Back to School

When so many things don’t seem to work out, and so much of life seems to move well beyond Plan B or Plan C, I am beyond grateful when things DO actually work out and easily slip in to place. 

Today – the first day of school – I got called for a two week substituting job.  I actually can’t believe it.  I figured I would go another two weeks before I would get a call.  And I was okay with that.  I have books to read and meals to cook and workouts to do.  It’s not like I would have squandered the time.

But I am REALLY happy to be going back to work.

 

As I have looked forward to this fall, I have been trying to live out patience, figuring that if I do my best to be available, introduce myself to people and take care of myself then opportunities will come my way.  It has always sort of been that way with me, but to state the obvious, patience is much easier to live out if you don’t have to wait very long.

Getting this early assignment is also a little nod of affirmation to the fact that I am substitute teaching at all.  Maybe I am good at this.  Maybe this is a good path for me.

Maybe things will work out. 

The Family Picture

Dad is turning 75 this week and a modest celebration is planned, the centerpiece of which is likely to be the taking of a new family portrait to mark the occasion.

Molly was in the last family portrait.

I’ll smile for the camera and everything.  I’ll stand just where I am told and wear whatever I am asked to wear.  But I really don’t want a new family portrait.  I understand that “everyone” will be there and that it takes an enormous amount of effort to get us all in one place.   We should mark the occasion.

Make no mistake, however.  Everyone is actually not going to be there.  Without including Molly, I don’t know if I will ever consider this picture a “family” photo.  Even posing for it is going to be difficult.

And yet.  I have many family photos in my home, several of which are ancestral photos of relatives who had died before I was born.   I treasure the photos because they connect me to myself; I can get lost in studying the hairstyles, clothing choices and even the individual smiles of those who came before me.  I sense their courage and know something about how their lives played out after the photos were taken.

If anyone takes the time to make a study of our family photos over the last 50 years, the births and deaths, marriages and divorces, adoptions and assorted partnerships will be evident.  This new photo will be one in a long string of many, many comings and goings.

But in this moment for me, this next photo is a painful reminder of all that I have lost.  I imagine that an observer, 50 years from now, will easily sense how much I mourned for the girl who after almost 17 years suddenly does not appear in this next family photo.

An Encounter

Today I was stopped and asked for directions to a path I know well but is difficult to find.  The folks were in a van – and it was full – two adults and maybe five kids.  Clearly an observantly Jewish group. 

I knew how to get where they wanted to go, but I could tell my directions were making no sense.  I was trying to direct them to a small, unmarked path between two houses. 

So I suggested that they just let me in their car so that I could direct them.  No skin off my nose – it was the direction I was going and I enjoy the random encounter.   And no security risk for me either.  Please – a car full of kids?  I was fine.

It was awkward for a moment.  The man smiled and said, “Well you look like a good sort; Is this a set up or something?  Can I see what is in your purse?”  I reminded him that he had stopped me.  He was smiling the whole time, a bit uncomfortable but willing to go with it.  The ride was about 5 blocks.

I think they were all a bit relieved when I directed them to park and got out of their car.   I pointed out the path, walked away and did not look back.  As fast as we were connected, we were separated again, but I am so grateful that we all took the risk.  Beats GPS for a change.

I instinctively liked the people.  They had a great spirit about them.  I hope they had a wonderful walk.

The Elements

Two years before her death, Molly described herself in a letter that was hidden away in a pocket of a journal.  I'm sharing some excerpts of the letter below; it was intended to be read after her death.   The text gets at what her life was becoming, how difficult it was for her to pretend that it wasn’t out of control and why she was so stubborn about not seeking honest help.

Remember..   this was a kid who was functioning relatively well in the world.  She was playing field hockey and badminton.  She rode horseback.  She was in school plays.  She got good grades.   She was socially awkward, but was relatively good at relationships in a one on one setting.  She was able to be honest in a journal, but carefully hid the journals and did not share them.

