Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.

Tag Archives: musings


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Healing doesn’t mean you aren’t grieving anymore

In the beginning you believe the worst possible thing that has just happened to you and your family is the absolute worst possible thing ever. That no family, no person can possibly be grieving as deeply as you are. And time passes and your focus shifts slightly beyond your own searing pain and you see that someone else is hurting too. That others have experienced similar events.

That it’s not all about you.

And that’s the first baby step to healing. That realization that you are not alone, that others have similar stories, similar, though not exact, pain.

I’ve started reading Cheryl Strayed’s “Brave Enough.” I’m not very far into it — barely started in fact — and already this quote of hers makes me stop and reread. And nod in agreement. And read it again. And want to share it with all of you.

“”When you recognize that you will thrive not in spite of your losses and sorrows, but because of them, that you would not have chosen the things that happened in your life, but you are grateful for them, that you will hold the empty bowls eternally in your hands, but you also have the capacity to fill them? The word for that is healing.”

And now, not an hour later, I’m reading a blog written by a woman who has been through trials most of us couldn’t imagine, including the sudden death of her husband a year ago. A line down near the bottom of the post stops me again. And makes me want to share it (and her) with you.

“Emotions don’t get better. We get better at holding them. They don’t get less heavy, we get stronger.”

Both women are right. Out of trials and loss and grief and pain we get stronger. And often we grow in directions we might never have moved without the experiences that left indelible scars on our souls.

I never wanted nor dreamed of the losses that changed our family. But given that’s the way it is, I’m pleased to continue the growth, spawned but not defined, by life events.

Wherever you are in the cycle of life, I hope you can see the light and hope and growth shining ahead of you. If you need a hand up, there are plenty of people willing to take hold. And if you’ve moved into a good place yourself, glance around once in awhile. Someone might be there, just in the shadow, ready to move, but needing a little nudge.

I’ll get off the soapbox now.

1954 Dad and Mom

1954 Dad and Mom


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Bits of this and that

Katie and I are officially camping right now. Only we’re not.

I have the last concert of the season tonight, dress rehearsal was last night. So after rehearsal, late in the night, I gathered her up and we drove over to the State Park where I have a campsite reserved.

Katie was very confused. I woke her up out of a sound sleep when I got home, asked her if she wanted to go camping, she ran to the back door very excited to camp in the back yard, and I picked her up and put her in the car! Oh no she thought! Where are we going? This can’t be good! This is not normal! I like normal!

What's going on mama? (This is from last year because I haven't taken the camera to camp yet this trip!)

What’s going on mama? (This is from last year because I haven’t taken the camera to camp yet this trip!)

Once at our campsite, in the dark with only stars overhead she sniffed a bit, wanted to go on a long walk (which I vetoed…it’s good to be the mama) and finally consented to getting in the tent. But she wouldn’t settle down. This was not right! It smelled different! What are we doing mama? Where are we? Why are we here? Where’s my daddy?!?!

Eventually she settled down and we both shivered through the cold night until 5:30 when, according to Sheltie rules, it is important to be wide awake. So we went out, walked down to the bath house, both of us did what we needed to do and we walked back to the tent and went back to sleep.

It all worked out.

Last year we camped a lot!

Last year we camped a lot!

But now we’re back at the house while I get ready for tonight’s concert. She seems very sleepy. I am too.

We’re playing a bunch of music tonight, and will be joined by selected 7th graders for two pieces. They came to rehearsal last night; they are very good and play like they’re in high school. Oh but the drama of it all! I’d forgotten what it was like to be in 7th grade, so confident, so giggly, so out there. They made our band sound great and it will be fun to preform with them tonight.

And totally unrelated, this happened a couple of mornings ago at home.

Mom and Dad visited for a moment.

Mom and Dad visited for a moment.

A good friend painted the mockingbird on the rock when my parents died. It’s a long story, but I consider the mockingbird to represent my mom, and when one pops up around me I always say hi because it feels like a visit from her.

And the rainbow? Well, after mom died someone in dad’s church gave him a little prism that on sunny days spread a rainbow across his kitchen. That’s still on the windowsill of our lake house. This particular rainbow was created by the sun shining through my front door. I’ve never seen it before, and certainly not shining on mom’s mockingbird.

So I figure I got a joint visit this week. Made me smile pretty wide.

Hope it makes you smile too.

You HAVE to smile at me!

You HAVE to smile at me!


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Blinded by the dark

The power went out sometime during the night, and we sleep with blackout blinds so the bedroom is pitch black when I wake. I reach around for Katie and find her upside down at my feet. Wondering what time it is I get up to look for my phone but I’m afraid to leave Katie on the bed in the blackness. She resists me picking her up but finally is safe on the floor as we inch out to the living room which is illuminated a bit by the outside gray.

It’s 4:30 a.m.

