Spirit In Gear

Reaching Beyond Death

It's been a little over a year since the death of my second parent.  I find that the absence of my parents is a life-changing event that I am still adjusting to.  Most days I think of them, still with longing, but without the intense grief.

Yet from time to time, their absence hits me hard and lays me low for a day or two.  This past weekend is one of those times.  I ache with longing to see Mom and Dad, to talk with them.  Sadness envelopes me and I feel lost.  Our family structure has shifted.  My sibs and I have moved into the "elder" generation position.  It doesn't feel right somehow to have no generation ahead of me.

We are still attempting to regain our footing with the holidays - to create new traditions that compensate for the absence of Mom and Dad.   We will be challenged later this month when my niece gets married - the first grandchild - and no grandparents will be present.  My father was a great dancer, and we will have to pick up the slack for sure!

In my longing for my parents, I decide to write to them.  I share what I am feeling.  Near the end I throw out a plea to see them, just for a moment, to  help me keep on going.  I know in my adult mind that that is a "silly" plea, but my heart will not be silenced.

That evening I go to sleep and dream.  In my dream, my youngest brother and I are standing outside on some undetermined street corner.  As I look up, I see my father approach us.  He looks about 10 years younger than when he died.  Dad looks vibrant and alive!  He approaches us.  I eagerly point Dad out to my brother.  My brother and Dad are able to touch, fingerpoint to fingerpoint, just like ET.  I am within a couple of yards of Dad before he disappears.  Even tho we weren't able to touch, I feel ecstatic that I have seen Dad.

I wake up in the morning and feel a sense of happiness and deep well-being.  The feeling stays with me all day.  I am incredulous that Dad found some way to connect with me, and to reassure me, in similar fashion as my mother did to me in the dream where she met me last December.

Although death feels like an end, I am beginning to grasp that there is a world beyond imagining on the other side.  And that connections to loved ones cannot be severed, even by death.

What Birthdays Remind Me Of

Lately I have been taken down by my inner critic.  I harbor feelings of self-loathing.  I wonder at times why I do what I do, and say what I say.  The inner turmoil saps my energy.

In this space of feeling frustrated with myself, my birthday arrives yesterday.  From the moment I get up in the morning, til I fall asleep at night, I am graced and lifted up by others.  Some have known me for years, like old friends, and others for a few months.  Some I have never met in person.

The birthday greetings come in person, by snail mail, email, voicemail, by "live" phone, by text, and most popular, by Facebook.  Each sentiment gently flows over me, taking with it bits and pieces of my self-loathing.  The greetings remind me to appreciate myself amidst my flaws and imperfections. 

Being acknowledged for who I am, on the day celebrating my entry into this life, far surpasses any material gift I can receive.  My heartfelt thanks to all of you who took the time to remind me, on my birthday, that I matter.  And that self-appreciation is in order for all of us who believe we are part of God's creation.

In this "crazy" world of ours, amidst the "Left" talk and the "Right" talk, the Tea Baggers and the Tree Huggers, we are bigger than ideology.  Birthdays help us connect at the heart level.  Which is why my right winger brother sends his liberal sister a card on her birthday and calls her up.

Most of all, birthdays remind me to open my arms and receive.  Last Sunday at church the homilist shared a scriptural quote that leaves me in awe:

Do not be afraid any longer, little flock, for your Father is pleased to give you the kingdom.

- Luke 12:32

May I remember to open my arms and say "yes!" 

[Photo Credit:  Ariel da Silva Parreira]

Why I Write

I'm aware, of late, that I have been avoiding writing blog posts.  I went through a period of feeling emotionally unsettled, and vulnerable, and didn't feel like baring my soul in public.  But what I regret, what didn't occur to me, was to write for myself, in private, where no eyes but mine see the words.

I'm in a better place now, and forever grateful for this gift of emotional resilience I seem to possess.  I am writing for myself again.  And maybe someday it will be public.  But that's not the point.  We write for so many different reasons. 