… My mind confused me sometimes.  I was never sure about anything except the Elements.   I’ve never told anyone about the Elements.  We are not to be spoken of to anyone.  I am an Element.  I was sent to watch over a few people, and to look for the other three Elements.  We are neither good nor bad.  We are simply here to watch and decide this world’s fate.  As crazy as that sounds, it’s true… As the leader, it was my job to watch over the Elements while still living as normal life as possible….  I had a hard time balancing my Element and mortal life.  Supernatural beings and worlds have never been accepted in society.  That is why the Elements were kept secret.

I am a visitor, one who observes but does not change the mortal world.  I am justice.  I am power.  I am spirit.  I am your faithful and humble guardian Air.

What the Heck?

Call Randy
911264239109002
Deliver to Madison Street by 1 PM
Chicken noodle soup with roast beef or the side.  Hold the lemon juice. 
Call Michelle about “the Order.”
Arizona, Phoenix – 3 hours earlier.  DST doesn’t apply.



And then, Molly had gone over the writing with a big red pen…..”WHAT THE HECK”

It is as if she allowed herself to be caught up her own internal story – which at some points she knew was not real – and then when she came out of it and saw how real it was becoming to her, she was horrified.  Scared.  Alone.

To Those who Preside at Funerals

I am guessing, from having attended too many funerals lately (one of them today), that presiding at funerals is very, very difficult to do well.   At today's funeral, and I completely missed the point he was trying to make, the presider gave at least 5 minutes of remarks explaining that Santa Claus does not exist.  I am not kidding.

I have walked away from each recent funeral feeling like the presider completley missed the boat, offering prepared remarks that failed to capture either the essential qualities of the person who had died or the shared experience of the people assembled.

So I thought we might do a public service here and share helpful suggestions to those who preside at funerals.  If recent experience is any indicator, we can only help.   Here are some ideas to get us started.

• Admit that presiding at a funeral is a really tough gig.   It's okay to say that no matter how well planned the remarks or how practiced the solists, the service will never capture the life, the energy or the love mourners share for the person who died.
• Suggest that the funeral/gathering/memorial can be seen as a commisioning service of sorts.  Point out that those who survive are the ones to hold the life, the memory and the love of the person who died and that they hold that responsibility for the the rest of their lives.  Ask folks to think back on one way they want to live out their loved one's legacy.
• Remember the wide range of religious views present in many groups of mourners and make every attempt to respectfully welcome and make comfortable those of various faiths.
• Remind the mourners that, though they may not know each other, they all share a common bond in that they had a relationship with the person who died.   Note that the bonds that unite us one to another are infinite and eternal even when they are not obvious. 
• Comfort the immediate family but not too personally.  This is not the time to have an intimate conversation, for example, about how tough it will be to grow up without a dad (Yes, I have seen that too).

Those are my thoughts.  What are yours?

Molly’s Journals

Recently, I have been going through the journals that Molly kept during the last years of her life.

“Going through” the journals doesn’t really get at what the activity is; “mourning with the journals” describes the experience much better.

There are incredible gifts within the pages: notes about how much she loves her family and friends and the recognition that she has help to deal with her challenges.   There are days that I cling to those entries for sanity.

But, oh there is pain too.   She describes a “parallel world that coexists with my mind but not reality.”  Describing that parallel world, she writes about herself as “an agent part of a corporation called The Company.”  She notes that her boss is “Danny who I apparently love.”  She explains that The Company is “sometimes considered terrorists because we had an incident years ago that killed 3 civilians and 2 officers.”   She goes on to say that “I recently retired from the agency but am currently working with Danny to find a new president of the agency and watch the gang that killed Mark and others.”  Geesh.    The entry was written in pencil…   but later she had gone over it with red ink, noting “Yeah, I’m insane.”

In another entry she notes, “I wish I could get a terminal illness so I could live life to the fullest.”    In a list of prepared questions for her therapist (which I don’t think she ever asked) she included things like, “Do you think I’m some sort of supernatural/non-human being?  Partially?”  And also, “I’m capable of killing someone, does that make me crazy?” 

