Practicing Christmas Spirit: Devastating Loss

I  subbed in a  kindergarten classroom this week. I am a mother who left her child’s body in a school. I am the parent of a child who suffered with mental illness and know how nearly impossible the diseases can be to correctly deal with. I am in public schools almost daily and the prospect of a school shooting is always in the back of my mind. My sister lives not far from Newtown, CT and her kids were in lockdown yesterday.

 

 

The Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre, while not a personal loss for me, has left me in tears with fresh wounds and raw emotions.

 

It is Christmas.  I had planned to bake cookies today, and to finish decorating our tree.  If only to force myself to break away from the TV coverage, I followed through with the plan.  

 

The cookies, from my Great Grandmother’s recipe, were a life-long favorite of my mother’s, so I was making them partially to honor both of them.  As I rolled out the dough and cut the cookies out, re-living fun childhood Christmases doing the exact same thing and fragile from the coverage of the school shooting, my personal losses were tangibly present.  As I cried over the growing pile of baked trees, stars and snowmen, the smell alone was more pain that I wanted to bear.

 

And then decorating the tree.  Good God, what was I thinking.  Every ornament a memory.  Baby’s First Christmas, given to me by my Dad’s mom.  Molly’s arts and crafts ornaments.  Fond memories from vacations.  Some millennium  ornaments.   A New York skyline ornament that includes the Twin Towers.  Some incredible hand made pieces that my mom crafted.   I wouldn’t part with one of them; but I cried as I hung them on the tree.  Each one, initially selected to cement joyful memories, proclaimed a  loss.

 

Today I mourned.  For myself.  For the families in CT.  For all of us who are dealing with devastating pain.  And I reminded myself of a bitter Christmas reality: there is always loss in this holiday.  Surely, the Biblical stories don’t shy away from pain (see Matthew 2: 16 – 18 for an example.)  But in our time, too, we know that the peace and hope of the Christmas season exists squarely in the darkness and challenge of our own lives. 

 

The past comes to live in the present through memories, recipes and ornaments.  It’s not enough.  I want my child back.  But today in particular, I am convinced that mourning and celebrating are part and parcel of the same thing: an awareness that our short lives will hold both devastating loss and unspeakable joy.  The peace comes, sometimes, from recognizing the one in the other.

Practicing Chirstmas Spirit: Playing Hooky

 

I am playing hooky tomorrow.  I took myself out of substitute teacher circulation and will not be going to work.  This is a somewhat remarkable occasion; whatever else I am,  I am not a hooky playing kind of person.  I don’t know that I cut even one class in high school.  (But if I had, it would have been PE…..)
 

So, tomorrow is mine.  The plan is to do the final gift shopping, maybe even throwing in a gift or two for myself.  It’s the middle of the week, and I am hoping the stores and the parking lots won’t be gorged full and the store personnel will still be holding on to at least a sliver of holiday spirit.  If there is time, I’ll wrap presents too and maybe even have some hot chocolate (with Bailey’s!) by the fire.
 

But mostly, I will enjoy a brief sense of minor control over my own life.  When death has touched my life, it has been sudden and unexpected.  I know what it is to have life spiral out of control in an instant and I have been taught – brutally – that in most ways I am not in charge of things.  This second half of my life will surely have me practicing adjusting the sails more than futilely attempting to direct the wind. 
 

But that doesn’t mean I don’t control ANTHING!   Yes, the list of things over which I am powerless is infinite.  But tomorrow is a day to remind myself that there are a few things (like how I spend some of my time and how I take care of myself) that I can (and should!) control.  Let the hooky playing begin! 

Practicing Christmas Spirit: Planting Bulbs

When Molly died, a friend came to the house and planted literally 100s of bulbs as a memorial to her, and every year, he gives us more bulbs to add to the collection.  This year we added purple hyacinth.

