88 is Pretty Great

Hi everyone,

Yeah, I miss my dad. I've seen people fight and wrestle (I'm trying not to use that word) with the death of a parent. Do I? Nah, not when the man had 88 "pretty good" years on earth, his words. Not when his body failed and his mind wasn't quick enough to keep up with the large group conversation anymore and he repeated himself on a circuit of rants. Not when he was frustrated more than he was content.

Did his greatest fear happen? That he would mindlessly repeat the phrase, "Have you ever been to Minneapolis?" over and over, as one of his elderly relatives did? No, not at all. He was the best introverted conversationalist I knew, able to pull a joke or a story or lecture on linguistics out of the spaghetti strands of his brain at just the right moment.

Richard would not have lasted long under the Cornavirus conditions of the nursing home he was confined to. Thank Goodness, thank Bob, thank Free Booklet he didn't have to. I have no regrets. I don't think he did either.

His last acting role at Western Illinois Museum as Abe Lincoln's photographer, 2018.

These Times

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

I wanted to drop some sunshine here today, as my region is under cloud cover. I've been working on staying positive. Here are some thoughts I've been focusing on:

• we can do hard things
• I see your joy and light
• no one can take my joy and light away from me
• we will get through this
• what have I learned during this time of reflection?
• nature is at its finest, green, purple, pink, yellow, red
• birds carry on nesting and hatching, humans are doing the same

It's worth getting up for

I have not been up this early in awhile. The melatonin seems to be working but I didn't take it last night.

At 3:37 I woke up from a beautiful dream of coming home to find Adam on the stairs. I thought my eyes might be tricking me at first, and it was Eli or Cal in a different light. But he came down the stairs and we embraced and it was really him. He said, "I really like it here...out there."

My first awake conscious thought is, this must be how it is when you die. You can have these experiences in your brain (dreams) and basically they can be anything you want. Second thought: he's telling me he's okay, he likes where he is.

*as an added bonus the first thing I see on Messenger this morning is that Adam's friend Tara had a dream about him the previous night and found a picture of them in a box yesterday. I, too, had been going through stuff of Adam's yesterday, getting rid of things we hadn't found a use for, donating or tossing them. It is hard to let go anything that is his. Even an old, but expensive (he had to have the best) sleeping bag he hadn't used in a over a decade, let alone had we.

Obsessed

I can't even.

Yes, I can. I discovered this book by accident. I don't follow Reese Witherspoon but somehow ran across her announcement that Untamed was her April book club choice. I then started seeing videos by Glennon Doyle called "Morning Meetings." There was something about her that made me order the book. I rarely buy books, but with the library closed...

I got it and devoured it. It's part memoir, part handbook, part love story, and a whole lotta feminist theory in an easy to digest way. Take for example the chapter on shampoo. Glennon notices the descriptions on the shampoo bottles in her kids' shower. The boys shampoo sounds like they are going to war. The girls shampoo is soft and diminutive.

Indeed, I looked in my shower at the bottle of Axe and found this:

The cleaner you get (picture of man showering)

The dirtier you get (picture of man and woman)

Unlimited female attention 

I kid you not. We are literally being conditioned (no pun intended) while we shower. She asks us to disrupt the taming of women by our action in the world. To summarize Ava DuVernay, forget about breaking the glass ceiling, make your own building. The last thing I would want to be is CEO of a corporation (although we need women there), so that gave me a new perspective. 

Glennon tells me I am a writer if I wonder if I am a writer day in and day out, if I envy writers. I won't say envy in that I want to be anyone else or live their life, but envy in the sense that successful writers have committed to allowing their words to flow out and are touching others. 

And she ends the book with my favorite meditation. 

I am

I am

I am

This is not a fill in the blank, but what has been described to me as the nearest we can get to God. 

Upsidedown and Sideways

One of the 'exciting' things I decided to do during quarantine is borrow a friends headstand contraption. There may be a fancier name for it but I don't know it.

When Cal was here I asked if he wanted to try it. He wanted a demonstration first. I easily flipped up into this position:

Cal promptly goes, "That's the most athletic thing I've ever seen you do, Mom."

It doesn't get any better than that.

Nephew

Adam was the first nephew on both sides of his family. No nieces either. Uncle Kevin mailed me a stash of photos that arrived today that are precious to me. Never seen them before, or my memory has failed me. It's like a new window into my boy.