Molly describes herself this way, “I live in 2 worlds, does that make me crazy?  They clash, making me hyperactive, paranoid, depressed, untrusting, cruel, apathetic…  driven by my head not my heart.”

This is a child who played sports, was in plays, got good grades, was unfailingly kind to her parents and had some good friends.   This is a child who was challenging to raise at times, but was never in trouble, did not use alcohol or drugs and learned, quite early in life I think, to hide her real life experience.  These journals were never meant to be seen.

My deepest sadness comes from the realization that in some ways, I never really knew Molly.  I think its impossible to really know someone who won’t be known.  But it still hurts.  It really, really hurts. 

2:30

It was 2:30 this afternoon when I realized I had accomplished most of the things that I typically aspire to (but don’t generally complete) as my beginning-of-the-day routine on “work days.”  You know the drill:

Sleep.  Goodness knows I am SHOCKED by how late I am sleeping.  Check.

Delicious and healthy breakfast – complete with a warm cup of tea and actually sitting down at the kitchen table.  Check.

Work-out – and by this I mean some cardio and some stretches.  Today was a walk and some Wii.  Check.

Preparing food for the rest of the day.  Among other tasks:  grinding flax seeds, squeezing lemon and limes into a pitcher of water and a quick run to the store to pick up dinner.  Check.

Meditation.  I have the newish Deepak Chopra guided meditation cd and I am trying to work with that.  And it is hard for me to do.  1/2 Check.

Unpack the dishwasher.   Enough said.  Check.

Now, I feel very balanced for having accomplished all of this as I “started” my day, but let us be abundantly clear:  when I have to be in a classroom by 7 AM this fall,  this program that ends at about 2:30 PM (after shower and getting dressed)  is simply not going to work. 

And that is part of the challenge of vacations.  In being re-introduced to a pattern and a pace of life that actually makes sense, the clock ticks and we are thrown back in to such a cacophony of commitments, schedules and pressures that it is easy to forget what we really want to be about while we walk this earth.  

How will I ever make the transition to working again?

I am not going to tackle that right now, even though the question of how to maintain this vacation equilibrium is inherent in every aspect of my time off.  For today I am really grateful that my pace is my own.  Others will own it soon enough.

A Nature Hike

Molly’s friends were mature and generous with us after Molly died – and so were their parents.

One of those parents died yesterday. 

This is the third death to touch my life in the last six weeks and I am once again brought up short.  Experience doesn’t make it any easier to find the right words to say or the right gesture to put out there.  I find myself awed in the wake of mourning.

I have experienced mourning as sobbing…  as pain…  as confusion and loss.  But I have also, and this summer is one of those times, experienced mourning as inspiration.  I see – I know – that a devastating diagnosis can come at any time; I want to be assured that I have lived out my opportunities when my physical or mental capabilities wane.

So, yesterday, a really challenging hike.  A hike in honor of my friend who died.  A hike over rocks that were here thousands of years before we were born and will be there thousands of years after we are gone.  A hike to revel in the creativity of whoever it is that sustains us and a hike to be reminded that while nature does not promise safety, she ultimately does offer comfort.  

 

Nature will not blink at our death or our injury.  She has seen death before and she is big enough – vast enough – to hold it. 

A Quiet Spell

Quiet.   NOTHING happening.  After a summer of travel, engagement, family, learning and adventure my calendar is empty for the next two weeks. 

In theory this is a good thing.  Theoretically, I can exercise, eat well, clean, meditate, read, paint, catch up with friends.  I am doing some of all of that, and feel the better for it. 

But without the plane to catch or the guest to entertain or the hostess to be just that much more pleasant for, my first thoughts of the day are not a joyous exclamation of “This is the the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.”  No, my thoughts go more along the lines of, “How in the hell do I fill this day?”  Turns out that even with plenty of interests, days can be very long.

