Happy Birthday

Today would have been my mother's 77th birthday.

I miss her.

Our new house is the definition of happy chaos.   Nephews are painting and installing light fixtures.  Frances' mom is building IKEA furniture.  A contractor is finishing up installing cabinets.  Some furniture will be here in an hour (or some I am told; I will believe it when I see it).  Air mattresses are strewn everywhere.

Mom would have looked forward to being part of this transition.

Frankly, I would not have always wished for Mom to visit.  My mother was efficient.  She wrote articles comparing raising her children to running a business.  Her primary advice for pain or insult was "take your mind off of it."  We are not talking Mary Poppins.

I always loved my mom in the way that you do.  You know.  "I love my mom."  And yet, as I have aged, and been challenged  I have developed a deep respect and appreciation for her that I did not have when she was alive.  

Her life was a story of dreams compromised, deferred and adjusted.   Her marriage was challenging - to say the least.  Motherhood was her life's work, and for the most part, her three children exceeded expectations. But motherhood was a detour from talents that she would have enjoyed developing: music, sewing, writing. She eventually got an MBA and enjoyed her career as a certified financial planner.  Born at another time, I doubt my mother would have chosen a family life.  Born when she was, she saw marriage as a destiny more than a choice, and she lived in to that destiny with enormous creativity and all the passion she could muster.

She had great taste - her possessions all had a similar style that I could never quite identify before I spent time sorting through them after her death.  I was never able to select the right gift for her when she was alive; I am pretty sure that I could now.

Perhaps I see her in a different light as I have aged because I look in the mirror and I see her.  I take a bike ride and I know that bike riding was her passion before it was mine.  I cook a healthy meal with the recognition that she was right about the importance of healthy eating and that it took me a long time to get on board with spinach and cauliflower. I am grateful that she managed money so well, but recognize that I will not do the same.  I understand her mid-life drive toward transition - her desire to travel to Europe alone; her decision to go to graduate school; her commitment to building a career.

Even as our house is full of boxes, Mom is part of this.  A bedspread that she made and was very proud of is on the guest room bed.  Her mother's old spice tins are displayed in our new kitchen.  I've got her measuring cups and a a thought that maybe I will bake if our kitchen ever gets done.

Even so.  While I sense her presence, sometimes that really just isn't enough.  This is the first major transition of my life after her death.  I look at my patio chairs and my wine refrigerator and feel only Mom's absence. She would have enjoyed cocktails, cheese and crackers on the patio after spending the day unpacking boxes and organizing the office.

My office would be better organized if she were here.  Mom would have had some creative decorating ideas that I am never going to think of - and would have probably liked.  She probably would have said something that would have gotten on my last nerve.  And I know that I would have irritated her, too.  And it would have been okay.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Sudden Death

My mother was killed in a car accident last week.  I can't believe it has been a week already.   My parents were returning home from a funeral, their car slipped on some ice, and my mother was killed (I hope) instantly.  My sister and I saw the car.  It has to have been instantly.

Although my mom was very intentional about preparing her three children for her death, this was completely unexpected.   If the call had been about my dad - the same dad who has survived open heart surgery and West Nile Virus - it would have made more sense.   This seems so completely random.  My mom and I were supposed to be in the same nursing home together.  She got room 406; I had room 202.  No need to be on the same floor.

So now I am spending a month with my dad while we try to figure out what comes next.    I know more than I would ever want to know about grieving...  so maybe I am a good partner for that.  My cooking skills are sketchy, however, and I am hoping I can remember how to drive a stick.  My dad taught me how to drive on a stick... maybe that counts for something.

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.

Dad and I spent Molly's last gift card last weekend.   I don't know if Dad saw me cry.  But Molly was so present, and the day was so right.   The tears were streaming. God knows what the barrista was thinking...

I was at my parents' home last weekend, for a hometown festival.   Years ago, my Dad established himslef by winning his division in the festival 10K. so I do not honor the family name by stumbling along in the middle of my age group n the 5K.  But I try.  This year, Dad moved into camera-and-chair mode, so he took pictures, and I ran.

And then we went to Caribou Coffee to spend Molly's gift card. It was a VERY intentional trip on my part.  Dad had never had a smoothie - or so he says.  So it was fun to introduce him to the tastiness of frozen fruit and yogurt sipped through a straw. 

Remember that West Nile Virus almost killed my father last fall.   It was touch and go for weeks.  So there is something miraculous about how well he is doing.  And I was feeling good too after the race - much better than I looked, by the way! 

