form-filling ways to working the TV Guide crossword puzzle from then on.

Well, I am pleased to report that, after years of clandestinely feeding this passion for filling out forms, government tax “re-form” has totally cured me!!!  Over the weekend, I finalized and processed my personal tax forms, and the tax forms for the 2 micro-businesses I operate.  I had a change in the need for payroll processing this year, and cannot believe how many forms have to be filed just to tell the government that I would not be filing certain other forms anymore!!!  So, I am cured.  No longer will I look forward to filling out forms, written or electronic!

Geez, I wonder if I can claim all this somehow as a medical expense??

Dizzy Yet?

The spin from last week’s government “near-shutdown” will make those with even the most stable constitution a bit queasy.  It’s now several days after the big “deal” and it is only this morning that any actual details are available.  In the meantime, the only thing the main-scream media wants to talk about is who “won” – Obama, the Republicans, the Tea Party? On most lists, there is no spot for the American people.

So, how did we lose our place at the table?

It’s not unlike the times you attend a wedding and excuse yourself from the table to go see Aunt Martha, who you haven’t seen in years. Upon returning to the table, someone else is in your spot and gives no indication they are interested in relinquishing the seat. As a matter of fact, they pretty much ignore the fact that you are even standing there, waiting to be acknowledged.

How do we reclaim our seat?  We pull up a chair, squeeze in wherever there’s a spot, take a moment to understand what’s being said at the table, and then participate in the conversation.   We don’t need to shout, we don’t need to demean those with other opinions, and we certainly don’t need to lie.

At the height of the government stoppage frenzy last week, Arizona Senator Jon Kyl (R) sought support for his stand on cutting funding to Planned Parenthood with this statement on the Senate floor:

But you don't have to go Planned Parenthood to get your cholesterol or your blood pressure checked. If you want an abortion, you go to Planned Parenthood. And that's well over 90 percent of what Planned Parenthood does.

Can Senators just make up numbers that constitute more or less the opposite of the truth? Well, yes, they can. Lies are told all the time, and usually go uncontested. When standing in front of a microphone, those in the public eye are speaking for the sound bites the media will use. Sometimes the lie-tellers are challenged and corrected, but by that time, many have adopted the lie as truth.  In this case, when challenged, Kyl’s office claimed the comment was not meant to be “factual”…

…his remark was not intended to be a factual statement, but rather to illustrate that Planned Parenthood, a[n] organization that receives millions of dollars in taxpayer funding, does subsidize abortions.

In the meantime, how many heard the first remark, but didn’t (or didn’t want to) hear the clarifying statement?  Elected officials are counting on the public to NOT find the time to fully understand what’s being said and done in their name.

Were the American people in last week’s conversation at all?  Absolutely! Like clockwork, politicians from both parties appeared regularly in front of microphones and cameras to state that they were “standing for the American people” as they sought support for their actions.  Well, it’s time for the American people to stand for themselves.  That means taking the time to understand the issues. That means accepting that the person next to you may not agree with you on all issues. That means RESPECTING that the person next to you may not agree with you on all issues.

Politically, I consider myself as an independent – in that I may find myself in agreement with one political party on one issue, while agreeing with an opposing party on another issue – and am capable of thinking independently on any issue.  There is no one party that is going to represent all my views, and I shouldn’t have to give up one of my beliefs just to belong somewhere. I am the “Emily” party. I encourage you to create your own political party, with party planks supporting all the beliefs that are important to you.

And, when you are done catching up with Aunt Martha, come join me. I have a seat saved for you.

A Walk on the Beach

The day is clearly more than half over, as I turn around and consider the various trails of footprints stretching out behind me. I can identify the path that leads to the very spot where I stand. I’ve always embraced the mental imagery of the Christian poem “Footprints in the Sand.” So, as I approach one of the more difficult times of the year (leading up to the anniversary of my husband’s death), I find myself considering the path I’ve walked, and the times when that journey has felt particularly solitary.

I can picture the shadowy images of those who once walked along with me and now are gone. Certainly the footprints of the one I hold most dear ended abruptly and far sooner than I ever could have imagined. Yes, my steps seem to have faltered there, strides shorter and prints deeper as I considered the new challenges ahead. I laughingly tell my sons that I have shrunk an inch (or more) in the last several years because of the downward pressure of the weight of the world on my shoulders. I credit those same young men for walking with me through the toughest of times. (And yes, I can identify THEIR footprints clearly. You don’t grow to heights exceeding 6’4” without growing feet to match!) It’s exciting to see their path has separated from mine a bit, striding confidently in the direction of their own adventures.

