I AM Grateful

I am grateful!                                                                                    February 28, 2015
   Around Thanksgiving time we look around seeking all the things and people we are thankful to call friends. What about the rest of the year? Can we be grateful, satisfied, fulfilled, yes, even happy and content when we do not have a delicious holiday to remind us? The recent issue of my Mayo Clinic newsletter has an article titled, “Fostering thankfulness”. It points out that practicing gratitude is good for us!

A study has indicated that those who have a predisposition toward thankfulness are less likely to be depressed, anxious, addicted to nicotine, alcohol and/or drugs. They are happier people. Why? Perhaps it is because they accept themselves, they do not react to peer pressure, instead, they learn to be content in the moment. This is another way to be open to mindfulness, another way to focus on living in the now.

A study of 400 people found that grateful people had less trouble falling asleep, slept better and stayed asleep. It certainly is true that when the mind is busy concentrating on those things and people, for whom we are grateful, it wanders into pleasant places, there is no room for negative thinking or anxiety.

When I have lonely moments, empty days that I have neglected to plan for, I think about the many wonderful moments, days and years I have experienced during my lifetime, I remember to be grateful. I am overwhelmed when I recall the good things in life that I have enjoyed. I grew up in a loving home even though peacefulness was often interrupted by childish disappointments and sibling disasters. When my parents were on the opposite sides of an issue, they kept their disagreements private. I do recall hearing, “not now, not in front of the children”. Instinctively I understood it was impossible for two people who lived together, to agree all the time. In fact, I learned early on that they were different; so I managed to make serious requests to the parent most likely to say “yes”.

I learned truth, flexibility and consistency from my Mom. She made it very clear when I was quite young, “If you lie to me, there will be harsh, severe punishment. If you tell the truth about something you did that was wrong, your punishment will be much less severe.” I learned that the hard way when “who spilled the perfume on my dresser” became an issue.

From my Dad I learned to love the outdoors, enjoy exercise, and the importance of integrity. Integrity is a major component of a good person. He used to quote Shakespeare so often that I learned the lines that Polonious spoke to his son, Laertes: “To thine own self be true, then it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.” This constituted my Dad’s definition of integrity.

I remember the evening he locked himself in the bathroom and cried. Dad found some print slugs that he believed Ben had stolen from the school’s newspaper office. The thought that his son might be a thief caused Dad’s tears. It frightened me to see my steady, dependable Dad weep. When my brother hastily explained that he had “borrowed” them to experiment with them, he planned to return them, Dad simply said “tomorrow”.

Just as grateful as I am, and always will be, for my parents so my gratitude escalates beyond Heaven when I begin to think about my beloved Erv. The day we found each other was extraordinary. I am seriously grateful for the 62 years plus that we shared. Last night I experimented with “thankfulness” and I had the best night’s sleep I have enjoyed in a long time. There is no reason to save our “thankfulness” for the holiday of Thanksgving!

A NEW WIDOW

A NEW WIDOW There is a new widow in my family. I am trying hard to figure out what exactly I can tell her to be helpful. Her journey en route to alone-ness will wind through side roads and detours. The truth of the matter is that after seven years alone, seven years without my beloved, I still find myself yelling at his picture, asking, “Where are you? How could you leave me with all this nonsense to figure out by myself? Don’t you remember we did this ‘stuff’ together?” How can I help Phyllis?

In the first place, it is important to know and accept the fact that there is no “right” way to grieve. Each of us grieves according to our own personality, our character, our own lifetime habit of handling sadness; each of us knows or learns what part of the togetherness was inherent in our personal happiness. If someone asked me today: what piece of our relationship do I miss the most, I have an answer. I miss the way Erv would grab me for no reason swing me around in a hug and shout to the world, “I love this girl!” His need to tell the world was never an embarrassment, it was a gift, I returned his hug, and we shared our joy, each time with a sense of renewal. I cherish the memory, it is far less painful than it was seven years ago.