Like finding his Instagram account, and the girl pictured in one of my favorite photos of him. Those comments, those stories, these new pictures, they sustain and help me so much. I hope I keep discovering these pieces of him until we meet again.

I stumbled on this blog today, and these two boys, Rob and Adam, could be brothers.

https://thesandandthewater.net/

Has anyone else packed on the COVID 20? Pounds, that is?

I'm also learning so many new things! Tik Tok, Houseparty, Instagram video chat, Zoom, teletherapy, copy and paste on the Iphone (I know, Boomer). The creative juices are oozing out of people. I'm impressed. It's unbelievable. How would this shut down look before the Internet?

What is the thing most people will remember about this period of history? TIGER KING. 

Joe Exotic + Carol Baskin = biggest thing to hit the small screen ever.

I just found this picture I love, love, love. Great memories with my favorite sister in Denver, CO 2018. Special thanks to Eli for giving us the excuse to visit Denver again and relive old memories, and find old friends.

Cup O' Joe Musings

Before I get sucked down the rabbit hole that is social media, my thoughts for this Friday morning. It's so great it's still Friday because I took yesterday off, and it's feeling wonderful to still have a three weekend ahead.

In many ways, my lifestyle is not that much different pre- and post-Corona. I thankfully still have a job to go to. But apparently, I already stay home a lot. I do visit my elderly mom a couple of times a week because I believe isolation kills more people than viruses.

Well, Friday blended into Saturday, but just barely. It's now 2:23 a.m. Can you believe sometimes coffee makes it easier to fall back asleep? For this I hope.

People are getting really creative post-Corona, and we are all just doing the best we can. Have you noticed how cheap gas is? To change it up a bit, we are driving to another town to walk the trails in a large park and maybe get some lemon ice cream afterwards. That's allowed, right?

I have a 500+ page book I am slogging through. Since the library is closed, this is a good thing, except it's not really that interesting. We all read Clan of the Cave Bear back in the day, and Jean Auel wrote a sequel in 2002, but it doesn't have the fascination I recall.

I like how mental health advocates are calling out the misnomer social distancing, which should be known as physical distancing. We are social creatures and this should not be discouraged albeit it looks different. It's physical distancing we need to avoid.

So just one more thing. I had my first virtual happy hour last night with Jacob Moore of NoStigmas and Kevin Hines who is just a beacon of light in the suicide prevention world. Kevin answered my question (fan geek moment) about people backing away in public and just getting such a stressed vibe out there. It does disturb me a little bit even though I am relatively secure. He said it's not personal (which I knew) but self-preservation, and I would add fear. I like that shift that people are just trying to survive and that is understandable. We are all on different levels with this thing. I will leave you with this visual I thought was very fitting:

My Truth

I've been counseling people on micro and macro grief related to the worldwide pandemic this week (thanks for the lead Betsy), and the situation is getting intense with Illinois' stay-at-home order extended to April 30th. I sat down to watch the Today show this morning (which I never do), and I just cried at the news of an ER doctor who died of COVID-19, thousands of people trapped on cruise ships that no one wants to dock, nurses worn out and lacking proper PPE, need I go on? I usually don't expose myself to much of this lest I go to the darker side, which is my way of coping, no judgment, so I can continue marching forward.

But with this growing alarm, I think of little positive ways to cope. For instance, I moved all my black clothes (1/3 of my wardrobe) to the back of the closet and will try to wear other colors this month.

Here's some things you might do during Corona April:

1. Get your 10,000 steps every day
2. Complete your Census
3. Organize your photos (digital or print)
4. Make hearts and hang them in windows and doors
5. Donate blood
6. Moisturize everything
7. Take a nap. Take another nap.
8. Clean your closets
9. Write letters
10. Make a craft
11. Do something for the elderly (juggle or play music outside their windows?)
12. Post something funny or creative on social media
13. Do a tutorial video either serious (yogis doing yoga) or sarcastic (me doing make-up)

I hope this note finds you safe, well, and grateful for what you do have. Somehow we will come through this and maybe find some new strength and connection.

Pride

Here we go again with the Pride and Joy tears. I am proud of that boy.

Before his first birthday

At his last birthday 

Nuke on Nuke's terms

Shed a tear after a dream about Adam. The details aren't important but I took the message as I was trying to "fix" him which was well-meaning but misplaced. The tear came from knowing I don't have a chance in this life to make things right. Accepting him on his terms and getting through the muck to get there. I think we had a good start, and we could have gotten there in time.

