We were never meant to survive

I reread the first 3 Darcey Steinke novels a few weeks ago and then purchased the last one and her memoir.

I really relate to her since we both grew up in fundamentalist homes and have since "gone astray". The memoir started out good but I was disappointed with the ending. It seemed rushed and unfinished. But one thing I did get from it was that I need to change my ways around my ex. I have been very angry towards him lately, moving backwards. I think it's because of the bankruptcy. It's just never something I ever saw myself doing. It unhinged me.

I saw in this memoir that regardless of what each parent does, they both have their own points of view, and the kids all have theirs.

Holding onto my anger won't help my kids or me, and will only keep me in this same bitter place forever.

My grandma is nearly dead. It seems we are just all waiting now for the inevitable to happen. It is sad and painful. I seem to be almost in a daze, getting lost going places that I have been a million times.

Yesterday she was so out of it. Her face had turned gray and my crazy aunt from Texas had decided to put makeup on her. She looked like a ridiculous clown. Her bald head covered by a pink hat and black eye brows painted above her eyes with a smudge of mis-colored rouge over her cheeks. I preferred seeing her gray. It was better than haphazardly hiding what we all know is about to happen.

My aunt had made turkey that looked undercooked to me. I didn't say anything but declined to eat. My grandmother wouldn't eat the turkey either. She kept looking at the clock and saying it hadn't cooked long enough. Everyone else was drunk except for my mom and me so they didn't seem to notice. They all acted like my grandma was nuts, but I told her I thought it needed more time too. My uncle had given up feeding her and told me to do it so I transferred most of her food to my moms plate. She asked me if I could lie. I realized I could, for her.

I'm worried that this death will tear apart the relationship that my mom and I had finally come to terms with. Alcoholism seems to destroy everything. There is such an insane pull to it.

My Mormon uncle who had been sober almost 20 years had started drinking again. I have reconnected with my cousin lately but had not realized that we had both married alcoholics. It is crazy that alcoholism is so damned secretive - even in families that should know better. We could have been helping each other all these years. Instead, we both held our shame privately, always pretending that our lives were just so. No wonder her daughter and my son, who are only 2 weeks apart, had such an instant connection.

It's almost like a strange destiny we were both pulled towards. All the blame I have been feeling towards myself sort of dissipated when I heard this. I suppose you are pulled toward what you know.

And in knowing this I realized that all of my family is pulled this direction and so is my ex.

And despite all the things I am angry about, it is only because my ex texted me out of the blue yesterday and offered to take the kids - that I could be there for these last moments.

My uncle is recently divorced and is already talking about getting remarried. I asked him and the rest of my family sitting around the table out back - does anyone in our family ever have good relationships? Is anyone or was anyone ever happily married? Only one person - ever - my cousin Tina.

My grandma has been telling him and me both not to get remarried. She keeps telling me not to have more children. She says it urgently, nearly every time I see her. I keep thinking of the Audre Lorde poem, A Litany for Survival.

For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children's mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours:

For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother's milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak
we are afraid our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid

So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive



How especially true for those of us born into alcoholic families...we were never meant to survive.

You Should Not Grieve

Our bodies are known to end,
but the embodied self is enduring,
indestructible, and immeasurable;

He who thinks this self a killer
and he who thinks it killed,
both fail to understand;
it does not kill, nor is it killed.

It is not born,
it does not die;
having been,
it will never not be;
unborn,
enduring,
constant, and primordial,
it is not killed when the body is killed.

Arjuna, when a man knows the self
to be indestructible, enduring, unborn,
unchanging, how does he kill
or cause anyone to kill?

As a man discards
worn-out clothes
to put on new
and different ones,
so the embodied self
discards
its worn-out bodies
to take on the new ones.

Weapons do not cut it,
fire does not burn it,
waters do not wet it,
wind does not wither it.

It cannot be cut or burned;
it cannot be wet or withered;
it is enduring, all pervasive,
fixed, immovable, and timeless.

It is called unmanifest,
inconceivable, and immutable;
since you know that to be so,
you should not grieve!

The Bhagavad-Gita, The Second Teaching, 18-25

El Shaddai

I had not really cried since my grandmother's death several weeks ago. Yesterday, the pianist who played at her service played El Shaddai on the piano and I finally broke down.

I grew up singing this song in church with my sister and my grandma always liked it. The last few weeks, I sang it to her many times. I think I have been so busy with the service and then the cleaning of her place that I haven't let myself cry. There was a lot to do.