The second thing I need to tell Phyllis, do not be impatient with you. Grieving and missing are not things that must be completed on deadline. I know that for years you built your relationship, your marriage; you added brick upon brick to your love, affection and respect for one another. You cannot cast it all off spontaneously, time will help you frame it, cherish it and learn to live with it. As there is no special way to grieve, so there is no time line to grief.

Love and togetherness are partners; the love never ends though the togetherness ends at death. Phyllis, that is the hardest part of my loss. Remember we all do this differently. In the last years, 25 years during Erv’s retirement we were attached, hip-to-hip. For so many years our jobs separated us from each other, things changed in those last years.

The reality of loss is not something that we slip into like a garment. There are times when all the milling, good-hearted people are more than we can handle. They mean to be helpful, but there are moments when we do not want the help. Feel free to slip away by yourself, take a moment to catch your breath and catch up with yourself. That is allowed. Follow your instincts, pamper yourself, take your time. Forgive yourself for your exhaustion, for an error in judgment, for not returning everyone’s gesture. Lee would want you to be good to yourself, give in to your feelings, be yourself. And remember our God is a forgiving God, He/She allows that rules are made to be broken, especially when you are winding your way through grief.

Death in the Family

 

Feb 21, 2015

 

Death is a fact of life.

If we understood that truth we might be less anxious.

Yes, death is a fact of life, why fear Heaven or Hell?

Damnation or punishment should not frighten us.

I am a non-believer in an after-life,

So they do not faze me.

When I was a child, 
I was punished in a non-punitive way,
Never hit or beaten, frequently deprived of treats.

Punishment never brought fear despite the spotlight’s bright gaze,

I learned not to be afraid.

My life was been tempered with moderation and good sense.

Oh my oh my, I sit here and write about death and suddenly

It slammed right into me.

A call came, a sweet voice said,

“Agnes Jane, this is cousin Janice.”

Of course, Lee’s daughter,

we married her to Steve many years ago.

My Dad has died!” she said.

I can hardly write it down.

Death is academic

until it slams right into us always with sad news:

Lee is dead! Just like that,

Lee is dead!

I studied his picture; it can’t be so.

He was optimism; he was family,

I remember when Lee was born.

I was a kid when he and cousin John made me a family elder.

I was five or six!

That long ago!

And now Lee is dead.

But I can still hear his voice…..

                                                                                                   

 

Mothers & Daughters

December 24^th, 2014

       Mothers and daughters, it seems, are destined for squabbling. I sure wish Judi had a daughter, so at least she would understand a little of the discomfort I sometimes suffer. My Mom and I fussed and argued.  Just before our wedding she asked, “Haven’t I been a good Mother to you?”   Of course I told her how wonderful she was, she was a great Mom, really she was, despite the fact that she never played tennis.  Her insights and instincts were astonishing.

     That morning before our wedding, at five am, she cried because I had chosen to visit with my future-in-laws on my last night at home as a single woman.  She forgot that Erv and I had been at home with her and Dad the whole week before we married and Erv’s parents had just come into town.  There my Dad stood at the foot of my bed, imploring me to help Mother feel better.  I went to her and was able to coax her smile out of hiding.

     For whatever reason, mothers and daughters watch each other carefully, suspect foul play quickly and can easily hurt one another without intending to do so.  It is inherent, I remember small Judi squeezing between her Dad and me on the couch while asking, “When you die Mom, can I marry Dad?” With certainty I answered, “Sure!”

  The news of Matt’s return next November is good news.  Inasmuch as he has been away for so long the responsibility of re-entering a life of freedom is primarily his.  I am sure that he hopes and believes that it will be easy.  The freedom to choose time, place and occupation sounds seductive from where he is now sitting.  Expectations for him will be different however. I hope he understands that he must find suitable employment, perhaps enroll to obtain training in something that interests him.  The choice is not mine, but he has to make a decision, that might be complicated.  Like his decision to explore Christianity, this is not something for me to decide.  His decisions  impact his life, that is why he has to make them.