Like me, you may find commonality in your reasons to write in this hauntingly real poem by Meredith Heller:

I write to hear my voice,
because there are places of honesty
and beauty that I go in my writing that
I can't always go in my life, and I must.
When I write, I let the parts of me that hold
my breath, breathe.  I write to let light into my
being and let darkness out, to own myself, capturing
the rhythms of my cycles; journeys into the abyss,
travels through glory.  I write to allow myself to feel,
climb inside my emotions and explore their reaches and
textures, summon my tears, let them wash me hot and
clean then drain me empty and free.  I write myself alive and
reborn, whole and holy to experience myself transformed.  I
write because I hurt and because I love, and so I won't lose
anything.  And because I am lonely, sensual, and spiritual,
and I need to make contact with the divine, and writing
for me is like touching:  it is rubbing and rolling my
body against the divine until my boundaries dissolve
and I no longer know where I start and where I stop:
I become part of the universal hum.  I write to make
myself external, leave a piece of me stained into the
ethers.  I write because I believe Goddess listens
for the places where we love and own ourselves.
I write to keep myself company, keep
myself honest, keep from watching TV.
I write to keep my Muse intrigued.
I write because I can't draw.

- Meredith Heller 2003

Why do you write?

Coming Up For Air

Friday evening my husband and I watched a DVD rental - 17 Again. Who would have guessed a movie about a 30 something Dad returning to his glory days of high school could be so good?  The movie was just what I needed - a lifeline to lift my spirits up out of the sea of sadness and anguish I've been wading through since my Dad died.  I'll take my light-hearted, feel-good moments any way they come.

Saturday morning we broke our routines.  We got out of bed, got dressed, skipped breakfast and drove downtown - about a 20 minute drive to Greenville (SC).  We got in line on a beautiful sunny morning to purchase tickets to the Broadway show, Wicked, coming in Feb.  We managed to nab 2 premium tickets on day 1 of this sale (at a premium price of course!).  That will be something to look forward to in the coming months.

Saturday evening we met friends for a quiet dinner and conversation.

My week is ending differently than how it began, mirroring the ups and downs of the grieving process. The emotional intensity and nights of interrupted sleep earlier this week have eased up.  I've slept through the night three nights in a row.  I experience small moments of lightness.

Some people have described losing the second parent as akin to becoming an orphan.  Since the word 'orphan" conjures up children in my mind, that comparison doesn't fit for me.  Rather losing a second parent feels like there's a new crack in the foundation of my life.  Although my foundation remains strong, the crack is permanent. 

In the weeks ahead my energy will gradually return.  And in the weeks and months ahead lie the big grief triggers . . . settling Dad's estate; Thanksgiving; Christmas; St Patricks Day; Dad's birthday; and Fathers Day.  I'll do my best to take it one day at a time, and remember to keep coming up for air.

[Photo Credit:  Patita_Rds]

One Less Irishman

It's hard to take in that the center of our family is now gone.  Dad passed away 10 days ago.  I'm reeling from the rupture his absence has created.  I never imagined that the loss of the second parent could feel so devastating.  As grateful that I am to have three siblings, not one of us can take his place.  It's not meant to be.

This is a difficult post to write, yet I want to acknowledge what there is to celebrate about this generous Irishman who graced the earth for 83 years. What follows is an excerpted version of a poem I wrote for him on his 70th birthday, edited to reflect his current passing.

CHARLIE DUNN - AN IRISH SPIRIT

    What is an "Irish spirit?" you ask.
Such a element defies definition.
Squeezing it into words is as elusive as
capturing rays of sunlight in your hand.
And yet it's there .  . . you can feel it, sense it.
It made up the essence of Charlie Dunn.
The Irish spirit dwells only in those who cherish and foster it -
Yes, someone like Charlie.
His youthful Irish spirit was idealistic, hopeful,
gregarious, romantic.
The year weathered his Irish spirit,
but did not tame it.
The cynicism of the world did not mar its gleam.
This Irish spirit . . . how could it be that
he experienced the world as an adult,
yet enjoyed it with the abandon of a child in play?
Perhaps an Irish spirit is not a hothouse flower
to be carefully tended and protected,
but is destined to grow and thrive
even in adversity and darkness.
Charlie's Irish spirit believed in helping,
cheering, toasting, loving, celebrating - Life!
At this final chapter, Charlie's soul
proceeds ahead of him to sing to the
angels of his robush Irish spirit, while
St. Patrick greets him at the gate.
There is much to ponder about the Irish spirit.
There is much to celebrate about Charlie Dunn.
May his example continue
to illuminate our imaginations,
and remind us to live our lives in the light of
generosity, expansiveness, and faith. 