Planting the bulbs is a bittersweet task: kneeling on the ground, burying the bulbs, hoping a miraculous transformation will take place in just a few months.  It’s also usually brutally cold this time of year, but the earth is spongy today in a springy sort of way that contradicts the fact that it is December in a part of the world that really should be frozen.

So, this morning, I planted bulbs.  And I immersed myself in memories of Molly and Mom and looked forward to the flowers that will bloom in the spring.  If the holidays celebrate hope and miracles and the idea that somehow God is always with us, then planting something – anything – expresses a holiday truth with candor seldom found in the carols, the cookies or the gift wrapped boxes.

Practicing Christmas Spirit: The Blog

Those of you who have visited this blog before may notice that I have been playing around with the template.  Oh yes.  The template.   It is a victory of sorts to have a clue about the word means.  Since I am writing mostly about the holidays for the next few weeks, I wanted my blog to take on a festive feel, and it turns out that the way to change the feel of the blog is through the  - say it with me – template.
 

When in doubt, Google.  That is my theory.  I have asked Google everything.  I have asked it why my daughter took her life.  I have asked it when my cousin, who is on life support right now, will die.  Having proven itself reliable in so many ways, I occasionally forget that Google is not a fortune teller or even a child’s Magic 8 Ball.
 

Turns out, though, that Google is quite reliable when it comes to blogger templates.  I was able to read about them and successfully download a few; I  even applied a couple of templates to my blog as a test, but for the most part, I found my downloaded attempts too “custey” or sentimental. 



I am not trying to cultivate a Christmas spirit of elves and Ho HO HOs (although I will make room for all of that if the occasion presents itself.)  No, I am looking for the grungier side of the holidays; the “light in the darkness” side where the light is surely – but barely – peeking through.

 

So, here’s to the holiday spirit that is just getting by – floundering a bit.  And here is to tending even the most fragile light. 

Practicing Christmas Spirit: Fixing the Watch

 

 

I have undeveloped consumer taste so I am not the best present giver.  Generally my gift giving strategy tends to boil down to a) something I would like; or b) something I think the other person should like.  This is not to be confused with carefully selected items based on observation of the receiver’s habits, recent purchases, style, etc…

 

Using my gift-giving strategy, I gave my mother an Anne Klein watch one year for Christmas.  Came in a box.  Included several discs to change the color on the perimeter of the face.  Was a name brand.  (I think.  Isn’t Anne Klein sort of a fashion statement?)

 

My mother, trust me, did not like it.   She wore it most every time she saw me, though, and it was in her drawer when my sister and I went through her things after she died.  The watch battery was drained, and the navy colored fashion disc was missing, but otherwise, it was in good shape.  So I claimed it back – not unlike the way you can claim gifts back in some of those dreadful office party Secret Santa games.

 

Now that the watch is mine, I understand why Mom didn’t love it.  It’s too big for one thing.   And without the navy disc, it has limited fashion use.  But in my quest to cultivate holiday spirit, I went out today had the watch battery replaced.

 

Love it.  Yes, it’s a little awkward because of the size.  But my mother used it it symbolize her love for me, and now that it is working and in tip-top shape, I won’t be able to look at it without reflecting on my love for her.

 

I’ll wear the red disc on Christmas.  Mom would like that.

Practicing Christmas Spirit: Day One

Last night, I found myself saying “This year, I am really going to make an effort to cultivate some Christmas Spirit.”  

With all of the loss in my life, holiday spirit seems a bit indulgent.  A good share of my heart wants to wallow in the idea that I can’t possibly celebrate when my daughter and my mother aren’t here.  Their death has removed any innocence from my experience of Christmas and the days that lead up to it.  For sure.

 

And death hangs anew over this season as a patriarch of my family is in hospice care and an aunt died just this week.

 

But still I yearn to celebrate.  I connect deeply with ancient people who, without artificial light, deeply needed some celebration in this darkest part of the year.  These winter holidays are borne of a deep-set human need to connect with light.  Perhaps, those of us who mourn can understand uniquely the fundamental need for comfort that the holidays, at their best, offer.

