Lean on Me

This grief is a bit like a Great White Shark in the way it hovers in the depths of the unknown, drifting quietly.  Then, like the great hunter that it is, it comes boiling to the surface with incredible speed and an intent to hit hard.  Lately I never see it coming until I'm nailed.

December 28th and 29th was a Great White Shark attack this year.  Didn't really feel these dates a year ago, but for some reason I got slammed on this anniversary this year.  December 28, 2008 was when Jim was diagnosed with his brain tumor, a glioblastoma.  Though we had been warned that it was probably grade three or four they wouldn't know for sure until after surgery and the lab could give us the results.  Surgery was on December 29th.  The results a grade four - the worst - came days later.

Odd how this grief-beast works.  How I cruised through Christmas this year but got nailed on the 28th and 29th.  But the beast has submerged again, silently sinking back down into the depths.  January 3rd .... Jim's 61st birthday .... floated by with only a rememberance and a note to his sisters telling them I loved them.

I guess I'm finding a rhythm to this.  I'm learning that the beast will only take me down for a short while now, not for days at a time, but for moments.  And I am beginning to trust that I will  recover and look perfectly normal again, though I may feel a bit shaky.

Some how the Gods have gifted me this year with a man who is not afraid of this beast and does not run from these attacks.  Instead he offers me his strength to lean against and his broad shoulders to cry on.   This truly is the greatest gift that anyone could give me in these moments.

"Some times in our lives,
we all have pain, we all have sorrow.
But, if we are wise, we know that there's always tomorrow.

Lean on me, when your not strong, and I'll be your friend,
I'll help you carry on ..... "

WIth grace and love we can all help each other to carry on.

Loving you all back,
Mary

Christmas '11

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
Putting up reindeer
singing songs of Joy and Peace
J. Mitchell

As many of you know, who have read my blogs over the years, I'm a PK ... that stands for Preachers Kid.  My dad was a Congregational minister.  Thus, Christmas was always a command performance; a really big hoopla with carol singing, open house, Christmas eve services and huge family gatherings.  I have very fond memories of Christmas's past and so I still love Christmas.

I was out trail running this morning with just my dog.  It's finally gotten cold in Maine and feeling more like December, still no snow, but this morning the ground is starting to freeze and there was ice on the puddles in the woods.  This morning I got thinking about my dad.  This time of year I usually do.  And I was remembering bits and pieces of growing up with a church as your playground and my dad as a philosopher and theologian.

Dad taught that the Bible was an amazing book of stories and the finest collection of oral history .... but some of it needed to be taken for the great story that it was and not taken literally.  His sermons were about human kindness and angels existing here on earth in the form of good deeds and offering a hand to someone in need and love to those who had lost it.  He taught tolerance and acceptance as this is what the Bible really teaches and what he believed Jesus, Buddha, Mohammad ... all the great philosophers taught.

Dad use to take us kids out every spring to find the patches of mayflowers growing deep in the woods and I fell in love with the intoxicating smell of this tiny woodland flower.  Dad would look at us with a twinkle in his eye and say "let's go hunt Lady Slippers!" ... and off we would trudge to count how many beautiful, pink Maine orchids we could find.  On summer evenings he would take us out to the knoll where we would lay in the field and stare up at the stars while Dad pointed out the constellations to us and talked about light years away and infinity.

When I turned twelve years old my dad told me I could now join the church.  Really?  What must I do?  "Well," he said, "you need to come sit with other people who will be joining the church at the same time and listen to my introduction and hear about what the church is."  OK, easy peasy.  So one evening I walked over with dad to his office in the basement of the church and sat my 12 year old self down with several other adults who were planning to join the church.  I listened and asked no questions .... but ....

The day before the "church-joining-service" I went to my father and asked if I could talk with him.  I bet I surprised him with my solemn approach and asking him to sit down and listen to me.  Not a frequent request from his most timid and quiet child.  I looked at my father, took a deep breath and said, "I'm not going to join your church".   Dad raised his eyebrows, pierced his lips and softened his eyes and said "OK, your reasoning?"  ... "well, you taught me to worship the scent of a Mayflower and you taught me that Lady Slippers are intricate art work of a Greater hand.  You taught me to watch for a falling star and how Orion's Belt got named.  You taught me that God exists in all of these things, outside in the woods and in the starry heavens and in my heart.  You taught me to feel love and awe in all that exists in the natural world. And now you are saying that we will worship God in this house with a steeple on it.   I disagree. So, I can't join your church."