Our ‘automatic’ generator is not running but I can hear one chugging away somewhere down the street. A big truck with squeaky brakes and a rumbling diesel engine is out on the road, flashers and headlights glowing as electric company employees look for the problem.

Katie growls and barks.

With nothing we can do to fix the problem I carry Katie back to the bedroom, close the door so husband can poke around with a flashlight, and we settle back to sleep. Or not. Katie is restless and I’m afraid of her falling off the bed. But she wants to be close. My little non-snuggling dog presses her hip against mine and gives a big sigh, a sign she’s going back to sleep. But then she’s up, carefully picking her way across pillows to lay near my head, licking my arm and panting. She wants to hold my hand in her mouth, but I gently disengage and scratch her ears. She curls up against my shoulder and sighs again. Then moves slightly away and whimpers a bit. I wonder how much she can see, whether she thinks she has lost her sight. I wonder if being blind would bother her.

And so we wait, Katie and I, we wait for the light to return.

And then…the first hint. The solitary warble of our robin, first tentatively, then stronger, then bursting into full song. The crack between the blinds and the window casing lightens just a bit. The freeway, a mile away, begins to hum.

Katie sighs contentedly and rolls over as I get up to raise the blinds and let the morning in.

Imported Photos 01295


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Disoriented

We came back from our road trip to a typical spring in Michigan. Snow and sleet, frost and freeze warnings all in mid-May. It’s confusing. Just last week I was running on the board walk at Virginia Beach in shorts, getting overheated while wearing a long sleeved technical shirt, hair up under a hat, sun blinding my eyes.

Ah the memories.

There were times during the trip that I felt disoriented too. We spent a lot of time exploring the history that permeates Virginia.

Returning to another century.

Returning to another century.

Williamsburg, Jamestown, Yorktown.

And then we’d drive back to our hotel room in Virginia Beach…

Crazy place.

Crazy place.

…filled with tourists and cars and bright lights and seafood buffets. For a moment, standing on the top of the parking deck back at the hotel I had to shake my head to clear it. Which world was real?

Maybe neither.

Even out on the road we slipped between the seasons. Where it was early summer in Virginia…

Green hills of Virginia.

Green hills of Virginia.

…driving back through Pennsylvania a day later we watched spring arriving all over again.

Regressing into spring.

Regressing into spring.

It was all disorienting, almost surreal. But then Katie came home and took us under her paw. We’re back to reality now.

Thanks Katie-girl.

Good morning mama!

Good morning mama!


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Wish they taught history like this when we were growing up.

The 'epicenter' of our country, where it all began.

The ‘epicenter’ of our country, where it all began.


Did you know the birthplace of our country was not in Plymouth Massachusetts? Me either. Or if I knew I’d certainly forgotten. (Click on any picture to make it larger and more clear.)

Today we visited Jamestown, where the English landed in 1607, and the location of their first successful settlement. They attempted four other settlements in years prior at other locations, but each of those failed.

Captain Smith faces the James river at what was once the front entrance to the fort.

Captain Smith faces the James river at what was once the front entrance to the fort.

Jamestown was settled in 1607 as a business venture because the English had heard there were riches to be had in America. The settlers were immediately and continually attacked by the local Indians and by the winter of 1608 were without food in brutal cold. Many died, and by the next spring less than 60 survived.

Archeologists finally found the original fort in the mid-90s after decades of attempts. They are still digging.

Archeologists finally found the original fort in 1992 after decades of attempts. They are still digging.

This is the fort where Pocahontas and John Smith met. She did, in fact, save his life, but she did not have a romantic relationship with him, despite what Disney says. She brought food to the fort during the long winter, and ended up marrying John Rolf and moving to London where she died young, and where she is buried.

The brick tower of the church is the only original structure left and dates from the mid 17th century.

The brick tower of the church is the only original structure left and dates from the mid 17th century.

Our docent at Jamestown reminded us that if this settlement had not survived England would likely not have tried again. The area would have been settled eventually, but most likely by Spain, or possibly France. Our country would not have existed were it not for these few surviving settlers.

Our docent spent an hour and a half telling us about the history here.

He spent an hour and a half telling us about the history here.

Kind of makes you think doesn’t it.

Later in the day we learned the history, just up the road, of the 1781 battle at Yorktown which ended the American Revolution. The British were camped there, led by a very strong and successful Lieutenant General, Charles Cornwallis. General George Washington, in conjunction with French Allies, had far fewer troops than the British, but beat them at Yorktown, in part because they had larger artillery and cannons.

"FIRE!"

“FIRE!”

It’s a much longer and more complicated story than that, but it comes down to the fact that we had the bigger guns. We got to watch a 24 pound cannon be fired at the Yorktown Visitor Center. It was pretty impressive.