     Today I took his Mom to lunch.  I thought it was a good idea.  For whatever reason she asked out of the blue why I gave Matt a doll on his first birthday?  I simply told her I thought (and still believe) boys should know about babies just as girls do.  I added I was certain I had discussed it with her first, she was just as sure that I did not.  Erv is not here to mediate.  It poses a 25 year-old memory question, I cannot answer for sure.  So the question hung in the air between us; she was angry and I was in shock and most likely angry too as our discussion deteriorated.  “But why didn’t you give him a truck or car?”  That answer was simple, “he had so many of those…!”  Mothers and daughters, destined to disagree.

On My Own

On My Own – February 19, 2015

A sense of responsibility 

   Perhaps because it is February, the month during which I lost my brother in 2007 and my beloved partner in 2008, I sit down to write about being on my own.  In the course of my life I have experienced numerous incidents that were like a tap on my shoulder, each time a reminder that there are times when I must be on my own.  When I was six, I remember standing in the cold of winter waiting for my brother to walk me home from school.  I was not permitted to cross the New York City streets by myself, until that day.  Big brother forgot and arrived home without me.  Mother came running, she was angry and I took advantage of the moment and said clearly and with certainty: “Now, will you let me go to school on my own?”  What a thrill when she said “yes”.  All the way home that memorable day, she instructed me.  By the time we arrived my head was swinging from left to right, right to left in delicious abandon, repeating “look both ways, always look both ways”.

   In later years, at an older age, I remember arguing with my Dad about staying at home alone.  It was against his best judgment; it was an exciting prospect to me.  When I was finally away, at college on my own, I felt like a bird released.  I can still feel the sense of freedom, the excitement of simply being free to decide when to eat dinner, what to order, finally I felt I was on my own.

   Then I returned home from college, once more to the nest where, “what are your plans” became a consistent, though courteous question.  Dad still had trouble with my being home alone despite the fact that he had no idea when or if I was alone in the dorm at school.  That was not a subject for discussion. Then I graduated from college and went job hunting, a frustrating, disheartening experience.  Finally I faced reality: a Bachelor’s Degree in the social sciences, prepared me for nothing! The need for graduate training raised its head.  I went hunting, I knew I wanted social work; a summer’s experience working with disadvantaged kids had pointed the way.  I found a fellowship that enabled me to exchange a year of grad school for a year on the staff of Family Service of Cincinnati.  That meant two years in a large city where I knew no one, two years on my own.  I grabbed the opportunity.

   That experience lasted two years and I enjoyed every minute.  I loved making decisions for myself, I loved the freedom to choose, to decide, to follow through or not as I wished.  Then I met the love of my life.  In making a decision to marry both Erv Herman and I agreed that I would give up, to a degree, the delicious feeling of being on my own.  We also agreed that we were not each other’s parents, as a couple we were on our own together to decide those things couples are responsible for.   As individuals we would never give up our sense of self, our responsibility to ourselves.  As our family grew and our bond strengthened, we made individual decisions and joint ones as well.  I never thought again about being on my own.  We were a family.  We discussed the decisions and made choices together.  Then after many years, more than sixty years my sweetheart died and left me once again, on my own.

   This time was different.  I am grateful that he never knew or understood what it was like to be suddenly on my own at the age of 86:  so many years of togetherness, making decisions together, checking out choices together, being each other’s sounding board, watching facial expressions, knowing what each was thinking before a word was spoken.  We had grown up together and thus had grown together.  Yes, I was bereft in the beginning and often until this day.  When anything important has to be decided, I find myself yelling, “Where are you – how could you leave with this – I do not know what to do!” 

   I am on my own to discover what I must do!  This time for good, this time really and truly!  I am doing fine.  I make my own decisions and when I hit a wall and cannot decide, I have a couple of good people who help me weigh my alternatives.  I have one person I turn to when I bump into a financial problem; another individual helps me with those “emotional” roadblocks that we all run into.  Others, friends and some family form a fine support system. I know to whom to turn for each unique problem that is to me, a life-engaging problem. Yes, I’m very much on my own; because I cannot have Erv back, I now treasure every single moment of my independence.