The dream last week of hugging him, that was pure not wanting to let go.

*Nuke is Pat's nickname for Adam. When he was three his favorite movie was Bull Durham.

It's finally here

If you are following my blog, you may recognize where this is going.

I had been thinking about a tattoo to honor Adam for quite a long time (1-2-3 years?). I thought about a dragon (born in 1988, year of the dragon), a crown (King Tut, his favorite drink, part of the tattoo he had across his chest), or something he wrote.

When I saw his friend Ashleigh's tattoo "Long Live the King" on the inside of her left arm, close to her heart, I knew that was the location, and I started looking for something he wrote. I also puzzled over where to go and when.

The most popular tattoo artist in town books months in advance, and I wasn't sure once I decided I wanted to wait that long. I heard one shop had all female artists, but they never seemed to be open. I was drawn to a place called Nomad Tattoo for some unknown reason.

A week after my dad's death I found the notes my dad had scribbled for Adam's memorial service, including the title of a poem Ave Etque Vale, Hail and Farewell. When I googled the poem, yeah, I thought that was so fitting. I had previously dug up Mother's Day cards from Adam, but it didn't seem quite right to put "Happy Mother's Day" on my arm. Finally I decided to combine my dad's quote and Adam's handwriting Love, Adam. 

Next was where to go. On March 6, my mom, Betsy and I attended a play at the local community theater. One of the actors' biographies listed him as the owner/tattoo artist at Nomad. I enjoyed his performance, he supported the theater by buying an ad, so I stopped in the next day and made an appointment for March 14.

Sam wasn't as personable as I hoped, but I'm happy with the results. Let me know what you think. Or not.

Normal-ish

I've been tossing ideas for this blog post around since the Coronavirus amped up on March 11, 2020. Cal deems this time in our history "3-11" and I agree, 3/11/20 was a turning point. He remembers it as the day the NBA suspended play, and I remember it as...damn, I can't remember.* I think it was the day universities started extending Spring Break. That's when I started taking this seriously. That was a Wednesday. The bricks began falling out of the wall rapidly.

By Monday, we were living in a different world. Schools, restaurants, events and gatherings of any kind cancelled, followed by gyms and workplaces. Temperature checks and tents being set up outside my place of work (a hospital). Vague press conferences saying "We've got this under control. We're prepared." Prepared for what?? Are we in a bad movie? To say surreal barely cuts it.

Initially, I thought this was another example of the 'wimping of America.' I compared it to the gratuitous closing of schools for any weather event that felt uncomfortable. It felt like anyone acting normal was being accused of being unsafe or putting others at risk.  I was going to make a joke about North Dakota being the most desirable place to live; only 1 COVID-19 case, and plenty of natural social distancing.

I thought about 9-11 and Y2K and this began to feel much bigger. When my mom said her grandchildren better not visit, I knew it was serious.

That brings me to today, 3/20/20. March seems like the longest month ever; time has slowed to a crawl. The two weeks of school closure beginning March 16 is half over, but everyone expects the rest of the school year is going to be home based.

My kids who are involved in education have gathered here at home, and I must say this is an unexpected delight. When was the last time we could just hang out indefinitely?! The weather was perfect for cocktail hour on the deck last evening (hello Diet Pepsi). Lots of laughter and love, but no hugging or touching.

And so we wait for the next news event to direct our life and activities. Some moments feel normal, some most definitely do not. Stay safe out there, as if you haven't heard that enough lately.

*Upon reading People magazine 3/27/20, I was reminded March 11 was the day Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson announced they had the virus in Australia.

Happy

Twice in recent weeks I had clients direct me to watch the PBS documentary Happy. Well, not really direct me, but I do often feed off suggestions and ideas of my clients, which is a wonderful benefit of the work I do. I had heard of it before, and honestly, the word Happy just kind throws up a resistant wall for me, so it took three times of hearing about the movie for me to finally take action.

I have long had a hard time relating to the word "happy" or notion of "happiness" as some kind of squad goal. To me happiness is a fleeting emotion I experience occasionally which fades all too quickly. I don't see it as a sustainable state of mind, nor would I really want to. Part of the beauty and spice of life is experiencing a myriad of emotions: heartbreak, disappointment, sadness, excitement, unease, delight.