I talked to my dad's wife about it today and she talked about how cleansing crying is. I rarely cry anymore, but I think she was right.

El Shaddai, El Shaddai,
El-Elyon na Adonia,
Age to age You're still the same,
By the power of the name.
El Shaddai, El Shaddai,
Erkamka na Adonai,
We will praise and lift You high,
El Shaddai.

Through your love and through the ram,
You saved the son of Abraham;
Through the power of your hand,
Turned the sea into dry land.
To the outcast on her knees,
You were the God who really sees,
And by Your might,
You set Your children free.

El Shaddai, El Shaddai,
El-Elyon na Adonia,
Age to age You're still the same,
By the power of the name.
El Shaddai, El Shaddai,
Erkamka na Adonai,
We will praise and lift You high,
El Shaddai.

Through the years You've made it clear,
That the time of Christ was near,
Though the people couldn't see
What Messiah ought to be.
Though Your Word contained the plan,
They just could not understand
Your most awesome work was done
Through the frailty of Your Son.

El Shaddai, El Shaddai,
El-Elyon na Adonai,
Age to age You're still the same,
By the power of the name.
El Shaddai, El Shaddai,
Erkamka na Adonai,
I will praise and lift You high,
El Shaddai.

El Shaddai, El Shaddai,
El-Elyon na Adonai,
Age to age You're still the same,
By the power of the name.
El Shaddai, El Shaddai,
Erkamka na Adonai,
I will praise and lift You high,
El Shaddai.

by: Michael Card and John Thompson

For the dying

My sister read this poem to Nano the day before she died. She was still able to hear it and we were all in tears. It was printed on the back of her bulletin at her service.

May death come gently towards you,
Leaving you time to make your way
Through the cold embrace of fear
To the place of inner tranquility.

May death arrive only after a long life
To find you at home among your own
With every comfort and care you require.

May your leave-taking be gracious,
Enabling you to hold dignity
Through awkwardness and illness.

May you see the reflection
Of your life's kindness and beauty
In all the tears that fall for you.

As your eyes focus on each face,
May your soul take its imprint
Drawing each image within
As companions for the journey.

May you find for each one you love
A different locket of jewelled words
To be worn around the heart
To warm your absence.

May someone who knows and loves
The complex village of your heart
Be there to echo you back to yourself
And create a sure word-raft
To carry you to the further shore.

May your spirit feel
The surge of true delight
When the veil of the visible
Is raised, and you glimpse again
The living faces
Of departed family and friends.

May there be some beautiful surprise
Waiting for you inside death,
Something you never knew or felt,
Which with one simple touch
Absolves you of all loneliness and loss,
As you quicken within the embrace
For which your soul was eternally made.

May your heart be speechless
At the sight of the truth
Of all your belief had hoped,
Your heart breathless
In the light and lightness
Where each and every thing
Is at last its true self
Within that serene belonging
That dwells beside us
On the other side
Of what we see.

For the Dying
by John O'Donohue

(from the book 'Benedictus: A book of Blessings')

What Your Family Needs

Here is the song my dad wrote for my grandmother's funeral tomorrow

What Your Family Needs

My Mom & Dad lived a long good life
They were always happy to be man and wife
They never had a lot but what they had they shared
And if we had a problem they always cared

In their final days we gathered around
People were amazed at the sight and the sound
Of us all together holding hands and singing songs
I guess a lot of people finish life alone

That’s not right it's just plain sad
The more I think about it the more it makes me mad
When a loved one is hurting or passing away
I hope you’ll remember what I’m gonna say

Hold ‘em in your arms look ‘em in the eye
Tell ‘em that you love ‘em and have a good cry
When times are so rough that you don’t know what to do
What your family needs is you

Every man woman and child
Is only here for a little while
So love one another I know that it’s true
What’s good for them will be good for you

Hold ‘em in your arms look ‘em in the eye
Tell ‘em that you love ‘em and have a good cry
When times are so rough that you don’t know what to do
What your family needs is you

The Way We Die

Most of my experience these last 2 weeks with my grandmother dying were positive. People seem to look at me strangely when I say that, but it is true. I knew in my heart she would die. And I knew I wanted to be there. And so, while I had a few moments of breakdowns and despair, the majority of my experience was purely positive. It was pure joy to be able to care for my grandmother in her last days. It was a gift and a blessing.

She stayed most of the last 2 weeks in the hospital, and that was wonderful. She received good care and was well-liked. She never complained and was always kind with everyone, so I am sure that had a large effect on her care.