 

In the past, I have passively waited for the Christmas Spirit to descend on me.  I have enjoyed the decorations, sung a few carols, and been surprised when the holiday itself has left me a bit empty.

 

This year, I am going to go about it differently.   I don’t want sit back and see if this holiday will find me.  I want to claim this one.  So, for the next 25 days I am going to intentionally cultivate Christmas spirit.  Each day, from now until Christmas, I am going to do something everyday that brings me more deeply into the holidays.   Sort of a living Advent calendar.

 

I’ll report on my progress here, and I hope you’ll check back – and perhaps add your journey to mine. 

Thanksgiving

 

We are back in the desert for Thanksgiving; it is a tradition we have nurtured since Molly’s death and a comforting place to be.  We are surrounded by family, the beds are full to the point that some are sleeping on mattresses in the garage and the turkey is starting to fill the house with memories and warmth and anticipation.

We are fortunate, too, to have friends out here with us: friends who have known us for decades and have sustained us through the last several years.  As we gathered last night to drink wine and watch the sunset, we were all struck with the ways that the simple longevity of our relationships seems to bring the past into the present.  And as we made plans to visit again in a few months, the future crept in to our midst as well.

Time collapses.  We are so woven in to each other’s lives that we cannot separate ourselves from each other’s future victories and past losses.  There is comfort in that.

People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion." - Albert Einstein

Yearning to Pray

 

 

 

I am aware of so many people who are really, really hurting this Thanksgiving:  the family of a young mom of 4 – including a 3 week old son – who died of a massive stroke last week; a couple whose unborn baby is struggling; Dad, who is approaching his first holiday season without his wife of over 50 years.  We could all add ourselves and countless others to the list.

 

All of our tragedies invite prayer.  And I have a deep and abiding sense that prayer makes a difference.  But I struggle with what authentic prayer is for me.  I understand the prayer that manifests itself as enthusiastic applause when a plane lands safely after a rough flight.  I know the tender prayer that is kissing a child goodnight. Gratitude seems to lend itself easily to prayer. 

 

But when people request prayer for specific outcomes  – be those requests for health or comfort or a car that will start – I find myself sadly confused.

 

Even as a child, I had trouble with the idea of praying for a cure, or praying for a miracle.  I could not then – and I cannot still – get my head around a God who is persuaded by human pleas to relieve suffering or postpone death in one family while allowing other families to endure unending  pain and loss.  God, it seems to me, does not play favorites. 

 

What I can get my head around is that we are all part of whatever God is.  Our life and God’s being are intimately related.  We never need to invite God’s presence; regardless of our circumstance, God is with us. 

 

Prayer, for me, then, is being mindful of that connection.  Prayer is holding an intention for a person in the same corner of my heart where God already is and finding gratitude for the bond that we share.  Prayer is a silent surrender to the sure belief that regardless of the individual circumstances of our lives, we are all loved equally and eternally.

 

And in that spirit, to whoever is reading this, I offer a prayer of gratitude and a wish for a warm and peaceful Thanksgiving.

Fixing Things. Or Not.

 

Okay.  I am at my wits end.

 

For the record:  I understand that my problems are relatively minor compared to 95% of the rest of the world’s problems.  I know that I should be grateful that many of my problems are fixable; after all, I am fond of saying that if a problem can be fixed with money, then it isn’t much of a problem.

 

It’s easy to say.

 

Frances had to buy a new car last week because her old one was totaled while her mother was driving it.  Our refrigerator just died, and since we weren’t home to tend to it in its final hours you can imagine the stench and mess that greeted us when we came home.

 

My car is acting up and it has 160,000 miles on it and I really don’t want to have to buy a new one.

 

As I see literally thousands of dollars slipping from our grasp in a week, at least I know that we are better off for having fixed things.  Oh that we could just offer up thousands of dollars to mend our hearts.