In counseling when I ask clients what they want to get out of counseling they often say they want to be happy. I always ask them to define this, as it seems to me such a dubious concept. My own definition of happiness would be something like a life filled with love, laughter, peace, and contentment.

So, my goal for today is to finish the documentary, come back, and close this blog with some kind of new wisdom.

It took a few days, but I finally finished the movie and have had time to digest it and come back here. I took notes but unfortunately I left them at work to discuss with my clients. Here's my takeaway for what it's worth:

Research fellows presented a pie, where 50% of happiness is genetic, 10% circumstances and 40% things within our control such as exercise, human connection, nature, helping others, mindfulness, and experiencing flow.

Flow is doing something just because you love to, those times where you lose track of time because you are so into whatever you are doing.

Mindful Moment: A leafless tree against the most exquisite blue sky this morning at 6:51 a.m.

Flow: Reading a book and soaking the characters, stories and lessons into the fiber of my soul.

Joy is a beautiful word and apropos this time of year. I like joy much more than happiness.  C.S. Lewis puts it this way:

"Real joy seems to me almost as unlike security or prosperity as it is unlike agony.  It jumps under one’s ribs and tickles down one’s back and makes one forget meals and keeps one (delightedly) sleepless o’ nights. It shocks one awake when the other puts one to sleep. My private table is one second of joy is worth 12 hours of Pleasure. "

I don't have Adam here for Christmas, but I have love. Sometimes I experience joy.  Life is good. Choose life.

Note: Apparently I wrote this 12/15/16. I found it in my documents and think it still applies. 

Ave etque Vale

I never talked to my dad about this. I wish I had.

After Dad died, my mom gave us kids a box of mementos to go through and keep what we wanted. I found a small spiral notebook with two pages written in his hand, the rest blank. I immediately identified his notes as what he spoke at Adam's memorial. He had seven little points written down and after that, the words Ave etque Vale. Though he spelled it differently, when I looked up the translation, it was obviously the poem above, translated as Hail and Farewell. 

I do not remember if he quoted the whole poem at Adam's service, but suffice it say, as Betsy noted at Dad's celebration of life, he always, always, had the right words for any occasion.

Note: Catullus 101 is an elegiac poem written by the Roman poet Gaius Valerius Catullus.

Mary Coin

Things have been falling behind a bit here. There is a pile of White Elephant gifts wrapped in newspapers left over from Christmas when my contributions didn't get re-gifted.

You see, my Pops fell on January 11 and collapsed at home. My mom couldn't move him or get him in the bed, and I didn't hear the phone ring. I found out the next morning (a Sunday) and went the hospital where he was finally admitted from the ER for 'observation.' After a CT scan showed a spinal fracture, he was moved to the healthcare center next to my parent's duplex for rehab.

As anyone with elderly parents knows, there's a bit of wrangling about the arrangements, insurance, etc. and I'll spare further details of the other struggles (emotional and otherwise). Fortunately, my parents have good health insurance and long term care insurance. They did not want us taking care of them in our home. So off to the nursing center he goes.

Something was drilled into my head that if either of my parents ever went into a nursing home, it was my job to visit them everyday, in addition to supporting my mom when she needed me to talk to doctors, nurses, insurance people, etc.

Other than one night I sent Pat in my place, I kept my promise to myself to visit everyday or sometimes twice a day. It quickly became my job to help Dad with his upper false teeth. For some reason, he didn't think the aides could do this properly. "TTW" he repeated to me. Tablet, teeth, water (HOT water, as HOT as you can get it). At this point, he couldn't transfer, toilet, position or wheel himself , walk or stand, and is in excruciating pain every time he does have to move. Physical therapy was referred to "torture" and it was a challenge to find a medication that didn't make him nauseous.

We did take our planned trip to Florida in late January and luckily Betsy was in Illinois that weekend because Dad was admitted to the hospital again, briefly for new issues. And back to the the nursing home, which he referred to as rehab. At this point he was spelling out Plan A, B, C, then Plan A sub 1 (a) or (b). I honestly couldn't follow his thought process here. I think Plan A was 'fully' recover and go home, and C was to live in assisted living with an electric wheelchair so he could drive himself to see Mom when the weather was good.

Here I should mention what a trooper Mom was/is, and how he would get sentimental telling me about their love story. Things I never heard before. He thought he had got the greatest catch in the world.