We were hoping she would not have to move. She lasted longer than we thought she would - she was stronger than any of us ever imagined in her frail state of 108 pounds.

After talking to many people, it became apparent to me that, for whatever reasons, hospitals do not like people to die there. So, while I know the social workers and administrators tried to stretch her stay out as long as possible, ultimately, she had to be moved to a "rehabilitation center."

I did not want to do this for my grandmother, but I knew she needed more extensive nursing care than we could give her at home with hospice.

The moment I walked in there, I hated the place.

It was a "nice" place as far as that goes. One thing my family does not scrimp on, is care for our family when they need it. We are not wealthy by any means, but we take care of our family as well as possible.

It instantly struck me walking down the hall (my grandmother was at the very end) that this was a place people were sent to die. And most of them were completely alone. It was a depressing place. I would not want to die there.

In her room, we created our own world. We shut the door, listened to music and talked while she was able.

The day she arrived, I had visited her in the morning before church with the children in the hospital. She had moved afterwards and my sister was there with my dad and his wife, so I did not go out again. I knew she was well taken care of.

I came Monday morning as soon as I dropped both children off school, which was at 9am. My father had been there late, so slept in a little.

When I got there, my grandmother was severely distressed. It was a state I have rarely seen her in, expect right before and after my grandfather's death.

I had to quickly compose myself so I did not lose it too.

She had been sitting there since about 4am without her hearing aides, so she could basically hear nothing, on top of being completely disoriented from her new surroundings. We had managed to keep on top of these for nearly 2 weeks in the hospital and it was never a problem.

I asked several nurses multiple times, and no one knew where they were. I searched her room 3 times to no avail, then texted my dad and sister to see if they knew anything. Neither did.

I tried to stay calm while my grandma became more and more upset. I asked her if we could purchase her a new set. She nearly started to cry and said they had to be ordered and they were over $2,500.

My dad called the center and they managed to find them. Apparently it was their policy to hold onto them overnight, but no one was able to tell us that for over an hour.

While we were still trying to figure that out, I tried to calm my grandma by asking what else she needed. She is a very clean woman. (I mean scrubbing until it hurts clean.) They had left her in there dirty for hours. I told her I would bathe her and started to do so. I had done it a few times in the hospital and it is nothing that I mind. But I know it was embarrassing for her. She is very modest. I had not seen her naked before this time. I kept joking with her and telling her it was nothing I had not seen. She would smile. She was always so gracious. She just kept saying, I'm sorry. I didn't want for you to have to do this.

It became apparent that they had left her in an old soiled diaper for some time. She was so humiliated about this I nearly cried. I could not let her sit there like that. I told her I would change it. She tried to stop me but I told her I didn't mind - she had changed plenty of mine. It makes me sad that she died with so much humiliation on her last day of awareness.

The nurse tried to say later that she had checked it earlier, but I have at least 5 years of diaper duty under my belt. I know an old diaper. What I did not know was how to change one on someone nearly as big as me who can not move much anymore on their own. It was a struggle, but we did it. She had to help me by moving around in all sorts of ways. But at least she was clean.

While I was bathing her, the maintenance man knocked at her door. She had been sitting there for 4-5 hours alone after she woke up. She had asked them to turn on her CD. No one seemed to be able to figure that out (it's not brain surgery). So she asked for the TV, to at least have some distraction. They told her they would have to find a remote.

So here I was bathing my very modest grandmother, and this man knocks at the door while she is exposed. She had already specified she did not even want a male nurse. I tell him I am bathing her. He walks in anyway and plays around with the remote.

I don't want to upset my grandmother so I texted my dad. Luckily she does not have her hearing aides yet anyway, but I don't want the negative energy.

So the Director of the place knocks and comes in. She starts giving me all these excuses, as apparently my dad has called her to complain. She then asks my grandmother very condescendingly if she knows when she removes her bowels.

At that point, I lost it. I told her to get out. She seemed stunned and just stood there looking at me. I turned my back to her and told her 3 more times. Please leave, please just leave.

My grandma asked what she had said, but I did not have the heart to tell her.

After that, she quickly went downhill. She pretty much fell asleep except for a few brief moments. One of my sisters wanted to talk to her on the phone from Seattle. As soon as she heard her voice, she perked up and began to speak, with a huge smile on her face.

She died the next day.

What is tragic to me about all of this is that my grandmother had family with her the majority of the time before she died. She was only alone during sleeping hours and then she had nursing care.

But I rarely saw anyone visit the other patients in the hospital or the rehab center. Everyone was alone. And that seems so inhumane and wrong to me.