The ranger says that while the battle of Yorktown didn't end the war, nothing significant happened after, so essentially it was this surrender of the British that gave The United States independence.

The ranger says that while the battle of Yorktown didn’t end the war, nothing significant happened after, so essentially it was this surrender of the British that gave The United States independence.

Then we drove a bit to the Moore House where the terms of surrender were worked out between the British and us. It’s a pretty little house with a long lawn down to the James River. It wasn’t open when we were there but I enjoyed walking down to the river to see the view.

Where details of the British surrender were worked out.

Where details of the British surrender were worked out.

Yesterday we were in Colonial Williamsburg, and while we were there we toured a bit of the College of William and Mary. I’ve got lots of photos, and it’s going to be hard to choose which to show you.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Today was Mother’s Day, and I’ve associated mockingbirds with my mom for many years. Oddly, or maybe not so oddly, there were several mockingbirds flitting about most of the day, especially at James Fort.

Hey mom! We had such a pretty day today!

Hey mom! We had such a pretty day today!

Somehow I think my mom was exploring right along side of us.

Tonight we’re on the ocean at Virginia Beach. I’m listening to the ocean waves as I sort photos. Retirement is good.

Stay tuned.

The British were here.

The British were here.


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Arlington musings

Gate to the Cemetery and the Robert E Lee house up on the hill.

Gate to the Cemetery and the Robert E Lee house up on the hill.


We meant to spend part of the day at Arlington Cemetery and the rest of the day at the Air and Space Museum. After all, it wasn’t our first trip out to Arlington, and we’ve been to the National Cemetery in Michigan a few times as well.

Turns out we underestimated our time wandering the cemetery grounds.

We spent nearly the entire day exploring, searching for particular grave sites, contemplating, watching. Listening. Listening to taps being played at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers, listening to a marching band playing military music off in the distance during the changing of the guard…

Changing the honor guard.

Changing the honor guard.

…listening to a mocking bird singing high over the endless rows of white marble markers.

Probably not a mockingbird, but he was pretty.

Probably not a mockingbird, but he was pretty.

And toward the end of our visit just when I was commenting about how peacefully quiet it was, how beautiful this particular tree was…

Pretty shade.

Pretty shade.

…a military flyover came roaring up from the Potomac, right overhead, shattering the peace, but raising the awesome level of our total experience.

We saw Senator Frank Lautenberg’s grave site. He was always so supportive of our safety efforts. We miss him – he was a good man. His stone should have proclaimed his work toward saving people’s lives on our roads.

It doesn’t, but we know.

You did good work Senator.

You did good work Senator.

But the stone that touched me the most was that of Medgar Evers. A simple white stone, like hundreds of thousands of others, set down over a hill below President Taft, it was evident that several people had come to visit and pay their respects.

Remembering Medgar Evers.

Remembering Medgar Evers.

He did good work too.

Wandering in Arlington was beautiful, but oh so sad. Because we had to acknowledge that every one of the thousands of headstones represented a person, someone’s child. They all belonged to someone.

Each one an individual.

Each one an individual.

And now they all belong to us.

Sobering.

On the back of the stone for Oliver Wendell Lewis, a Major General who served in World War II, Korea and Vietnam but was only 71 when he died, was this quote:

Good advice.

Good advice.

I like to think that those of us working for truck safety are doing just that – walking in the world for our loved ones. I think the General has it exactly right.

I wish everyone had the opportunity to visit this cemetery, to experience the solemnity, the sense of awe, the feeling of pride. I have to think the country would be in better shape if everyone spent a day exploring this special place.

There’s sadness here, but there’s peace and hope too.

Visit if you can.

Always vigilant.

Always vigilant.


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Before and after

I think most people have a date in their past that bisects their own history. The date when everything shifted, the world tilted, life changed. A date that is used as a measuring unit against all events past and future.

For me it’s the year 2004, the year we lost both parents and moved into adulthood with stunning finality. Forever more when I hear a date related to anything, an event, a birthday, a bit of historical trivia I think…”that was before Mom died.” or “Dad had been gone a year by then.” 2004 feels something like a watershed, with all the life experiences prior cataloged as ‘before’ and everything that has happened since labeled ‘after.’

Yesterday my husband and I sat with a family member in waiting areas of two hospitals as her mother struggled to stay alive. We listened to her story, how her mother came to be this ill, what the prognosis was. While we waited we told family stories about relatives long gone, family members today, heard about her kids far away in another state. We laughed a bit, got teary a bit, hugged some. Worried a lot.

I wondered if the day would become her dividing point, the day she would remember as her world tilting, changing, forever different. Thankfully yesterday didn’t turn into that day. And this morning the sun is shining and there are new questions to ask, new decisions to be made.