One more ER visit and hospital admission for pneumonia February 6th. This one really scared me because one night he was making no sense, and I had to feed him the few bites he would take. He got his teeth out that night, but barely. I saw his weight on the White Board and he had lost 24 pounds from when he was home. The next day he was perfectly coherent and was discharged the day after that. Mom had also come down with a terrible cough and didn't get out of bed for days and of course you can't infect a hospital or nursing home with those germs.

Dad dragged himself, or rather they dragged him to rehab a few times over the next 8 days, but there were days he stayed in bed, too. Throughout this process I was reading him the novel "Mary Coin." It's a wonderful historical fiction piece about the picture below:

He really enjoyed the three story lines and even was reading out loud to me the last night. He repeated some when he got interrupted, but then would realize, "I read this before." It was really enjoyable for both of us, especially after he got his private room, and we didn't have to listen to Delmar grumble in the next bed about how he was trying sleep and it's supposed to be quiet after 9:00 (it was usually 7:30), and what happened to his private room?? Well, he thought he had private room until they moved a roommate (Dad) in, but he was not paying for a private room. 

The last week he told me not to remember him like this, that I didn't have to visit him everyday and should go on with my life, and made other hints that he knew time was running out. On Monday night he called Mom and I both to be there together to go over Plan A sub 1 (a) again. It still didn't make any sense but we agreed with him.

On Wednesday February 19, Mom was there in the afternoon and left about 3:00 to go take a nap, not being fully recovered from her illness, but able to visit at least. All the staff are now wearing masks all the time at this point. Dad wasn't feeling well (was in bed after rehab) and apparently had some new kind of medication. Mom got the call about 5:45 that he passed. She called us in the middle of dinner, and we had some time to be with him in the room. Mom didn't like that his mouth was open (she has a thing about that), but I told her they probably didn't want to touch him. Then the coroner came and whisked him away to be cremated. We cleaned out the room; he didn't have much since this was "temporary."

How to end this rant...know that I will write cheerier posts in the future. I feel like he went the way he wanted. He tried his best to recover but the body was worn out. He kept his mind to the end, didn't  drain his savings on a nursing home, and he wasn't a burden to anyone. I got to spend this extra time with him and be the daughter he thought I was. Praise God for this.

I think he would be happy to be remembered this way. Family vacation, the red van, and car top carrier he made from plywood. He also made sleeping benches for Betsy and me to sleep in the back. I still remember the material on those benches and the love that was sewn into them.

The Boy who would be Coach

Here's my little 8th grader leading the Mustangs onto the floor. He's first because he's the shortest.

Here he is 12 years later coaching his 8th grade team at the State quarterfinals. They led most of game, but the last two minutes didn't go their way. The team with the heart held their heads up and Coach Cal exceeded his goal of winning their Regional.

Cal wasn't the most athletically gifted player but he's taken his skills and intuition and heart to the junior high level in academics and coaching three sports. I couldn't be more happy and proud of him. He's living the dream and appreciating it everyday.

On Surviving Four Years

I had a little dream early on 2/2/2020. It involved Adam's friend Brent whom I have been talking to. He's a big Cheif's fan so the Superbowl was coming up that day, along with the anniversary of Adam's death.

I don't remember the dream, and Adam was peripheral to it, but it felt nice, at least like he was near. Four years, and counting. Counting the days that have past, dreading some days ahead. Feeling useful in life, purposeful, as things change in my family situation. That's not my story to tell, but at some point it might come out anyway.

Punch cards for Hope

We all have our days. Some have weeks, months or years. But healing is always possible. Sometimes we need more patience, especially with ourselves.

I choose to see the positive, skip over the negative, especially when it comes to what is happening in the world, the news, politics, social media, and in front of my face. I don't think this means I have my head in the sand. I am trying to incite change where I think I can make an impact.

I don't believe in the word "broken" as it applies to people or the world. Changing is more positive and also inevitable. Feeling broken makes room for healing and growth if one chooses to look at it this way.

Don't get me wrong, I have break downs. Things pile up sometimes and we need to take those moments to feel it. If I could give out hope in little punch cards or gift cards, wouldn't that be cool? Because true hopelessness seems to be the thing that contributes most to suicide. But hopelessness is just a feeling, too. For most of it passes eventually. Sometimes it takes work, yes.

If you are in need of a Hope infusion, please accept one punch from my heart shaped hole punch in your little card. Come back when you need another, and another. I have a little extra to share.