I know that if I had not been there when I was, my grandmother's care would have been poor - as it was before I got there. It was only after my dad and I became outraged that everyone jumped to their best behavior. And her last 24 hours there were fantastic. But what about everyone else?

The best care should be the standard of care. And where were all the families of the dying?

It is something that has been haunting me - and apparently my dad as well - because he wrote a song about it that he will sing at my grandmother's funeral.

Death = Profit

It has been increasingly apparent to me with my grandfather's passing nearly 3 years ago and now my grandmothers, that death is very profitable.

In our culture, the most glorious burial is offered at a heightened profit. I would call it unethical advertising. In your state of grief, you are told if you really love someone, you will put them away this way.

This makes no sense to me. They are dead for God's sake! Does it really matter what sort of box they reside in?

In Islam, it is preferable to be buried directly into the ground. No preservatives are supposed to be used, so the funeral is usually very quick after the death. And it is a social and religious obligation to attend the mourning, if not the burial.

We have lost sight of that here with memorial services, elaborately planned weeks after someone dies, at great expense. We did that for my grandfather's service and it prolonged closure and healing. I am glad we did my grandmother's service sooner, but I was disheartened to see that they had used preservatives and chosen a fancy (metal of some sort?) casket. How will she ever return to the earth?

In Islam, if it is necessary to be buried in a casket - as is often the case in the United States where money rules - it is supposed to be the most simple and inexpensive cedar casket, that can be absorbed back into the earth.

What do all these modern environmentalists think about these caskets that will likely NEVER decompose? That cost upwards of $10,000? What for? What could be done with that $10,000?

Amazing things!

I'm sure the new trend will be expensive "environmentally friendly" caskets. How ridiculous it all is.

I told my dad last week I want nothing from my grandmother. When someone has given you so much of themselves, nothing monetary or of substance is necessary. I have my memories. I have my pictures. I have every letter and card she ever gave me since I was about 7-years-old. I have her love. I have her spirit.

I took her remaining jewelry that the family did not want to church on Sunday and let the women pick out one or two items they liked. It will be fun to see the remnants of my grandma on all the other women in the church who meant so much to her.

I hope when I die, my family respects my wishes as they are outlined in my will. I want to be buried simply, next to my grandparents, overlooking the country, with little fanfare. I do not want to be pumped with a single chemical - just as I try to live now. I believe our bodies are a sacred temple.

I hope that I live a life like my grandmother where my relatives are not fighting over my possessions after my death. I hope my remaining loved ones just feel lucky that they had me in their life. That is how I feel now about my grandma.

Death is Total Ending

So for us death is total ending, the ending of your attachment - right?-ending all that you have collected. You cannot take it with you. You may like to have it until the last minute, but you cannot possibly take it with you. So please listen.

So we have divided life into dying and living. And this division has brought about great fear. And out of that fear we invent all kinds of theories, very comforting, may be illusory, but it is very comforting, illusions are comfortably neurotic. So is it possible, please I am asking you this question, is it possible, as we live, to die to things that we are attached to?

Do you understand my question? I am attached to my reputation - God forbid - I am attached to it. And death is coming along, because I am getting older and I am frightened, because I am going to lose everything. So can I be totally free of the image, of the reputation that people have given me? Do you understand? So that you are dying as you are living. I wonder if you understand this? So the division between the living and dying is not miles apart, it is together.

I wonder if you understand this please. And if you understand the great beauty of it that each day, or each second there is no accumulation, no psychological accumulation, you have to accumulate clothes with money and so on, that's a different matter, but psychologically there is no accumulation as knowledge, as attachment, saying, `It's mine'. Will you do it?

Will you actually do this thing so that this conflict between death and living with all its pain and fear and anxiety comes totally to an end, so that you are - the brain is incarnated? Do you understand? I wonder if you understand all this. The brain is being reborn afresh, so that it has tremendous freedom.

- J.K., New Delhi 4th Public Talk 13th November, 1983

Some Thoughts on Death

Another day at the hospital with my grandmother and her death is bringing up so many things for me.

My husband has tried to be very supportive of me and I appreciate that. But I can not help but remember how he responded while my grandpa was dying.

I thought I had gotten over that, but I have not. I still am resentful. I think, why is he suddenly being so nice now when we are nearly divorced? But years ago, when I was his wife, who had been with him through the recent death of his mother, bore him 2 children and suffered a miscarriage - in the midst of caring for my dying grandfather - and he told me to "Get off the cross - someone needed the wood."