 

We are heading in to the first holiday season without my mom and her favorite holiday – by far – was Halloween. Our family gathered to bake cookies in her honor last weekend, and the mom-sized hole was a gaping wound that I hadn’t really understood was even there.

 

Frances is back to work after a week of being sick, and that’s wonderful, but I still have lingering concerns about her heath. My nephew has been out of school for almost a month with a concussion – which seems odd to me - and my niece is having some health issues too. So I am concerned for them and for my siblings.

 

A friend is going through a difficult break up.

 

I have too much homework to do for school.

 

Kids are mean to substitutes.

 

Some things aren’t fixable.

 

I know I am ranting. 

 

Thanks for reading.

Heavy on My Heart

 

 

I had to take Frances to to the emergency room this week.  The trip  was hellish.  She was miserable and throwing up and unable to walk, so that was terrible.  But I could have gotten over her symptoms.  The REAL problem, of course, is that it placed me back in a previous trip to the ER when I took Molly for a psych evaluation.  With Molly, we spent the better part of the day waiting to be seen and I was sort of hopeful that we would get a magic pill and all of her problems would go away.  Painfully, I know better now.  I know better.

 

This more recent trip was efficient (in that we were only there four hours), but every second was spent breathing the air of my past naiveté, re-living the fear that we felt as Molly failed and re-anticipating the loss that we ultimately endured.  Just too much.    

 

When neighbors came to visit Frances, who spent days immobile on the couch in our family room watching TV, different memories hovered.   My neighbor, who died last summer, spent the last six months of her life on her couch.  In her family room.  The connection was obvious to our visitors who had also visited her; our houses, after all, are basically the same.  With every visit, there was joy, but no doubt I was re-living the pain, the awkwardness and the stark loss of last summer.

 

Of course, since I spent two months of this year taking care of my dad after the accident that killed my mother, this more recent nurse maid role brought all of that back too.

 

Frances is actually getting better…. after a week away, she’s back to work, and her vertigo is evidently treatable.  I am still reeling.  I have been thrown back into memories that trigger mourning and ignite fear. 

 

After these last three and half years, I am no longer naïve.  I know that the worst that life can hand out will not pass me by.  Most days – most days – I can leave the burden of all of it in God’s hands.  But there are some days – and today is one of them - where there seems to be nowhere for the pain and the uncertainty of life except heavy on my own heart.   

Football and Crochet as Sacrament

Another death.  Not unexpected, but too soon.  A 47 year old woman.  Gifted nurse.  Cancer.  A ten year old child left behind and grieving parents who will bury their daughter.

 

We’re spending today with the family and the funeral is tomorrow. 

 

In some ways, it’s a privilege to be invited into such a scared space.  I hope that we can be present and encouraging as they begin to work their way through this loss that will redefine all of them forever. 

 

When all is said and done, I don’t think we are going to do too much; I have packed some crochet and I am sure the football games will be on.  I hear that a lot of food has been delivered. 

 

Can football and crochet be sacrament?   I think so.      Is God somehow in our births and our deaths and our carrying on?  Absolutely. 

 

Will this trip matter?   I pray it will.

Death Out of Order

 

This weekend, as I sat with a friend looking at photos of her 5 year old nephew who died last year after a lengthy cancer battle, there was no point to holding back the tears.   He will be mourned and remembered and celebrated by his family for generations.   For those who loved him,  there is nothing that will explain or make sense of his death.

 

And yet, the fact is that children do die.  Every day.  And so do young parents, and emerging geniuses, and insanely talented people who could make a difference for good in the world.   My mother used to tell me that the death rate, no matter what anybody says, is 100%.  For me, it is that certainty that life could end at any moment that makes it so very precious.