Truth be told, though, the footprints don’t lie. We may walk life’s path alone. But, during the most challenging of times, I suspect you will find, as I have, that others in your life walk alongside on a path that is just a bit closer to yours, providing a listening ear, and a shoulder to lean on. One of the most powerful parts of the grieving process is when you realize you are now healed enough to offer that listening ear and supportive shoulder to someone else.

Straightening my shoulders, I feel just a little more prepared to turn and take the next step forward. Ahead of me, the sand is untouched, waiting for me to continue.

Relativity

The next time you are in a car, consider the passing landscape as your odometer exceeds 40 mph.  Experts estimate that last week’s tsunami in Japan traveled at speeds of 40 mph or more.  Although many of us consider a tsunami to be a wave of water, it is a wall of water.  We watch the images and video with an odd combination of fascination and horror.

Ever feel you’ve been smacked upside the head by “Life”? We all have.

But, when you were rising from that blow, did someone come and push you into a roaring river and then spray you with poison?  I certainly hope not.

One week ago today, the people of Japan began their trifecta of tragedy. There are no words sufficient to describe the level of destruction we see in video and still images. But, for me, the faces of those who survive remain in the forefront of my mind. Yes, I’ve had some personal tsunamis, moments when the landscape of my life seemingly changed forever. During those times, the face in the mirror had the vacant stare of someone who didn’t know where to start, much less how to move forward. 

Yet forward is the only direction to go.  I’m not a huge believer in prayer from the perspective that I expect some Omnipotent Spirit to come down and solve my problems. I am a believer in praying for strength – that mantra speaks to self as much as to some higher power.  Today – my prayer for the people of Japan is a prayer for strength.

And for you too.  Does the destruction and death in Japan mean the personal challenges and losses you face in your own life are somehow less important? Not at all.  Someone else’s challenge does not minimize your own.  You will still feel the loss of a loved one, the disappointment of losing a job or a failed opportunity, the ups-and-downs of daily life.  There’s no way to say, “Well, I lost that big business account, but at least my house didn’t get ripped from its foundations and float away while I wait for a possible nuclear meltdown. So, I have no right to feel sad.”  The relativity of tragedy is not applicable. Remember how silly it seemed when our parents would tell us to finish our broccoli because there are “people starving in ‘insert poor country name’ here”? Despite how small the world has become through technology, we cannot fully understand the depth of the challenge facing people in other parts of our world/country/city/neighborhood.  At the same time that we might move to help them overcome their challenge, we must still deal with our own. 

So, as we consider the challenges facing the people all around our world, let’s remember that challenges, great and small, are a part of life.  Let’s share what we have to help others when we see them in need: time, money, food, a listening ear or a strong shoulder to lean on.

And let’s pray that those faces of despair in Japan are soon transformed into faces of determination and hope.

The Biggest Job Promotion of My Life

Later this week, I will celebrate the 23^rd anniversary of the biggest job promotion of my life.  Twenty-three years ago, I was promoted to mom.

We are a society literally buried with information when we add anything new to our homes: Warranty and Repair Information, the Getting Started Manual, Setup Instructions, and various diagrams showing how things plug-in and recharge.  Well, babies don’t come with instructions. Our oldest son was born with a life-threatening condition and spent 21 days in neonatal intensive care.  I still remember that feeling of panic and shock when the hospital allowed my husband and me to place this little baby in the infant seat of our car and just drive away. This 3-week old who had known only 24- hour, round-the-clock specialized care since his birth was simply released into the custody of 2 people who had no idea what they were doing.  At first, I thought that sense of shock and panic was due to the scare of almost losing our son and the long hospital stay.  But, that feeling was repeated when, 2 ½ years later, they let us go home with another little bundle of boy.  Yes, by then we had several years of experience. But, apparently there is a Murphy’s Law for Parents:  Nothing you’ve learned about parenting from your experience with your first child applies to parenting the second.

So you go home with this little bundle and you do your best; you provide dry diapers, milk and progress to solid food.  Through all ages and stages, you show love and acceptance (yes even when they break a window or give their favorite stuffed animal a bath in the toilet). You kiss boo-boos, calm fears and eventually reach the point where your children face decisions that must be made without you.  That’s when you find out how well you’ve done your job.