Yesterday a woman that I adore from church, who is much older than me and has known my grandparents for 30 years, told a story that also probably brought back that memory.

She talked about how after her second divorce, she decided to rename herself. And she took away her middle and last names, and gave herself the middle name of the daughter she had miscarried and a new last name.

It was a beautiful name.

That resonated so well with me. I still think about that child a lot, and to me, she was a girl, and she would have been named Grace.

My grandmother and I spoke today about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan today and their utter meaninglessness to both of us - and that was another resentment that came up for me strongly. We here in the United States cling on to our own lives so dearly. We will do anything to avoid dying. And yet we seem to have no problem with the deaths of "others" who we perceive to be so different from us.

I remember when I was in Lebanon, one of the hardest things for me to deal with was the death of my first husband's childhood best friend. He was only 8-years-old when the Israeli soldiers killed him.

I will never forget going to his parents home with H. The way his father sobbed. And then I sobbed, and H sobbed. But I could not stop.

I remember that my sister-in-law came to me in my room after hours of this. She took me square by the shoulders, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Everyone dies. Everyone dies."

I have never forgotten those words. I have never forgotten how senseless his death felt. And I think if more Americans saw that, they would realize that war is never a good idea.

My sister-in-law's words have carried me through a lot of deaths though over the years. And she was right about that. We have a culture here in the US that does not acknowledge or accept death. But death is inevitable for all of us.

The combination of the fear of death and medicine for profit is a very bad mix.

I also spoke to my grandma about my other grandma today. I spoke to her at length last night. She told me again that she plans to just be here and happy with all of us one week and be "gone" the next. She refused chemotherapy or any other treatment. She just wants to be as healthy as possible naturally as long as she can and then she will chose her time.

My grandma thought that was horrible, but I relate to that more. I don't want to live on 15 medications on a good day. That is not life. My grandma is nearly 93-years-old. Some of the things they are suggesting for her are insane. That's not even humane in my mind. But she is afraid. And fear makes for good profits.

The only conclusions I can draw is that all of us have worth. And, we all die.

I adore both my grandmothers. I adore that boy that died just from the words of his family and the love of that first husband had for him.

None of us has greater or lesser worth. The death of one person is just as painful for their loved-ones as my grandmothers deaths will be for me.

There is no sense in death. You just have to make peace with it.

And I can accept the deaths of the matriarchs of my family. But I know how hard for me it has been to lose a child that essentially never even existed. I have never been able to make peace with wars that kill children who do.

Goodbye Pat

My counselor passed away Saturday night. I had known it was coming for a while so I feel at peace with it. She was a tremendous force in my life. I began seeing her early on in my relationship with my husband. Once I realized I was pregnant with my son, I went into turbo-charge in my sessions. I really wanted to be the best possible parent I could be and I knew to do that I had things I needed to deal with first. I really credit her for the mom I am today.

The other really powerful lesson I learned from her was rearding my sisters. I took my youngest sister in with me about 5 years ago because we weren't relating the way I wanted to. Pat had a way of calling people on their shit and she did that with me then. She told me I was being unfair to compare this sister to the others and make assumptions and demands on her based on my relationships with the other two. She reminded me that she was a different person. She was so right.

The following is a poem she gave me about 8 years ago. It has always been special to me.

After A While

After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul

and you learn
that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security.

And you begin to learn
that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises

and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child

and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow's ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.

After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much

so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure
you really are strong
you really do have worth
and you learn
and you learn
with every goodbye, you learn...

Grief

I got an email this morning from a dear friend, letting me know his brother had died. Years ago the three of us would have so much fun together. He always carried things a bit to far with his drinking and that progressed to the point in recent years where many of us could barely stand to be around him. I saw him less and less over the years but I always cared about him and asked how he was doing. I choose to remember the good years now. It is so tragic to lose a life to alcoholism. He had everything in the world going for him when I met him. Charming, good looking, smart...everyone always liked him. It is so hard for me to understand the whys.

We need to find better solutions to this "disease". No one should die this way. In the midst of everything going on in Haiti that is completely out of anyone's control, it is hard to understand how the simple act of taking a drink can progress to alcoholism and then death. I know people say we can not control alcoholism, but no one "has" to take a drink. It is both baffling and maddening to me.

For whatever reason their mother has been in my heart and mind these past weeks. She died about 4 years ago of cancer. She was a remarkable Irish woman who raised 6 boys. I always felt very close to her although she never expressed much emotion. (Must be the Irish in me.) I remember at her funeral one of the girls they grew up with got up and talked about how she expressed her love for others through the food she would make them. I related well to that.