 

Those that have died too young, or with unfinished work, or before they had a chance to explore their talents offer a challenge to those of us who live: don’t waste a day; explore this world; take it in.  My daughter’s death is a challenge to offer the best I possibly can to the world on her behalf; my mother’s death is a constant reminder that my own death is a certainty. 

 

To say that I miss them does not begin to express my daily loss of their companionship, but it is also true that their deaths have increased their impact on my life.  Exponentially.  They live on in me, and where ever they have gone, I will be heading to in time.  Even the longest of lives is short.

 

Who knows?  I have no idea how life and death go together or how we are all connected to each other.  But I do know that death, especially death that seems out of order, offers a connection to eternity and a challenge to those of us who remain behind.  The challenge is beyond painful, perhaps some days beyond exploring, but somewhere in that challenge is everything – everything -  that makes life worth living.

Hurricane Isaac and Changing Plans

If life went according to plan, I would be in Key West, FL this weekend:  playing in the waves;  eating fresh seafood;  drinking too many sugary drinks with little umbrellas sticking out of red maraschino cherries.  That sort of thing.   Hurricane Isaac kept us home.

 

It is disorienting to have long-made plans simply change in an instant.    It is also a bit scary.  I don’t need a professional to point out that I keep myself busy so that I don’t have time to ponder.  It is the pondering that leads to long nights on the verge of tears as I simply experience the grief that I am carrying around.

 

This summer, I finished two courses for my masters degree and taught summer school. I spent one weekend in Phoenix, another in Dallas, a couple with my grieving Dad in Chicago, and a few days in Atlantic City.  I was busy.  Although there are only 5 days between turning in my final school paper and starting back to work as a substitute teacher,  I had NO INTEREST in keeping those days free; to be given these days without time to create a plan leaves me vulnerable.

 

Unscheduled free time is a very sharp double-edged sword.  It is rich in opportunity – I get that.  Perhaps I will make banana bread.  There will be no excuse to avoid exercise.  I have even finished a book.  But free time brings up the ghosts.  Even the dreams are different when I am not mega-busy:  the depth of my grief haunts me if my mind is not distracted, and I end up pulling myself out of traumatic dreams full of grief and regret.

 

Free time is also a vital indicator.  Am I well?  Can I handle it?  For a girl like me – a girl who likes to ace tests – it is painful to know that this is a test I am barely passing.  I do not understand.  I agonize over the loss of my daughter.  I miss my mother.

 

Only one more day.  It will be great to head back to work on Tuesday.

Catching Up

Today I am in the middle of some version of gratefulness.  Not the full-on Oprah version, but my own sort of muddled take on it.  Like – hey.   My car is fixed.  I only had to take it back twice to the repair shop, and it cost WAY TOO MUCH MONEY but at least I have some confidence that it is going to start tomorrow morning.

And I need it to start tomorrow morning because I am teaching summer school.  For kids who have special needs.    I SIGNED UP to be an assistant – you know, basically show up and be helpful every day.  But something happened and they were hard up (very hard up, evidently) and asked me to teach.  So, I am working with my boys and they all have emotional disabilities and I may not have a degree that says so, but I am actually doing a pretty good job with them.  I think.  And I thank Molly for that because for almost 17 years I navigated her emotional challenges and carved out ways for her to be successful and maybe I can at least create a space where these kids can practice their addition.

I am overloaded with my own course work this summer since I had to drop out last semester to be with my dad after Mom’s death.  And – somehow – I got a fairly decent first draft done on the major paper that is due next week.  Now, if I could just figure out how WORD handles footnotes, we’d be good to go.  Please feel free to comment if you can help.

And my ever-present Weight Watchers challenge is going well.  Last week I got on my wii FIt and it did not tell me that I was overweight. First time ever.  I am down close to 40 pounds and feel the better for it.

There is a fly in the ointment everywhere I look.  Life is not perfect.  But somehow I no longer expect it to be, and that leaves room for my own little glimpse of gratitude.