A Strange Thing Happened

A Strange Thing Happened: There is nothing funny or ludicrous when one visits a dear one in prison. Though folks will smile in response to a greeting there is no gaiety or fun as visitors listen for their names to be called. Sometimes the weatherman adds to the general discomfort. We could sit in the cold and/or rain, waiting for the call. Those are times when I realize that not only my beloved inmate is punished, but so are we, his Mother and I. I visit my grandson every other Sunday. Last Sunday, believe it or not humor enlivened the anxious group of families. I had forgotten one basic rule concerning visits: a visitor may not wear a brassiere with wires. Obviously those in charge of writing rules have had experience with inmates’ ability to turn innocent items into dangerous weapons. My own imagination conjures ideas of how to turn the thin, innocent-looking, flexible bra wires into daunting weapons. I would need a whole set of tools to accomplish anything…I do not have that kind of array, even in my garage. When my turn came, I walked through the metal detector at the prison last Sunday I suddenly remembered the “no wires” rule. The deputy was not impressed with my plea “I am 93, I forgot!” He suggested that I walk (a distance) to the visitors’ center and get a different bra; he was not clear whether I needed to purchase or borrow one. “Just do it if you wish to visit.” My embarrassment was no match for his clarity. The distance was intimidating. I hated delaying Judi’s visit with her son. I suggested that I just take my bra off (in the woman’s room) and visit without wearing one, I was wearing a shirt and jacket, foolishly believed I would be presentable bra-less. I guess I was wrong. The deputy said, certain of his words, “I cannot allow you to do that.” Guess who is in charge! I was already intimidated enough not to state “why, you do not pat every woman down, you have no idea who is and who is not wearing a bra.” I decided this was a power thing or a lascivious man thing: did he think I was planning to seduce someone? Didn’t he notice I was completely covered-up that I am old, need to ride up and down the steep stairs and high hills? We were standing at the gates of a state prison; I behaved, kept my thoughts to myself. My daughter who supported me through this ridiculous caper borrowed a scissors. The deputy ALLOWED her to have them, take them outside and release the wires in my bra. She is 30 years younger than I, apparently she looks less dangerous than I do. I understand rules must be obeyed. But no one can make me believe that the deputy at the metal detector makes a decision about whether a woman is or is not wearing a bra. He hears bells ring and off he goes on his mission: a woman should wear a bra without wires, but wear one she must. Somehow, without touching anyone he can be set off, like the metal detector, no one goes bra-less on his watch. 
  February 10, 2015 Happy 97th Birthday Brother Ben, wish you were here! AGH