When I think of his mother and father, I cry. I am grateful that his mother did not live to see this day. That was a grace. No matter how soon her death came, I know as a mother, I would never want to live to see the day my son died. There is no way to make sense of that. I know she loved him dearly and completely.

Today, I came home after my son's field trip and looked at old photos. It was sad to see him in happier years. Sad to see his mother at various milestones, looking so strong and beautiful. I did feel like I have seen better days, and I was grateful for the friends and family that have surrounded me throughout my life.

In any case I am very sad today, mostly because I know that a family that I love is hurting. My loss is insignificant - theirs is so very great. Sending peace and love to my dear friend C and his family.

Aunt's Memorial

My husband's family has been trying to figure out what to do about his Aunt's memorial.

The first idea was that we would all take a weekend trip to the beach together.

This sounded completely insane to me. First of all, no one was getting along when my father-in-law was in a completely different state. I did not think that putting him together with his brother, who still drinks, was a good idea.

I also am not excited to see anyone. I have not seen my father-in-law for a nearly a year. I have not seen his wife in 2-and-a-half years.

I've decided to just suck it up for the service. I had thought about not going, but I don't think I would feel good about that.

It sounds like we will just take a day trip down to a river and spread her ashes. And they will have the memorial service at my in-law's country club. I am sadened by that, as I believe life is sacred, but that is not my decision.

I am hoping everyone can be on their best behavior. I'm not in a good spot to be provoked right now, and I'm not sure how much tongue biting I can do.

But I will try my best.

Death in the Family

My husbands aunt just died. We are not sure when exactly as she was alone. One of her friends came to her house and found her dead. She called the police, who called my father-in-law.

I feel very sad that she died alone. That would never happen in my family. Before my grandpa died we were all there nonstop for the last 6 weeks. He had visitors from all over the country. People from church were there. It was tiring but rewarding. I can't imagine it any other way.

I last talked to her on Christmas morning. We called her and woke her up. She had been sleeping a lot and wasn't sure she would make dinner at our house. My last words to her were we love you.

I feel satisfied with that. I did what I could on my end and was always kind to her. She was one of the only people on his dad side that was ever nice to me. And I have always appreciated that about her.

Towards the end it got ugly. She was coming to our house because she was fighting with her other brother about money and her will. Her niece was acting strangely towards all of us. She usually went over there every year for Christmas, but she did not go this year because of the argument.

I told her several times that what she did with her will was her business and no one else should have a say in it. I find it very sad that her last 6 months were filled with so much fighting.

What for?

I had my son call my father-in-law to give him his condolences. I still don't want to talk to him and don't like how he has treated me, but I can't imagine how I would feel if one of my sisters died.

When he called back he made some smart remark to my son about how she was his aunt too and that he probably didn't get to see her very often (because of me). I always keep him on speaker because I never trust him to be on good behavior. I held my tongue.

What he said was not true. I have invited his aunt here many times. She doesn't show most of the time. I have done what I could do given my situation. I wish I could have done more, but I couldn't. My kids always come first. There are numerous people in his family that don't work that could have been there with her. But their priorities are golf, tennis and money. Not family.

Nevertheless I hope that she finds peace now. I hope they all do. This family has been fighting over money for far too long. It's time to realize that money means nothing.

As I always tell my kids, it's only paper. People are our treasures.

Rest in peace Aunt J.

Remembering Lebanon

I just got off the phone with my ex-husband's wife. We talked for more than an hour. My daughter fell asleep on the way to school this morning, so I turned around and went home after we dropped my son off. Turns out that was a good choice. She obviously does not feel well. We are spending a quiet day together.

My ex-husband and his wife just came back from a long trip to Lebanon, where they are both originally from. Her parents had come to my office yesterday and told me they were back, so I decided to check on them.

It sounds like they had a wonderful trip. I wish I had been able to go with them. Yesterday, her parents offered to take me, and today she offered me to come with her this summer.

How I miss Lebanon.

Americans seem to wonder why the Lebanese and the Palestinians fight so hard for their land. If they had been there, they would know.

It is beautiful in Lebanon. And the people are the best of the best. There is no place more hospitable, filled with love and laughter. I have never seen children so happy and well-behaved. They are free to run around the village without care, because everyone watches out for everyone else. The high school kids are smarter than most college graduates I know. Most people speak Arabic, French and English, and the children study psychology, literature, mathematics in all three languages, which is different than just taking a French or English class.