To the Mom who Buries her Child Today

I am so sorry.  This should never have happened.   This is wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

But you are still upright. That’s the completely surprising thing.  Whenever you had imagined losing a child - and every parent of even the most healthy child puts themselves through that exercise if for just the most fleeting second - you imagined yourself flat on your back, completely unable to function.

Today you find yourself stronger than you had ever imagined you could possibly be.

Today you are astounded by how much you are loved, and how much your child was loved.   You are discovering that your child changed the lives of people that you never knew.  Disregard the length of your child’s life; he or she matters eternally. 

Today you discover that you are an amazing parent who many have looked up to from afar.  Today you understand just how much you and every member of your extended family matter to each other.

Today you are face to face with your own limits.  You would have given your very life to stall this day.  But this day is. 

Today you take comfort, perhaps, in familiar rituals but encounter an incarnate God in a completely new way. It is God’s spirit in the long distance plane ticket purchased; the Spirit’s presence in the casserole delivered; Eternity hinted at in the flowers.  

Today is the seed of the challenge to move forward.  Maybe it is the responsibility to move forward. 

Today is the beginning of something brand new.  There is pain in it.  Absolutely.  But somewhere, buried deep…    is hope.

The Big 5-0

It is a very fortunate person who lives to 50.   I don’t want to lose the miracle of it.   But philosophy has its limits…   So I did spend about two hours of the big day with my hairdresser getting highlights.   I NEVER do that.  I am a Hair Cuttery/Revlon Color girl all the way.   I won’t say it was fun…  but it was a perfect indulgence. 

I also had $50 in gift cards from some folks that I work with.   Can’t take those to Goodwill – which is my typical first stop for shopping.   What fun to shop for Lavender bath products.   Happy Birthday to me!

My sing-along birthday party is planned for this weekend, but the actual day was yesterday and I took the time off from work to just let the day sink in.  This is my first birthday without my mother and my fourth without my daughter.  And there were moments – just moments – when I felt the universe breaking through to me.

I walked out the door and the tulips had finally bloomed – bright red and yellow; I sensed Molly in the blooming.  A small inheritance check from my mom that had been anticipated but would simply not show up, arrived in my mailbox just in time to deposit. A cardinal – always a vivid memory of my grandmother – entertained me on my morning walk, and so did a family of deer who seemed to not understand that in the general scheme of things humans prey on deer.  A friend of Molly’s stopped me at Starbucks to chat.

It is as if the universe wanted to remove any doubt.  My mother, my grandmother and my daughter have not forgotten me; their love extends beyond death.   And it is my confidence in the eternal endurance of love and my conviction that living this long is a blessing - that compels me to celebrate – really celebrate – this weekend.

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.

Weight Watchers

I am aware that this borders on the cliché….  Join Weight Watchers over New Years; lose weight just in time for the 50th birthday.  Let’s just say it has been done before.

In fact, without the New Years thing or the 50th birthday incentive, it has been done by me before!  About two years before Molly died, when she had been admitted to a new school (with a scholarship!) and was settling in nicely after a rough start, I joined Weight Watchers and lost about 30 pounds.  I found the process of losing weight dovetailed nicely with the confidence I was feeling that Molly was thriving in a new environment.

The calm before the storm.

You are never really supposed to go off of Weight Watchers; it IS more of a lifestyle than a diet.   And I don’t want to blame Molly for anything – including the fact that as we went through her eventual downward slide and subsequent death I re-gained those 30 pounds.  But the fact is that my jeans don’t fit,  I hate looking at myself in pictures, I am on blood pressure medication that I could probably get rid of if I could eat differently and something needs to change.

It has been almost 3 years now since Molly died, and I am adamant in a new way that this weight come off.   I am wiser than I have ever been in my life (which is probably not saying much).  I feel stronger than I have ever felt.  I am more sure that the world is a good place than I have ever been.  And I want my body to reflect that confidence.

It is hard won.