We Miss You, Papa!

Summer is Reconnecting

What do you get when your daughters travel east from Chicago, your sister and niece travel west from Ohio, and yours truly travels north from South Carolina?  A "Girls Only" weekend in Brown County, IN!

Armed with food, dark chocolate, and bottles of wine, we stake out our place in a beautiful vacation "cabin" in the woods.  The time whips by way too fast as we talk, reminisce, and listen to the dreams of our daughters.  For the sake of modesty (and the fact that pictures follow you forever on the worldwide web), I'll forgo posting the hot tub pictures!

After our precious weekend ends, I travel to Ohio to see my father, and later grab a few hours here and there with girlfriends on my last day in Ohio.

We have more trips planned this summer.  I am grateful for the modern conveniences of airplanes and fast cars that can get us to our destinations much faster than the horse and buggy days. 

May you find time to reconnect this summer.

True Credibility

There are those who believe you must find your credibility before people will want to read what you write and what we want you to understand is that when you tune in to who you really are that's where your true credibility comes from----and that's attractive to anyone who's a vibrational match to it. In other words anyone who finds you not credible, wouldn't understand what you've written anyway.
- Abraham

It's been over two weeks since my last post.  I wonder to myself why I haven't felt moved to write ( my inner censor not withstanding).  A few minutes ago a special friend sent me this quote.  As I read the words in the quote, I find my courage emerging from the shadows. 

Now it's okay to share with you what I've been grappling with of late to understand.  In my middle-aged years I sense the passage of life more deeply.  Themes of loss seem to dominate at times.  In the space of several weeks, my cousin died unexpectedly; my best friend's sister was diagnosed with a brain tumor and died within weeks; another friend's mother died over the weekend, fanning the flames of grief over my own mother's death 18 months ago.  I still miss my Mom every day.

Living several states away from friends and family, we can't make it to all the weddings and funerals.  I feel torn about that.  I call my 83 yr old Dad up on Father's Day, wishing I could be with him.  He no longer has an endless number of Fathers Days ahead of him.

I experience an identity crisis of sorts.  I ask myself why I live where I live.  Am I creating enough of a positive impact to justify living here in South Carolina?  Am I allowed to live my life the way I see fit?  Will our adult daughters ever live close to us again?  Will I ever move off the topic of middle-age?

Amidst these loss-related issues, my husband and I laugh and relax with good friends over the weekend; my business partner and I enjoy a recent, tremendous business success; and I move through my day without getting needlessly stuck.  It just goes to show you that life goes on side by side with the angst.

Raising the above questions brings both discomfort, and relief.  Unlike the game show, Jeopardy, answers usually don't first show up without a question to pair up with.  Now that I've tossed these questions out to the great Universe, I can wait.  The answers I need will find me in time, or lead to better questions!

 

My Life in Six Words

Jodee Bock's post challenged me (and a list of others) to summarize my life story in 6 words.  Apparently a book has been written, Not Quite What I Was Planning, by Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser, that captures 800 6-word memoirs.  You'll find examples in Jodee's post.

I found the exercise surprisingly easy.  Here goes:  In spite of doubt, she leaped.  [Dear Tom B. from Cincy - if you are reading this, please chime in!]

Throughout my life I've had the innate and tenacious ability to "forget" or minimize my accomplishments.  I have a "Teflon memory" when it comes to my own past acts of courage, action, and success.  So in essence I seem to forever be "starting over." 