Mourning creeps in to these quiet days.  Self blame hides in the corners.  To some extent, I can welcome them – the self-pity, the blame the loss.  They are welcome to visit – but they cannot stay.

And that’s the challenge, isn’t it?   Having opened the door for overwhelming sadness and confusion – who require no invitation -  how do I gracefully suggest that they move on? 

My plan for today?  A visit to our local thrift store, a run and maybe I’ll try a new recipe tonight.  Tomorrow, I am hiking with some neighbors.    And that’s as far as I have it planned – because as challenging as quiet spell is, I sense that there are gifts here for me that I don’t want to squander in meaningless scheduling.

Bring on the quiet.  I am ready.

Thin

Molly was in my dreams last night…  ill, suffering, confused.   But alive.  Which is not that common of an occurrence for me; maybe 10 times in two and a half years Molly has visited my dreams. 

And then, this morning, in my ritualistic trolling through Facebook,  I have two completely independent inquiries from Molly’s childhood friends.  One of them, I imagine, knows that Molly has died.  One of them probably does not.  It has been years – many years – since I have interacted with either one.

I welcome the dreams.  And though I never know quite how to respond,  I am flattered by the childhood friends reaching out.  But I am really caught up in the synchronicity.

Why is all of this happening today?  At the same time?  What energy field has shifted that we are, independently, caught up in Molly?   Where is that thin surface that opened up for just a brief time?  I want to find it… put my hand to the veil…  say hello.  

Forgiving Myself

Did I listen to Molly as well as I should of?  No.

Did I understand the clues she was dropping about her suffering?  No.  Did I take the time to attempt to imagine what she might be experiencing?   Not really.

Did my pride in her many – many – accomplishments blind me to her mounting disintegration?   For a long time, it did.

Did I really understand – as opposed to know – that mental illness is potentially fatal?  Absolutely not.

And yet. 

Did I love her and give her everything I knew how to give?  Yes.  And did she love me?  Yes, again.

Did we have fun together and laugh and make wonderful memories?  We did.

Did she learn and grow and travel and experience the world?  In spades.

Did she love, and was she loved?  Absolutely.

I gave everything I knew how to give for 17 years…  and she returned those gifts with love and humor.  I was not perfect, but I did not cause her death and I do not hold myself responsible for it. 

There is pain in looking back with hindsight, because I see things differently now.  I know that in calling my attention to a news story about a girl we didn’t know who died in a very unusual car accident, Molly was trying to tell me something.  In insisting that she would not be able to go to a good friend’s graduation party (with no good reason), Molly was dropping a hint that I couldn’t hear.   There was another hint when she took so much comfort in learning that there was mental illness in her biological history; maybe I should have pursued that more.

I can see – it’s like a magnifying glass – that I was not perfect.  And I forgive myself for that.  

Visiting Portland

Why travel?   Having just returned to the east coast from a whirlwind trip to Portland, OR, I think it’s a valid question.  Cross country travel wears you down – body, mind and soul – in somewhat the same fashion that I imagine running a marathon does.  Not that I would know.

Travel is exhausting.  It is expensive.  It is uncomfortable and risky.  Yesterday, I travelled through six airports; if you want reviews on airports amenities, I am your girl.

And yet.  By traveling to Portland I was able to reconnect with a dear friend, find some inspiration in the landscape, and live outside of my own ruts and routines for awhile.  I saw myself strong: able to tackle a challenging hike, strike up conversations with unfamiliar people and make my way through airports well enough to get where I was going without breaking down in  heart-wrenching sobs.

My heart and mind were expanded just a bit on this trip, and while home is familiar,  as I rest, I see home and my life here through slightly different eyes.  And isn’t that the challenge of living after Molly’s death?  I need to build a new life out of the familiar; I need to evaluate previous routines and develop new ones.  I need so see myself in new situations and recognize my own strength.

So, I travel to challenge myself into a unknown future and  I am oh so glad that I went to Portland.