And then I held my breath.

Dad starred at me, and slowly a smile came to his eyes and then to his entire face.  And he said "you're absolutely right."

With my fathers blessing I never joined the church.  But I went to "church" this morning as I ran through the woods smelling balsam furs, noting the gorgeous ice crystals formed in the frost heaving of the soil, and stopped to stare at the brilliant streaks of pink in the sky as the sun peeked over the horizon.  And I offered a prayer of gratitude for all that I have and all the love that I feel.

"It's coming on Christmas .... "  and my thoughts turn to my dad and the fabulous way he taught what it means to be "Spiritual".  How he taught me  to give thanks, every day and to count my blessings.  How he lived his life with gratitude and, especially, how to be kind and loving.

And most importantly he taught me that no matter what you call God: Jesus, Great Spirit, Buddha or Mohammad .... they all were preaching the same lesson.  LOVE.

Maybe it can be that simple.

Have a safe and joyous Holiday season.

LOVING you all back,
Mary

Small Stuff

I never read the book, Don't Sweat the Small Stuff, but I have always liked that title and love the concept.  And you know, I use to think that I lived by that concept ... that I really did not sweat the small stuff.   I'm starting to see that maybe I did get caught up in sweating all that small stuff ... and maybe some of this has actually changed ... and maybe this is a really good thing!

Being in this new relationship is such an eye opening experience and sheds new light in dark corners.  At 55 years old I certainly never thought I'd be starting over ... but it's wonderful and has me noticing some big changes that have occurred in my being.  Of course these changes probably came about during the eighteen months of caring for Jim.  As so many of you know, my house and life were turned up-side-down and inside out at this time.  There were friends who had volunteered to do whatever needed doing  coming and going in the house seven days/week.  One friend once asked me "how do you live with all these people in your house all the time?"  I remember looking at him and saying "I need these people here helping me.  How could I live without them?"

OK, it wasn't always easy.  There were Post-It notes all over the house: dishes in the dishwasher are clean, here's how to work the woodstove, please remember to leave this door unlocked, Jim's medicine and supplement schedule today is ...., don't use this light switch ...  and on and on.  My house was no longer my own but had turned into a very public, open house.  Trust me, I never minded this!  I truly didn't.  Life was so incredibly thrown into the air and all the pieces of the original puzzle were landing and strewn all over our world;  this public arena of a house was now the norm for us.  It was just how our life's puzzled pieces were landing and we lived with it.

And of course things got misplaced, things got broken, things didn't get put away .... for months! ... house cleaning didn't happen, things got spilled and semi-cleaned up.  And none of this mattered.  Not one tiny bit.  This was really, really small stuff in my world at that time.

So here I am with this new guy who comes with his own history and we're feeling things out.  Dave is treading softly around the house at times.  He broke a coffee mug and felt badly about it.   My response?  "I'd rather have you in my kitchen than that mug."  He spilled a glass of wine while he was cooking dinner for us and apologized profusely.  Since he was at a crucial moment in the dinner prep I cleaned the mess up and asked him why he felt the need to apologize so much?  Because in his history this would have made his partner at the time very, very angry.  OH!  I get it.   And as I thought on this I remembered years back getting really pissed at Jim for not paying attention and breaking a dish, spilling the wine, folding the towels wrong, not doing a task I had asked him to do immediately!  All of this ... all these old patterns of frustration and ways to get pissed off and .... sweating the small stuff .... have become, for me, just this ...  really small stuff that I no longer bother with.

You know what?  I find this very liberating.  I really LIKE this new part of me who doesn't care how the towels are folded, is delighted to have someone cook me dinner and could give a rats-ass about the spilled wine.  I no longer care if my napkins for a dinner party match or not ... I want to see my friends who are coming to dinner, and assume this is how they feel about me, and nobody cares whether the table is set for Martha Stewart or not.   I truly mean it when I say there is not one piece of stuff in this house that holds any kind of value when compared to this man who is here now.  Nothing is more valuable to me than this guy who is radiating warmth into the dark, cold corners of this house and bringing love and joy to my home again.

You see, that wine gets cleaned up and the glass refilled.  Those towels end up fitting into the closet regardless of how they got folded.  That coffee mug can be replaced ... but this guy bringing me the coffee in the morning can not be replaced.  That guy who got brain cancer and left me far too early can never be replaced.