At various times in the lives of our kids, we become aware of the milestones that signal they are growing up, separating from us and becoming their own person: getting on the bus for the first day of school, borrowing the car, walking along with classmates to Pomp and Circumstance.   I received one of those digital photo frames for Christmas and have been enjoying it immensely.  But, it has made me realize that my sons have been their own person almost since they were born.  You are in the delivery room, you and your husband.  Over just a few hours time (of agonizing labor, by the way), you are now three, and years later (after more hours of agonizing labor, by the way) you are four.  In an instant of time, there is a whole person who wasn’t there before.  The digital frame flashes through the pictures of a lifetime, their lifetime(s).  Early pictures show you holding this little baby, later you are crouched down next to him/them, pictures just a few years later show a family where you can all stand together side-by-side, and before you know it, there are pictures where the camera needs to make sure to get the shortest person in the viewfinder, and that person is YOU.  That’s where we are now.

Despite the learning curve of parenting and the fact that I am one of those people who can kill an artificial plant left in my care, I look at my sons and I am proud of the job that all of us have done.

Thanks, boys, for the promotion.

Won't You Consider a Career in Modeling?

When I looked up, there was a 6’5” furry, red Elmo, a guy in a duck suit, a man-size Gumby, and someone totally encompassed head-to-toe in bright blue spandex.

No, this isn’t the set-up to a funny story or a confusing dream I had.  This is just a sampling of the fans at Marietta’s opening game of the OAC Tournament last night. People-watching was fun – the row of guys who spelled out M-A-R-I-T-T-A on their bare chests with paint, anxiously waiting for the “E” to show up; the guys in Marietta football shirts who stood along the rail at the elevated walkway above the court at one end, appearing to all the world as if they were just “happening by” the big game and stopped to watch; and the townspeople of Marietta who came out to support these college kids in full force.  The row of elderly gentlemen to the left of me leaned over and asked me “who my player was.” After I basked in the reflected glory of being the aunt of one of the starters, I returned the question to them, “Who is your player?” They sat back with huge smiles – and proudly said, “Well, all these boys are our players.”

The outcome of the game was still in question when a Marietta player stood at the opposite sideline waiting to inbound the ball.  A few steps behind him stood a middle-aged guy with an adorable little boy wearing bright yellow boots.  Well, the little boy must have said something to the player.  The Marietta player turned and smiled and gave this little boy a high-five before turning back to refocus and inbound the ball.  I didn’t see the rest of the play, because I was struck by the expression on the face of this little boy – he was absolutely beaming.  Following the Marietta victory (yay guys!!), the players stayed out on the court, each surrounded by their own little group of fans and well-wishers.  Time after time, players were interrupted by moms and dads with young kids, and by seniors who just wanted a quick word or two – to a man, I saw these young players graciously accept the interruptions, reach out to shake hands and greet the elders, crouch down next to the youngsters.  Young and old, I saw the same beaming expression on the faces of these fans after interacting with the players. And, I heard parents tell their youngsters, “When you’re older and go to college, maybe you can play basketball too.” And, I realized just how important these little moments can be, like drops into a puddle, expanding to make a huge impact on these kids, parents and seniors... now, and in the future.

Years ago, when I chaperoned local parades with my sons’ marching band, I found myself regularly telling the students to steal a glance at the faces of the children standing along the route.  The younger ones looked at these band kids as if they were gods, and I could hear parents telling their children that “someday they could play in the band” and then ask them what instrument they might like to study.  If you’ve explored colleges with your kids, you’ve been introduced to current successful students – college kids who are generally approachable, welcoming and friendly.  You tend to remember those colleges most favorably where the students you met treated you politely and with respect.

There’s a Liberty Mutual Insurance ad that I’ve seen recently that I really like that goes along with this thought of modeling kindness and inspiration. It first shows a mother pushing a child in a stroller. The child drops a toy and a man walking by picks it up and hands it back to the child, and the mother looks grateful. In the next scene the same mother is walking out of a coffee shop and when she sees a coffee cup perched precariously on the edge of a table, she quietly pushes the cup away from the edge. Someone happens to see that act and offers a hand to a man who has fallen. And so on and so on. As someone sees an act of kindness, they are inspired to act kindly to another. Now I know it’s an ad for an insurance company, but I still like the thought. And what I like about it is that it reminds us to do the right thing – to walk the talk – and that when we take that opportunity to be a model for others, it impacts the person right in front of us, and inspires them to model good things for others, and so on and so on.

You CAN be a model on the runway of your life. And you can create a ripple that will affect others in ways you cannot imagine.

Can Love be Calculated in Dog Years?

There is something about looking into the face of an aging dog that gives you a sense that there is gentle wisdom and understanding behind those soulful eyes. Of course, you do have to make yourself forget that this is the same animal that greets others by sniffing in some “personal areas” and has been known to roll around in deer feces and possibly eat a thing or two that should not be digested!  Nevertheless, I look down at the graying muzzle of the 13-year old border collie at my feet, and I celebrate all the things he has brought to my life.  Today is Rusty’s birthday!

