The Cleanse

Health Week.  Sort of.

Frances is on a cleanse.  After two years of aches and pains, and steroids and weight gain she was on a plane - going to her birthday party in fact - seated next to a husband and wife chiropractor team who happen to be local. 

Frances owns MANY sets of noise cancelling headphones.   She does not talk to people on planes.  But for some reason, this time she did.  And by the end of the 6 hour coast to coast flight, having spilled her life story and learned a bit of theirs, she was maybe not sold on their ideas.  But she was willing to listen them.

Frances was suprised by herself - suprised that she talked to strangers on a plane; suprised that the strangers were interesting.  For me, the introduction was Molly's 50th birthday gift to Frances.  Why not?   I have become accustomed to looking at the world through a new set of glasses.

There are funny stories about Frances' first trip to the chiropractor; I think she questioned exactly what she had gotten herself into as she was taken to the "Tranquility" room for her first appointment. 

But, the cleanse itself is going well.  Don't get me wrong, it's not for me  You eat vegetables and drink "smoothies" (if you want to call them that) for 2 weeks.  BUT, the change in Frances' diet is impacting me as well:  less alcohol, more veggies, brown rice, less cheese, more THOUGHTFULLNESS about what I eat.

And to be fair, I feel better than I have felt in quite awhle.

Thanks, Molly.

Skipping Church

I am not going to church today.

I have, for the most part, been faithful lately.  

But this morning, the prospect of laundry and homework is more compelling than a religious service.  And there are recipes I want to try, some TV shows to catch up on, and for sure I could use some exercise.  I am claiming the three and half church hours for myself.

Why does this feel so naughty?  Though I was raised with the concept, my experience of the sacred has never included a Discliplinarian God with Calendar in Lap and Pen in Hand keeping track of weekly church attendance.  

One result of Molly's death is that I have claimed that part of me that longs for God.  And I have come to understand, in ways that I may never have grasped before, that our lives exist within a single, unextinguishable force. 

Church, for me, is gathering with others to honor, explore and commit to our eternal connections one to another.    Church is not replaced by sitting at home thinking good and affirming thoughts; the gathering itself makes the entire point.

But today, I am in my ratty blue jeans at my computer.  My existence, with all others,  within an eternal entity, is central to who I am.   Still,  my life as a temporal individual also needs some tending to and, for me,  there is nothing naughty in that.  

Getting Some Groove On

 

I got out of bed today.

The phone rang early this morning with a sub job, and after a week of family stuff, anticipatory mourning,  travelling,  eating too much food and generally avoiding my routines, I accepted the job.

And it is amazing how inspirational that is.

I haven't felt like myself for the last couple of weeks - I think winter does that to lots of people.   And it would have been REALLY easy to cocoon in bed until about noon.  But I am glad that I didin't. 

Taking the job meant moving from bed to car in 20 minutes.  It's not a great way to start a day: the shower is rushed, the hair doesn't get blown, makeup is non-existent.  Yet, while I was running into the school in a futile attempt to be on time, the sun was peeking out bringing some much needed warmth,  I felt a sense of purpose, and  the lure of routine settled over me in such a way that I found myself very grateful to be working.

So today was a couple small steps back to myself and a few extra degrees outside.  Good things.   Very good things. 

This week sucks. 

There really isn't anything that I can do to redeem it.  It is the second anniversary of Molly's death and I can't think myself away from the pain, or keep myself busy enough to avoid the memories, or drink enough wine to obliterate the date all togehter.  

The tears are right there  - just scratch a little and you will find them.

Anniversary

This week will mark the second anniversary of Molly's death.

Last year at this time, we were surrounded by people who came from near and far to be with us.   This year, we will be alone.

When Molly first died, I was sure that I didn't even want to know the actual date of her death; the thought being, I am sure, that if I didn't know the date, I could avoid these anniversaries. The idea of ritually observing her death every year was more than I could even imagine two years ago.  

Of course, avoiding the anniversaries was naive for many reasons - one of which being Molly's death was not just a loss for me and Frances.  Molly was loved by many people who have the date of her death engraved on their hearts.   I can assure you, for example,  that folks will post remembracnces on Facebook this week. 

It was also a naive thought becuase it is impossible to avoid re-living Moly's death;  I re-live it every day - no anniversary required.

Naive or not, two years ago I was adamant that Molly's death would not be observed.   So, I was suprised  - and grateful - last year when folks gathered with us.  We rented a room at a local restuarant for a nice lunch, had folks over, played wii, drank too much, and got through it   For us, and for those who love us and Molly, it was improtant to gather and to remember.

It was also an important marker - we had made it throught the first of every milestone date without Molly: her birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving, any day at all.

This year, however,  no observance is planned.   To be honest, I will probably miss it.  But the reality is that Molly's death IS, in some ways, over.  Two years out, there is no solace in observing it.  

Her life is surely not over.  But it is time to put an end to her death.

The Questions

I can live - somehow - with Molly's death.  It is the questions that continually hover over and around me.

Did we listen to her as well as we could have?    Looking back over her life, I can see that Molly gave us clues to what was going on in her head.  What if we had pursued those clues more agressively?

Did Molly have the medical care that she needed?   She had medical care, hospitalization, prescription drugs and regular therapy.   Should we have pushed for more?    Would another doctor have made a difference?  

Did our pride play a role in Molly's death?   It was hard for us to admit that Molly was ill, and scary for us to approve the use of medication.   For her sake - and for our own - we did not want her to be ill and therefore we didn't really admit how sick she was.   We were huge advocates for her health...   not for her illness. 

What did Molly think of us?  I know that she loved us - deeply.  But it is one thing to know something, and quite another thing to believe it.  Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to see her again, and I am pretty sure I would say to her "What were you thinking....?" in a  stern mother-type voice before dissolving in to tears of joy at seeing her.   What would she say to us?

What is life and what is death and how do they intersect?  The exprience of Molly's death has taught me that death is nothing to fear, that life and after-life are inseparable and that something very, very real takes place after our earthly experience.  I am sure.  And yet, I wonder. 

Molly's life is fun to talk about - there is joy and there is laughter.   But her death is unexplained, and always will be.  I can read and study and pray and consult experts and study Molly's life in minute detail and I will NEVER answer the questions that hover always and forever in the background of my life.

Tears

The tears flow now - unbidden and unexpected.  

Two years after Molly's death, tears might be triggered by be a song on the radio, the white noise while driving, or a half forgotten memory that skips across my mind and is quickly lost again.  Tears might be triggered by anything or nothing at all.  

Today, it was an Amy Grant song that I popped into the car CD player because I just couldn't listen to NPR fund raising any longer.  That song - at that moment -  opened my heart to how devestated I am by Molly's death.  I lost myself in the tender lyrics - "Somewhere down the road, there'll be answers to the quetions..." - and just let the tears flow;  then, for SOME reason that I don't really understand, I kept pushing the repeat button on my CD player.  Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

Until the tears didn't flow anymore.