Yup, I can honestly say, I do not sweat the small stuff anymore.

Loving you all back,
Mary

Solo

I've been wondering if I should change the name of my blog since I'm not really "solo" these days.  This thought process has unraveled some interesting bundles in my mind.  What does it mean to be solo?

For five days we sat in Hospice while Jim sank deeper into a morphine coma.  I was told by the hospice staff that hearing was the very last thing to go, so I conducted myself with the knowledge that Jim could hear all that was going on around him .... and I decided that he could also comprehend it all.  When friends would come into the room and want to sit by Jim I would go over and tell him who was here and that they would be with him for a little bit, and then I would motion for them to come over to the bedside and I would sit on the other side of the room with other family and friends standing vigil with me.

At night I would lay down beside Jim, touch his arm, his chest, his hand and tell him how much I loved him.  Tell him what an amazing human being he was, what an amazing life he led and how grateful I was to have been such an intricate part of it.  I would tell him that he could leave it all now, his fight with his disease was over. I would assure him that I would be OK, he didn't have to hang on for me ... and he could allow himself to dissolve into the heart of Buddha and leave his broken shell.

And on May 7th, 2010 he did just that.  I realized that he was completely solo.  No matter how much I attempted to comfort him, to let him know he was not alone in that room, in that night, in this journey ... he was.  There was no one else there for him in that final moment.  Only his spirit knows what that passing is/was.  And he did it ... all alone.

A few short months later I was kneeling by the birthing pool holding the hand of my niece, Jennywren, while she was in the throws of intense labor with her first child.  There was that final point where she looked at her husband, Jay - who was holding her other hand - and then looked at me and said "I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't!"  I put my head down onto hers and whispered in her ear, "Jenny, you HAVE to!"  There was no one else to do it.  She was on her own with this process, this journey.  And then she gave me a look that said "I could rip your face off" as she had her final contraction;  with a whoosh and a splash, little Skyla Mae shot into this world.

As the midwife caught this little being, that baby looked straight at me with a wide-eyed expression of "WHOA!  WHERE AM I?" on her face.  I'll never forget it!  And I realized at that very moment that this little person had to go through this process alone.  Connected by that umbilicus, yes, but there was no one else in that birth canal, no one else in that tiny body, no else was born with her at that moment.  It was only Sklya.

And, no matter how much comfort we offered to Jennywren during her labor she, too, was alone in her process.  Only she could do it.  Only she was in that birth zone with her pain and only she was there for that final push to bring that baby into this world.

No matter how many gather around us, ultimately, each of us is alone in our world.  No matter how many arms surrounded me in my pain and grief ... only I could go through my process.  I was alone with those tsunami waves, alone in trying to resurface and breathe again; I am alone now as I unravel these bundles of thoughts and memories.  Even though I have this new, amazing man who is so quickly becoming my dearest friend, who is now a companion to me and who has made the echoes in this house recede so that this old house feels like a home again.  Even with this ... it's still only me on this journey of mine.

We come into this world alone, and we leave it all alone.

Thus,  I'm keeping this name on my blog because I like it and because I feel we are all, basically, solo on our journey through life.

Loving you all back,

Mary

PS - thanks to David Lovejoy for this picture of me on Lobster Lake in the north woods of Maine.

Stars

The stars are incredibly beautiful this morning. While I waited for the coffee to finish dripping I sat out on my deck for a few minutes allowing myself to get lost in their mysterious pin pricks of light.

Stars. Steve Jobs died this past week. At fifty six. Cancer. Once again the best of the best is taken too soon.

So many fabulous quotes of Jobs are getting shared via this internet system and on the very machines that he created. What an extraordinary man he was. I read a quote of his about being a genius:

"Here's to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemaker, the round pegs in the square holes ... the ones who see things differently - they're not fond of rules ... You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, the the only thing you cant do is ignore them because they change things ... they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do it." Steve Jobs

It was probably very difficult at times for Jobs to be such a square peg, to have that brain that operated so differently from all others around him. But with his death I am learning of the integrity with which this man operated, even though he was such a huge corporate persona. And we are all hearing of this huge heart of his too. In a speech he delivered to the Stanford graduating class of 2005 he said:

"Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life, because almost everything - all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There s no reason not to follow your heart."