The whole morning was captured, for me, by a board that you could write on whle you waited for your drink order...  WHAT ARE YOU MOST THANKFUL FOR? the board queried.      Folks wrote the typical things...... they were thankful for their mates..   their children....  their faith.

I was thankful for "Today".   Molly was there.  Dad was there.  I was there.  It was enough.

Giddy

I am still giddy. Giddy about being unemployed. Giddy about being the entrepreneur of my own life. Giddy about being able to take a risk. People at work are jealous of me and tell me that I even look different.

I want to enjoy this feeling, because I imagine that it will be tested.

But I've got to tell you, the way I feel now, I may never again turn my life over to a company that decides where I need to be and how long I need to be there, whether or not I can eat at my desk, how much vacation I can take and how much time off I am allowed. I am creating a life where I am my own human resources department! Love it.

I will surely make short term and temporary commitments to employers (maybe I'll substitute teach? Or take a holiday job at a department store?). And who knows, I may even take on some freelance work. But making a career commitment of indefinite duration? I am going to think long and hard about that before I do it again.

One of the things that tied me to one company for a long time was the pension benefit. It seemed reckless to walk away both from a regular income (in the present) and a guaranteed income (in the future). But heck. My pension benefit was frozen this year so I am no longer impacting my future benefits by leaving my job, and I believe I'll find new ways to make money in the present. We'll see if that pans out.

Beyond all of that, I am giddy because my Dad just got released from the hospital. He has to go to inpatient rehab for awhile, but he is moving in the right direction. I managed to email my parents that I am leaving my steady paycheck (wimpy, I know), and got some words of support back. I am not sure there would have been quite as much support if they weren't so distracted!

Dad Update

Dad is still in Intensive Care. Mom seems upbeat about his condition and her own stamina, and if I was just listening to her, I would believe that they are going to get on a plane next month and fly to New York just like they planned.

And maybe they will.

But my sister gets different messages from Mom than I do. Dad can’t swallow; he is on a feeding tube; he sleeps on some sort of cooling device to bring down fever. His speech is garbled. All of that is true: my sister emphasizes it. Mom is more likely to emphasize positive facial expressions.

Conceivably, Dad can hear what is going on around him, and responding with appropriate facial expressions probably does mean something. But it is hard not to think of the new mom who watches her baby for the slightest glimmer of a smile and is likely to see a smile whether it is there or not.

As ONE WITHOUT A JOB, I am available to “help”. That’s tricky. Mom has made it clear that we are not to come home, and I get that. We are somewhat overwhelming when we move back into the homestead at the same time. So, until we can figure out what “help” means, I wait.

And I probably should tell my mother about my pending unemployment– haven’t done that yet.

Some Light

Right now they are saying my dad has Viral Meningitis and will fully recover. I was afraid he had samonella or e-coli because I gave him brownies for his birthday last week and they were just a bit gooey - undercooked even. The hypochondriac in me, a quality I picked up from Dad, was sure the brownies caused all of this when I heard that he was ill. So the news from the hospital is improving.

I went to the cathedral this morning - Dad would have wanted me to. And to be honest, I enjoy spending time there. Just arriving at the cathedral brings me a sense of calm; the grounds are a natural expression of God's boundless creativity, and the building itself seems to echo with the whispered prayers of generations . The sermons are spiritually challenging, the music creates a sense of infinity, and the rituals are performed with care. God is present.

Part of this next chapter of my life has to do with God. I am leaving my job because I was wasting so much time; I was more politician than servant; I was caught up in pettiness and image making that left me cold at the end of the day.

Whatever else I believe, I believe that how we use our time matters. In fact, it may be the only thing that matters. And I can simply no longer sit in a cubicle surfing the internet all day. So, I am practicing new ways to live my life. Ideas, anyone?

Cautions

Saturday morning... and I am making my own latte (which wasn't great but wasn't bad either) and trying to remember how to make Cream of Wheat so it isn't runny. The Cream of Wheat is boiling over, making a sticky mess all over the stove, and I am lost in thoughts of my new life, new opportunities, new challenges.

And the phone rings. It's my sister. "Have you checked your text messages today?" Uh, No.

"Mom just sent a text; Dad is in intensive care." Excuse me?

My father is not a healthy man - I know that. He never completely recovered from his triple bypass surgery and he didn't have that surgery because everything was just hunky dory. If you know what I mean.

And so my day has gone from lofty thoughts about living a disciplined life and stretching budgets and making the most of every day to the idea that life is sacred and profoundly limited. That it can end at any point. That I could lose my Dad.