I sat in waiting rooms yesterday and contemplated how life changes. How change is different for everyone. How I’ll never have to sit in a waiting room making life and death decisions for either of my parents. How I felt slightly guilty to be glad of that. But how I would have been grateful for time with either of them no matter how difficult saying goodbye would have been.

In the past month I’ve had three good friends lose a parent, witnessed three families defining before and after. I guess it’s natural.

But darn, change is hard.


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Funeral musings

Somebody’s dad died this week. Phil was 96, in poor health, and his death wasn’t unexpected. His wife of 65 years said he was ready, that he had seen angels in his hospital room. He was deeply faithful and his family is comforted by that.

It’s only in the past year that I’ve reconnected with his youngest son through Facebook, and it’s only through Facebook that I heard the news of his failing health. And then the death. Funeral arrangements were in my home town, and I made plans to attend. I couldn’t not attend.

He was the father of my best friend from junior high and high school, my college roommate, my peer in the business world after we graduated. My only contact with her parents for the past twenty-four years has been Christmas cards, each of us sending newsy letters about the previous year. And then last year I read that their youngest son’s wife had died unexpectedly and I wrote back asking for an address for him. And that lead to Facebook communication with him.

So I went to the funeral, introduced myself to the oldest daughter, hugged the wife and both sons. The person I most wanted to hug was my old best friend. But I couldn’t because she wasn’t there. You see, the last time I had seen any of these people was twenty-four years ago at Sallie’s funeral. She died from an aggressive leukemia when she was 36.

I can’t say that I still think of her every day. But I think about her a lot. And I was talking to her inside my head during the entire service for her dad. I was looking at her older sister and picturing Sallie as she might look at age sixty. Sixty! The age we both should be right now. But I can only remember her as she was at my wedding when we were both 34. Or how she was the last time I saw her a couple weeks before she died.

She would have liked to be turning sixty. Unlike me who is struggling a bit with that number, she would have embraced it, planned an adventure, charged right toward it. Her sister thanked me for coming to the funeral, ‘representing Sallie.’ I don’t think I was representing her so much as honoring her along with her dad. They were both fine human beings. I miss her. I know her siblings will be missing them both.

This family has been through a lot of loss, more than just this recent loss and the loss of their daughter and sister so long ago. But they are strong. Strong in their love for each other and strong in their belief that those in the family who have gone ahead are all together, and will greet each of them when their time comes.

At the cemetery an honor guard folded the flag that had draped the casket and gave it to Phil’s wife. I glanced up at the sky and saw the clouds forming a huge heart right above the tent. I’m pretty sure it was Sallie and her dad comforting us and letting us all know we are loved.

And then taps played and I began to cry all over again.

Imported Photos 00774


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In a box

Mom's handwriting232 cropped 2xWe’ve been sorting stuff here. Boxes of stuff that has lived in the basement for almost a quarter century. Today I worked through several boxes of books, most of which I donated to our local library for their regular book sale.

And then there was the box of ‘office supplies.’

Most of what was in there turned out to be the dregs of my desk, emptied when I left the employment of a bank back in 1992. A rolodex filled with Realtor business cards, phone numbers to county water departments, tax offices, appraisers. Old business cards of my own, a clock, pens. Spent rubber bands.

And down at the bottom was a hanging file containing a pile of letters from my mother.

I’ve only read a couple, both from the mid 90’s. They’re nothing extraordinary, filled with weather and what’s blooming, lake temperatures and levels, birds she’d seen. Baby ducks. Many of them are handwritten, though in later years when she learned that newfangled word processor called a personal computer they began to be typed.

When I was a kid I watched my mom write a postcard to her mother every week. Tiny little script filling up every inch of the postcard surface. Often she ran the last sentence up the side of the card. There are a few postcards to me in the file too, completely covered in her writing.

I don’t have to read them all to feel good. Just seeing her handwriting makes me smile.

I know that eventually I should sort them out, maybe get them into a binder for easier reading. But suddenly that seems too hard. I’ve been scanning family pictures for days. Her face and the faces of all of us are everywhere I look, spread across the table, entrenched in the back of my eyes. Such young faces, all of us, even mom and dad.

We were all so young.

And now here are her letters and it feels as though she and dad are just off somewhere on vacation. That I’ll get another letter in the mailbox next week or the week after that, sharing the latest trip, the daffodils in bloom now, the bluebirds building in the nest box down by the water. Even now, eleven years later, when I go out to the mailbox there’s that little bit of anticipation about what might be there.

But now I have this treasure trove of letters.

I’m glad I kept them, and I’ll read them all again someday. It’s not the same of course. But it’s not overtly sad, just tinged a bit with wistfulness. I know I’m lucky she was a letter writer and I’m a saver. It’s good to see her handwriting, it’s almost like hearing her speak.

I guess there is some benefit to sorting through boxes. I found a hug from my mom.
Mom's handwriting234