Jim Daniels understood this those last few months while he lived so close to the veil, clinging to life but seeing death over his left shoulder. As compromised as he was near the end that man was grabbing for all the gusto that his life could offer him. He started to refuse to take naps so that he and I could be together and go for a drive, go visit others, sit outside in the early spring sunshine. The last fundraising event that was thrown for us was such a huge party and celebration and Jim danced all night with no embarrassment, no pride. He danced with abandon and joy .... and with all his heart.

I know, now, that he knew his death was close and he was choosing all that life would give him at that moment.

I too have learned so much from the experience of living with Jim's cancer; clinging to the pin prick of light that shone through his eyes during some pretty dark mornings. With this new relationship I'm embarking on I have witnessed this change in myself. Dave lived in Camden so there was a long distance dance that we were doing. He said to me, "we'll find our rhythm in this arrangement. We'll get through the winter and figure something else out." But I was the impatient one .... I operate from a different perspective these days. You see, I no longer believe we have all the time in the world. I've seen my life turned upside down with the snap of a finger. I've learned to believe that we only have today, tomorrow has no guarantees. Impatient ... yes! To live now, to grab for the gusto today, to appreciate all those pin pricks of light that sparkle through the darkness and to dance under the stars.

And so, we made the change and brought our worlds together.

Stars. SInce I don't know which of those up there this morning is my lucky one I send a "Thank you" to them all .... for this new laughter, joy and love ... again. And to the life that taught me to live in this moment ... this today.

Loving you all back,

Mary

Tango On

Once again I need to thank all of you who sent me private messages regarding my last blog. It's always fascinating for me to see what words of mine will strike what chords with you. And the notes you send are so heart felt and honest that I feel incredibly honored to have you share your feelings with me.

And, yes, I plan to keep writing. As one friend said, "take us along!" And so, I shall.

I'm finding myself in pretty deep with this new guy who appeared out of the blue and so easily and quickly grabbed this broken heart of mine. To his credit he doesn't want to mend it but chooses to open up the parts that are still alive, still functioning, still yearning and willing to give and receive again. And he's doing this with such loving consideration, an openness to communication and a gentleness that has me floored. He's a lot of fun too and has whisked me off on several adventures already (other blogs perhaps).

But you know, after being with someone as long as Jim and I were together you get so you can just hit the cruise button. This new relationship feels like a race car on full throttle squealing down a winding, narrow canyon road! One small slip can send this all crashing over the edge. One of the risks of falling ... in love ... I guess.

I've always been willing to take a risk, to leap into the adventure without knowing what's ahead and grab for the gusto regardless. Fear of flying never stopped me from taking flight. Besides as one dear friend told me "what's the worst that can happen here? After all that you went through with Jim and all that you lost when you lost your Jim, what really is the worst that can happen now? Nothing will ever be as bad as that Mary!" She's a wise woman who I love dearly!

I have these moments of questioning; when I allow my head to go into it's Mexican radio station of jibbering I, for some stupid reason, turn off my hearts intuitive knowing and I go into that place of gasping with doubt. When this happens I remember a line from the movie Scent of a Woman. Al Pacino, who plays a blind ex-Army Sergeant, has asked a young woman to dance the Tango with him at a restaurant. She is shy and scared and tells him she doesn't know how to Tango and she's afraid of making a mistake. Pacino answers her with "that's the great thing about the Tango, if you make a mistake, you just tango on....."

It takes two to Tango and right now I'm loving this dance. But I do know that if I make a mistake then I can ... just ... Tango on.

Loving you all back,

Mary

Unfolding

On September 7 it will be sixteen months since Jim died. Jim was horribly sick. He had gone from being a vibrant, athletic, intellectual man to a person who couldn't talk, had a lot of trouble walking, was unable to read or maintain the needed focus to follow the story line of a movie. All this was due to those damn tumors. He fought hard for 18 months but still he kept slipping away. I understand now that the crazy behavior he was demonstrating a month or more prior to his diagnosis was also the result of the tumors taking hold - but we thought it was stress and anxiety attacks. Thus I feel like I lost my Jim thirty six months ago .... or a full three years. It doesn't sound like much time when written out like that, but it feels like an entire life time in too many ways.

I wrote, in my last post, about how I am witnessing a transformation in myself. How I seem to be more open and receptive to connecting with people. How I am engaging more and shutting down less. I truly believe this is a gift that Jim gave me when he passed.