The people of Lebanon are very present. Perhaps because they have lost so much. When I went in '95-'96, Israel was still bombing nearby. My ex-husband is from a small village in the South of Lebanon. I remember being scared many times, but after a while, you get used to it. There is no place I have enjoyed traveling to more than Lebanon. It touched my soul.

I have noted to myself many times lately that since I met my current husband, I have essentially stopped traveling - at least abroad. I really want to change that. There is always so much drama involved in alcoholic families. I feel like I have missed many things. My ex-husband's 40th birthday party. A retirement party for my greatest mentor. Party after party that I was too emotionally exhausted to attend. Looking back, I wish I would have done all of it anyway. What was accomplished by me staying home, besides another defeat?

I enjoyed hearing all the stories of the people I love back in Lebanon. My sister-in-law just lost her husband. I remember them well from when I was there. He had a brain tumor then. It is amazing, really, that he made it this long. They have 7 or 8 children. Most people in Lebanon have big families. Family is everything.

We talked about the traditions of death in Lebanon. I remember going to a funeral while I was there. A young boy was killed by Israel during my stay. Nearly everyone from all surrounding villages stopped what they were doing and drove to his village for the funeral. There must have been thousands of people there. I will never forget the sound of the women wailing, screaming really, at the top of their lungs, with all of their hearts and souls.

I think I understand those screams even more now that I have my own children. The grief is unimaginable.

But I think that wailing is good for the soul. In America, death is often skipped over. In Lebanon, the family is in mourning for 40 days. The widow is never left alone. There are usually about 10 people with her at all time, to care for her needs and give her company. Every day, the entire family visits the graveside for 40 days.

I think that is beautiful. His wife told me, "one of the things I like most about our culture is that we make everyone feel so special." I think she really nailed it on the head.

Yesterday, her parents visited me at my office and brought donuts and special Lebanese pastries. My entire office was thrilled.

My daughter's namesake lives in the South of Lebanon. She is one of my ex-husband's many aunts. I remember being instantly taken with her. She is everything I would want my daughter to be - smart, always laughing, and has a very strong sense of self. Her spirit was beautiful and amazing.

I decided when I met her that I would name my daughter after her - even though I was no where close to having a daughter then. I married my first husband very young. I was still in college and wanted to finish my Masters degree first. The Masters degree was one of several things that killed our marriage - but primarily, it was my youth.

My ex-husband handled our divorce with so much grace. One of the best gifts that he ever gave to me, when I was feeling guilty about many things, was to tell me, "Despite everything, you are still the best person I have ever known." I will never forget those words, and he will never know how much they meant to me coming from him. When I am feeling low, I still can hear him telling me that, and it still helps tremendously.

I sent pictures of my daughter to show the family and especially her namesake. She was very pleased with them and sent my daughter back a dress. On Saturday we will go visit them and get it. It sounds like they brought back many gifts, which is traditional. I am looking forward to seeing their entire family. I miss all of them. They will always be my family.

The wife asked about my marriage and I told her. She said, I will never get over the time we came to your house in the middle of the night after your son was born. Right then I knew it was bad, and I wondered what was wrong with him.

I remember that night well. My son and I had just came home from the hospital. He started crying, sometimes screaming, non stop for hours. I was exhausted and did not know what to do. My husband was no where to be found. He would not return calls. Finally I called my ex-husband and his wife, who just lived down the street at the time. By then it was close to mid-night, but they came over immediately anyway. They stayed with me for hours until my son was settled and back to sleep. I will always be grateful to both of them for that. It was one of the worst and loneliest nights of my life.

Hold On

My dear friend T sent me this a few days ago. He found it as he was going through his partner's things, who recently passed. I thought it was beautiful.

Hold on to what is good
even if it is a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe
even if it is a tree that stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do
even if it is a long way from here.
Hold on to life
even when it is easier letting go.
Hold on to my hand
even when I have gone away from you.

-Pueblo Verse

Dick

The Memorial Service turned out to be more of a blessing than I could have hoped for. The family wanted everyone to wear Hawaiian attire. I was fixated on being sad and sat on my bed for a long time trying to figure out something I could wear. Nothing seemed right. Then, I started laughing, as I remembered the big floppy hat we bought in Maui when I was pregnant with my daughter. My friend T had also just sent me a beautiful dress that would also be lovely. It wasn't at all what I would normally wear to a funeral, but it was airy and bright, and I enjoyed getting ready.

I picked up my grandmother and enjoyed our ride together. Normally, I hate driving. But we had a nice visit. She told me some stories about Dick and my grandfather that I had not heard before.