When I was a little girl,  7 years old,  I stood on the stage in my first tap-dancing recital.  With me were a handful of other little girls.  As the music played out, I continued to dance til the end, unaware that the little girls next to me and behind me had forgotten the dance and stood still.  After that recital, the dance instructor wanted to move me up to the next level.  I refused to go, because I was shy and didn't want to be separated from my sister.  My short-lived dancing career withered away.  But my love for dancing never stopped.

Each day of my life, I face down fear, doubt, and the annoying habit of second-guessing myself.  My task each morning is to acknowledge these phantoms and set them in the corner.  They may never go away.  Doesn't matter.  I've learned how to leap, in spite of.

Tell us your life story in 6 words!

[Picture Credit:  Steve Woods - UK]

Little Things Tell

Saturday evening I call my parents to chat.  We catch up, and discuss our travel plans and estimated arrival time at their home for the Thanksgiving holiday.  Mom sounds happy to hear my voice and occasionally contributes to the conversation.  It is when she mistakenly thinks my nephew lives in my family, and has far to travel.  He actually lives 45 minutes from her house.  It's a small thing, but it tells me her memory is slipping away a little more.  My heart lurches.  The sadness creeps back in, like an intruder lurking for an entry point.  What will Mom be like at Christmas?  How soon will the doctor's diagnosis of total memory loss from the brain tumor kick in?  I try not to stay there.

Our older daughter calls to discuss the Ohio State victory over Michigan.  She and her girlfriend watched the game in a pub in downtown Chicago where she lives and had a great old time.  She asked me where we watched the game.  I replied that we stayed home.  Saying it aloud made me feel kinda boring.  That lasted a second.  It was just a little thing.  I realized I like staying home to watch the game. I have the best seat in the house.  I don't want to be in a bar.

Sunday morning I happen to put my hands on my waist.  It feels thicker than it used to.  Not a lot.  I still wear size 6.  It's a little thing.  But it tells me that my weight doesn't distribute itself like it used to, like in the curvy places.  I sigh.  I'm a little bit closer to coming to terms with the fact that my body is aging.  Bit by bit.

If someone were to peer over my shoulder during the rest of my Sunday, they would see nothing that stands out.  My husband and I stay in our pj's til noon (the advantage to going to church Sat. eve.)  We read the paper and listen to music.  We take a walk.  We putter about.  We cook.  We call family.  We don't do errands or chores or work-related activities.  It is in the little stuff that I realize we celebrated Sabbath as we did as kids - by taking it easy. 

Little things tell.  What are you learning from the little things?

[Photo by Sanja Gjenero]

One Week Later . . .

It feels so good to be back in the blogosphere once again.  I've missed you guys. 

Since my last post, I can tell you that my energy has returned.  My learning continues on this journey of life and death.  I recall the message of TUT that life is an adventure.  Seeing my life as an adventure to be lived to the fullest, in spite of impending loss, gives me perspective.  I find myself expressing gratitude all over the place. 

What have I learned since the news of my mother's inoperable brain tumor?  How wonderful for my mother that she has forgotten that she has a brain tumor.  She is happy and peaceful, and her energy makes this easier on the rest of us family members wrestling with the idea of our mother losing all of her cognitive functions down the road.

I"m learning, FINALLY, to have compassion for myself.  Better to reach middle age and learn to cut myself some slack, than never to learn it at all!

I'm learning to ask for what I need.  Instead of expecting my husband to read my mind, I told him exactly what I need from him.  I confess I read Men are from Mars . . . a decade ago, but apparently it didn't stick!

I'm learning to reach out to my friends for support instead of playing Amazon woman.  Wow, am I ever blessed by such caring friends.  That's currency that can't be bought.

I'm learning to eat chocolate without guilt (no kidding . . . inner guidance advised it!), grab the joy in the moment, and take a breath before I start my worrying mode.

All the resources I need to help my Mom and Dad are falling into place, thanks to the Internet, and Ma Bell.

Life is good.  Life is good.  Life is good.  Even when things look dark and scary, life is ultimately good.