So in all this transforming and unfolding I began to talk to my nearest and dearest friends about possibly dating again. My best friend, MM, kept telling me to go on Match.com. I always gave her the same reply .. "Never!" Well, never say never. Somehow, at a weak moment I guess, she made the suggestion one more time. She told me that it would be good for me to meet some new people, to do a little harmless dating, to just hear men say nice things to me and get some of my groove back. I thought it might be an interesting study in sociology and, what the heck, it couldn't hurt - right?

She had me write out my profile just to see how it felt. I did this. Then she sent me pictures that she had of me with notes "this would be a great profile picture", or "use this one definitely!" So I now had a profile and several pretty good images of what I look like so .... I just posted it there on Match.

And immediately got an email from someone!

Now what?

This world of Match.com is certainly an interesting place. In this cyberspace you can poke, wink or favorite someone. You can also email via the site without ever knowing someone's real name or anything about them except what they are willing to tell you in their profile - which I was warned repeatedly can be pure fabrication. Here I was with an email from someone and I couldn't open it. I had to pay the requested fee to actually become an active and matching member of this Match.com world. Why was I surprised by this?

Alrighty then, I bit the bullet and signed on for one month.

Things became active very quickly and I began to do "coffee dates" - these are meetings that you agree to do with someone who piques your interest and you've emailed a few cryptic notes with to get more information. So you meet for coffee, or a glass of wine, and see if there's any chemistry for either of you. On my first coffee date the man asked if he could see me again. I was taken aback, I laughed and even said aloud "Oh my God, this is the next step isn't it? Gee-whiz. Can I think about it?" Poor guy, not the reaction he was looking for probably.

I began meeting some really interesting people as well as emailing with others; a professional writer who wrote me entire stories. I would get a cup of coffee and just settle back to read the emails from this man - who I never met. A back-to-the-lander from Vermont who had the IQ off the charts but was real down to earth and very interesting to talk to. An economics professor who was consulted by the Clinton administration on how best to get the country back on it's feet. A banker who has been a surfer for over 4o years. I was intrigued by the science of surfing. Those guys become geologist and meteorologists in their study of waves and where to catch the best ones.

With these meetings I realized that I had a very different agenda then most of these people on Match; sociology experiment was NOT what these guys were after.

But, you see, I was pretty certain that I was not going to meet anybody who I would consider a match for me. I had decided that I had found the love of my life and lived with him for 31 years ... something some people never find ... so I would be content with a nice, comfortable person who might not enjoy all the things that I do but I have a lot of friends to call on to go off and do said things with. Thus, I would be willing to compromise and accept that the next partner might not really be a true love, and that would be OK. I didn't know how I might meet this person but it sure didn't feel like I was going to find them on Match.com.

Then after only three weeks on Match I got an email from a man, DL, who lives in Camden. After our first "coffee date" where we hiked all over an island and talked for hours and hours I realized this guy was different. This guy and his big energy, sense of humor, adventurous spirit and zest for life felt like a match. As I told him, "the last time I felt like this about someone it lasted thirty one years!" And that pretty much sums up how I feel about this man. I'm amazed, shocked, over-the-moon, astounded and can't believe my lucky stars. To feel this twice in a life time seems so ... so .... abundant! ... and I feel blessed by the Gods somehow.

I've shared all this with a few of you in private emails and conversations. The encouragement and words of wisdom you all have shared with me have buoyed me up. Some of you reminded me that Jim would want me to be happy and would be delighted that I have found someone who has me feeling this again. Others have said how happy they are for me and still others of you have looked at me and said "you have a sparkle in your eyes again that was gone for the last three years. And my sister-in-law, Donna, told me at the end of a phone conversation that she could hear my voice again ..."I've waited three years to hear that voice Mary. If this guy can do this then I say 'thank you Dave!' "

A sparkle in my eyes ... yes .. I can even see it. And I'm twirling again. A Maple Key falling and twirling all the way down.

A big question I have is what to do about my blog?! It, obviously, is going to change dramatically. Do I keep writing because I love to write and this blog gives me the discipline as well as the space to do this? Do I write about my adventures, my crows, my observations and life? Do you all keep reading because you are interested? I'm actually throwing this out there to you all and hoping for some feedback on it! I mean this.

I continue to unfold and to open myself to all the unknowns that are offered me, still, always .... on this path called life.

Loving you all back,

Mary