The music at the service was beautiful, but the stories were just amazing. I had always sort of seen Dick as sort of this goofy, but helpful guy at church. I had written up something to give to his family, which I will share in a minute, but the stories I heard about him during his service blew me away.

First of all, I had no idea he was a PhD. Secondly, he had adopted 2 girls as babies and raised them. One was later killed in an accident, as was his wife, I believe. He was a high school counselor and took in what looked to be about 10 other high school kids, making sure that each of them finished school. Several of them spoke. One said this, "There have been only three people I could count on and believe in in my life: God. My grandmother. And Dick." She went on to say that Dick had been the only father she had ever known in her life.

Another story that caught my attention was about him helping a single mother who I know in our church. When she moved from Hawaii, her daughter had trouble with the lack of diversity in the school where they lived. So he drove all the way from his house to theirs every morning (about 15-20 minutes) and then back to his school (at least half an hour) - EVERY MORNING - FOR A YEAR - until she graduated from high school. That really humbled me, given all my grumbling lately about driving my own children.

His dedication to children and to education really inspired me, and I was really, really glad, that I made it to his service.

And now, for what I wrote beforehand, about what he had contributed to my life.

The first time I remember seeing Dick, he was singing at a funeral. It was Wind beneath your Wings and he was rather off key. I was a teenager at a funeral for one of my grandparents friends with my family. My sister and I sat next to each other and giggled a little bit.

Growing up around a perfectionist musician father was in some ways excruciating for me. I never felt I was good enough, but I was also very hard on other people. Every single note stuck out to me, even when a professional sang.

But Dick did not seem to mind a bit. In fact, he sang out strongly and vibrantly. And in the years I later heard him sing, what I later came to appreciate was his total enjoyment of singing and his willingness to always step forward to do it.

In everything I had tried to do in my life, I had tried to do it perfectly. In fact, I didn't really think I sang good enough anymore so I had given it up almost completely in college. But my life seemed to not be working anymore and I went back to the church my grandparents had gone to for over 30 years.

At first it was hard. I could barely walk into the sanctuary without tearing up. I'm not sure why I had such an emotional response. But one thing that always made my journey back easier was Dick. I was often alone, or rather without a man, which is what I was brought up to consider being alone. And, I had two young children with me who were always rather restless. But every Sunday that we made it, Dick always made it a point to come over and say hello and bring some sort of joy to the morning. I don't think he had any idea how lonely or sad I felt in that church, but I was always very happy to see him.

I was very sad to hear of Dicks illness. It seemed too soon for such a vibrant man to go. But the Sparkling Cidar toast and Hawaiian shirt celebration of life service seemed like a perfect way to send off a man who always seemed so full of life and happiness.

I never had a chance to tell Dick what he had meant to me over the years. But I no longer want to try to do everything perfectly. In fact, I might even try to sing again, someday. But I really do feel happy to have known Dick and I smile whenever I think of him.

What I really learned from him was that it's time to give up the idea of perfection and time to embrace living - and living is about the people you touch with your life.

Very Sad

One of the dearest loves of my life has passed. My friend called me shortly before and placed the phone to his ear so I could say my last goodbye. Over the last 10+ years, Paul has been the quiet strength in my life.

Every major occasion in my life, whether it be buying my first house, my MBA graduation, breakups, my wedding, the birth of my children, baby showers, my birthdays, my children's birthday's, the various holidays...you name it...Paul has been there, cheering me on.

Few words were ever needed to express our love and friendship. He was a dear and gentle man. When he spoke, his words were measured and educated. He had no pretense. He was very smart, but he never felt the need to be right, or to argue. I never saw him angry. I never saw him mistreat anyone. If I needed advice, or someone to listen, he had some of the best ears around. He never judged anyone, but at the same time he would tell me not to put up with abuse or mistreatment, from anyone.

He lived a simple life and came off as a simple man, but he was much more than he appeared.

Gentleness is highly undervalued in my opinion.

I have never met anyone quite like Paul and I think I will miss him for the rest of my life.

Someday, I hope, boys, like my son, will learn that it is more than your pocketbook and the color of your skin and "what you do for a living" and the particular direction that you are inclined sexually that make you a man.

It is your promises, your word. It is saying you will be there, and being there. It is listening. It is your strength and your gentleness combined - not your force. It is work-ethic and resolve. Not just for the sake of building an empire, but for building a life you can be proud of. It is kindness, integrity and compassion. It is all the things that were my beloved Paul.