It’s been a tough week for dog lovers in Ohio.  Late last week, a tip from a neighbor regarding a foul odor led humane officers in Medina Township to a rather small family home that was housing 119 puppies.  A mother and daughter team will likely face animal cruelty charges after their attempt at breeding got a bit out of hand (ya think?!).

I stopped short of calling to volunteer my time at the Medina shelter which is understandably feeling overwhelmed by this sudden turn of events.  I knew if I stepped foot in that shelter – I would walk back out with at least one dog.  I’ll send a donation instead!  But, I’d been thinking a lot about Rusty’s birthday anyway and while looking at the adorable faces being shown on the local evening news as an enticement, I thought back to those first puppy days. I would never have guessed how important Rusty would become to me.  
 
Rusty was supposed to be the “family” dog.  My late husband had a border collie growing up, and in his mind, that was the ONLY breed to have. I made us wait until I was ready to take care of a dog – I’m not stupid. I knew the dog’s care would eventually fall to me.  I never realized how quickly that would happen.  After our very first dog training session, all 3 “boys” (my husband and C and A) decided it would be far less confusing for this puppy if only one person were taking him to the classes.  [By the way– at the very first class, it became obvious that the dog training is not for the dog but for the OWNER!] Somehow, these 3 managed to be surprised when, after just a few weeks, it was obvious that puppy Rusty had become very attached to ME.  Hmm –I was feeder, trainer, exerciser, and groomer, and this is supposed to be one of the smartest dogs on earth.  Of COURSE he would become attached to me!

When my husband died suddenly almost 12 years ago, I remember thinking “you’ve left me with 2 young boys and a PUPPY! YOU wanted this puppy and where are you NOW?!”   I don’t remember much from those early grief-stricken days, but I do remember times when I would sit on our front porch and just cry by myself… well, sort of by myself.  Rusty was never far from me (just as he is not far from me now). And although I know the saltiness of my tears was the real reason he snuggled and licked my face, it was still very comforting to have someone notice and let me know I was not alone.  Since then, he has been such a part of our family, and several neighbors kids and young relatives consider him to be their dog as well.  With both sons off on their college adventures, I suspect they feel better knowing that I’ve got Rusty (and our younger adopted border mix rescue) with me.  There is still someone to talk to (although my sons tell me that Rusty is losing his hearing as a protective measure against all my chatting) and someone who takes his job very seriously—to look out for me.

I know I have waxed rhapsodic over my dog, and for those who are not dog-lovers, you probably think I’m nuts!   I just know that I am so grateful to have been adopted by this lovely and loving border collie who celebrates his birthday today. And, as one of the bigger tributes to Rusty that I can think of, practically all my nieces, nephews and younger acquaintances will tell me that they plan to have a border collie when they grow up.

Eighteen Days

A self-proclaimed CNN junkie, the last week or so of watching the events in Egypt has been fascinating for me.   Beyond the platitudes and well-spun phrases of “history unfolding” – this has just been the most amazing demonstration of what can be done when everyday people are willing to stand up for what they believe is right.

Eighteen days?  Really!? I don’t do things I LIKE for eighteen days!  I look at the makeshift town that had grown in the center of Tahrir Square, where tents, medical areas and public restrooms had been hastily constructed.  I’ve got to tell you, I consider myself to be a strong person, but I’m not sure I could have taken those conditions, especially when the outcome was so much in question.  I’m one of those people who thinks that “roughing it” is spending a night in a Holiday Inn with no room service. The people in the square have redefined courage for me.

I am fortunate that I was born in this country…  this imperfect collection of peoples and cultures, ideas and traditions.  As an American who has known basic freedoms for my entire life, I cannot imagine an existence where those who were critical of the president regularly “disappeared”, where the government declared a state of emergency, thereby granting itself the right to imprison individuals for any period of time and for virtually no reason, and where they could hold people with no obligation to hold a trial.

Yes, there are certainly challenges within our republic, and I am sure there are those in the United States whose life experiences have been different than mine.   But, as the public discourse on the future of America continues, let’s remember that freedom is a precious gift and a right for all citizens. Let’s encourage each other to speak their own personal truths, while listening openly to the truths spoken by others.  In our own remarkable history, many have fought and died for those freedoms which many of us, quite honestly, often take for granted.

Eighteen days.  Eighteen days during which the Egyptian protesters’ commitment to peaceful demonstration could have so easily been abandoned.  Eighteen days that followed thirty years of enduring an existence many in the United States could not even imagine.  Eighteen days of standing up for what they think is right.  Eighteen days to change a country….  and, quite possibly, the world.