This Aging Thing – February 7, 2015 This aging thing raises its head periodically. Usually my life moves along at a steady pace. The years are ever changing, every once in awhile I am startled to do the math and really look my age in the face. I have been so very lucky, I have had much joy and well-being in my life that I am still here. I have not done anything spectacular unless giving up nicotine 52 years ago was unusual. My life is mundane, I wake up early, I take my merry old time getting out of bed and into the kitchen. There, I breakfast on oatmeal, perhaps a horrible cold cereal (what do kids see in that stuff?) with fruit or a bagel with peanut butter and cream cheese (delicious, try it). Always and all day there is fruit. Occasionally I make myself an egg, I really have to want that egg to bother. Then my day moves along to the bathroom, the shower that I take delight in every other day; that is my recognition of the drought and my own slowing energy. This routine is followed by a walk that I do alone. I am not reliable; I cannot promise another that I would maintain a schedule. Sometimes that walk gets postponed until evening, or right after lunch or occasionally I skip the day. The best part of the walk is the neighbor, any neighbor. I stop to chat with, the friend who shouts “hello, how are you today”. I try to avoid Sundays when most of my neighbors are in church or in hiding enjoying the Sunday paper. On Sunday the streets are usually empty and there is no one around with whom to chat. That is a weird lonely day. After my “exercise”, my slow walk around the neighborhood, it is time for lunch or for the lunch date that I have set with a friend. Those are the highlights of my day. I sincerely do not care where we go or what I eat. I am delighted to catch up with a young friend or an elder one. We talk about a great variety of things. We are all different; my friends come from a variety of places around the states and the world. Having a great mix of friends keeps me alive, alert and well. Knowing that others care, knowing that I can still engage in the game of catch-up helps sharpen my wits. Yes, I am interested in other people’s children, as they seem to be interested in mine. Do we talk about politics or religion, those two sensitive subjects that frequently send the best of friends off into anger or angst? It depends. So many years of hearing my dad and brother argue politics as they sat at opposite ends of the discussion, taught me to tread lightly. These “talks” were defensive, loud, angry and for me the younger child, frightening. My rule of thumb regarding religion is to teach as much about my own and listen carefully to what others say about their belief system. At this stage of my life I am in agreement with those who feel death without pain is the best way to go. My own thoughts about after-life are no secret, but they belong to me and I would never try to persuade anyone that mine is the only right way. Most discussions end up with an agreement that we really do not KNOW what is to come. Believing is neither right nor wrong; it’s personal. Politics is a different story. There is a variety of political belief out there in our heads and on our tongues. Through our genes, our jobs, our parents, our life styles, we have made personal decisions about what we believe is good for our own community, city, state and country. Our beliefs are sincerely held many of them have been thoroughly perused. We listen to the speeches; we try to believe the officials and those who insist they will do the right thing for us, I hope those I trust have researched the issues and are sincerely interested in helping us to better our lives. Experience attempts to teach us to distinguish the good people from the not-so-good folks. There is, however, no “good-ometer” to refer to. It is said that by age 25, we are achieving judgment. Hopefully, good judgment includes caring, carefulness and perspective. Meanwhile I just keep on trucking through this aging thing, enjoying all the good things and people who come my way.

Dorothy Died last month!                                                                          February 2, 2015

   Dorothy was my friend; I lost her the other day.  Her iron will, her love for her boys, her

enthusiasm when we talked, her willingness to argue a point have sapped her energy; she was

ready to go.  Surrounded by family Dorothy took her last breath and left us to mourn and to

miss her.

   Our friendship was not long standing, but it was strong.  For both of us it bore witness to the fact that even the elderly, the aged can make new friends and enjoy the warmth a new friendship offers.  Dorothy’s mind was quick, and she was a mischief.  She sought conversations that were not mundane.  She was not interested in the ordinary list of aches and pains, the discussions of good/bad doctors, nor remedies for an aching back or cures for constipation.  She did not even want to discuss how she felt.  Once in awhile she would tell me that yesterday was better than today, “you know what I mean.”  Then she went on to talk about a party at the Chateau that she had not attended.

   On the whole she participated at the Chateau when she felt like it.  In fact it was at a writers’ group there that she and I connected.  Dorothy was a retired psychiatrist and I a retired social worker.  We spoke the same language and had the same spectator sport: we liked to people watch and figure out who people really were.  We shared a desire to understand life’s roller coaster.

   I found that Dorothy was accepting, I could not shock her.  I believe if something I shared did indeed shock her she would simply say, “Oh really” and change the subject.  Though she denigrated her memory and very often could not find the other shoe, she remembered the important things.  She knew who she was and what was important to her.  Sure she was critical, by the time we sail by 80 and 90, who has a better right to be critical?  Dorothy would never deliberately hurt someone’s feelings.  She could be sharp and disdainful, but only to make a point.  I found that Dorothy was a good listener; that of course was her job.  It was a finely honed trait.

   As her friend I knew I could depend on the truth when I sought it;  a listening ear when I needed it; and a caring response when I was at my wits’ end.  Fortunately we never felt “down” at the same time.  Dorothy adored her boys and her grandchildren.  She was smart enough not to have many expectations; therefore she was seldom disappointed.  I will miss my friend who gave so much without even knowing it.  Incidentally, we never discussed religion or politics; good friends know when to skirt sensitive issues.