Tag Archives: change

June 23, 2017 · 11:38 pm

3:00 a.m.

 

 

It’s 3:00 a.m. and I am awake

like I am so many other nights.

My first thought is,

“Of course, the moment his heart

stopped.”

I am tugged out of the escape of sleep.

The house is dark

and so quiet.

I get up, walk to the bathroom,

walk back to bed,

waiting for sleep to return.

 

It’s 3:00 a.m. and time moves slowly,

becoming 3:15,

when there was still hope,

when the phone rang and

in a foggy confusion I got

in the car.

 

It’s 3:30 a.m. I am still awake,

watching minutes tick by,

noticing the light of the moon

trickling in

through the window shades.

 

It’s 3:30 a.m. and I run,

too late,

through

the hospital to Urgent Care.

Missing the pronouncement

by only one minute.

 

It’s 4:00 a.m. and the mockingbird

is singing as I try

fruitlessly to return to slumber.

There isn’t enough air.

The room is too light,

the blankets too warm, and

the pillow offers no comfort.

 

It’s 4:00 a.m. and the hospital room is full,

of family, friends, support.

But, it is empty too,

of a life, of a future.

The nurses say, “It’s time to go.”

The doctor’s say, “We must clear the room.”

But how can we move when time is standing

so still?

 

It’s 4:30 a.m. and my mind won’t stop

thinking about this different life

filled with decisions I make alone,

about paint colors, room designs,

coordinating the arrival of cabinets,

the avoiding of packing

my old life and deciding what to take

into the new life.

 

It’s 4:30 a.m. and we are leaving

the hospital room,

lingering in hallways,

hesitating,

not ready to head home,

away from the place

where hope once lived.

 

It’s 5:00 a.m. and exhaustion is

setting in.

Sleep is slowly returning

and it doesn’t matter that the bed

is too big or

that the bird is still mocking.

 

It’s 5:00 a.m. and we are all exhausted

by the disbelief,

coming home to the whirlwind of

plans and decisions.

eating bagels, drinking coffee,

We are waiting for planes to arrive,

for cars to bring everyone

together,

our eyes aching, dry and red.

Multiple empty boxes of Kleenex

dotting the house.

 

It’s 6:00 a.m. and morning is near, but I cling

to sleep.

Just a few more minutes…

The sounds of other birds begin now,

robins, finches, the occasional cry of a hawk or crow.

They beckon me to rise, eyes opening again.

 

It’s 6:00 a.m. and it feels like

A thousand hours have passed.

3:00 a.m. is a lifetime away.

Time is divided into before and after.

Information is being gathered,

preparations are being made,

prayers are sent and phone calls break the stunned silence.

 

It is 6:15 a.m. and

the sun rises.

It is a new day and the need to crawl

back to sleep is over.

This is the first day of a new life,

another day of a new life.

A blend of old and new,

memories, hopes, the unknown and maybe

there are still

some dreams.

 

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February 17, 2017 · 9:21 pm

Faith Blooming

rosesTen months in as of next week and change comes slowly. Little things need to be taken care of daily, shopping, eating, laundry, and then, suddenly I realize my car lease is up, ironically on the year anniversary of Gary’s death. I am proactive and start looking for my new car; something I have never navigated by myself, having a husband in the car business came in quite handy for the past 20 years.   Now I am trying to remember all those things Gary negotiated for us, the warranties, the car lease terms, the car accessories and interest rates. I am navigating the unfamiliar and while people do this all the time, I have never done this alone and I want to make a good deal.

I made it through another holiday, the romantic one I’d been lucky enough to take for granted for the past 37 years. I always had a Valentine and plans for dinner; most of the time we cooked it together at home. We spent quiet evenings at home, but enjoyed the company. This year I realized it is a good thing to be a kindergarten teacher on Valentine’s Day because it comes with the guarantee of little cards, some chocolate and lots of handpicked flowers. This year, the year I wouldn’t come home to roses, my daughters thoughtfully ordered roses. My daughter coordinated with my dear friend, who kindly delivered the roses to school, and I was moved to tears by the sheer thoughtfulness and love the act represented.

I long for ritual.  Every holiday is a pause in my path to acceptance, or at least acknowledgement, of my new life and after I’ve made it through the day, I exhale. The day after Valentine’s Day would have been my dad’s 93rd birthday. He died when he too young at 75. This past week was a double hit. After surviving the loss of romance, I woke up to the loss of the other man who had influenced my life.

This week I am tackling taxes, organizing my documents and doing my best to organize Gary’s tax documents. Cruelly I have to file joint tax returns for two years, reliving the past year and then next year, confronting the void of documents. We always worked as a team to assemble the paperwork, but truthfully, though I organized, Gary was the numbers guy. I am double checking everything.

People surround me, but many times, I am alone in this new life. Some days go by and everyone is involved in his or her own lives. I realize I have to find one, fill it up and think of myself, something a wife and mother rarely does. I am unaccustomed to putting myself first, but I have to learn to do this if I am going to survive. I am doing my best to stay in survival mode, dipping my toe into new things, dinner with new friends, figuring out how to negotiate a car purchase, and organizing my tax documents.

A Valentine chocolate came with this quote and I saved it, rereading it, and gathering faith. I am looking for the faith in the best outcome, the faith in the relationships I cherish, the faith in the possibility of a future.

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January 22, 2017 · 2:28 pm

Life Goes On

fullsizerender-28It’s been nine months since Gary died and as I woke up early yesterday to get ready for the Women’s March in Los Angeles, I thought about how much has changed in these nine months. The 21st day of each month is a reminder that life can change in a moment, with a phone call in the middle of the night, with a doctor’s diagnosis, when a loved one is suddenly gone. Life can change in a day, with the unexpected results of an election, with the division of friends or family, with the looming uncertainty of the future.

Life goes on for me in a much different way than I could have ever imagined just over nine months ago. I’ve learned to live alone and when asked yesterday if I have plans for today I am reminded by my daughters that my tasks for today of doing laundry, writing progress reports, preparing for the upcoming week ahead and if the rain lets up, having coffee with a friend constitute “plans.” I had always thought plans were plans with others, with Gary or with friends, but now plans with myself are the new normal.

Life goes on in our country too, but in a much different way than I ever imagined it would be nine months ago when we were filled with excitement and enthusiasm about the possibility of the first woman president, with the hope for a different future for my daughters and future granddaughter. The realities of today are fearful monitoring of the news, trying to figure out what is real, and slightly terrified that some of what I hear could actually be real. Nine months ago hope was an electrifying force, today we have to muster up our own hope and courage to embody the change we want to see, that we need to see, that our country needs to survive.

Life goes on for me, with small changes at a slow pace. Learning to cook healthy food for myself instead of making do with a frozen waffle for dinner. Learning to go to sleep and to wake up alone and learning to live in the present instead of planning and hoping for a future. The future is an unknown commodity. My friend said to look for one bit of happiness each day and to gather those as flowers in a vase. My sister gave me a “happiness jar” to fill with little notes written when something good happened so I can reflect back at the end of the year, but I remember when the days had more than one happy moment and I didn’t have to keep count because I knew that more would come the next day.

Life goes on for our country because we, the people, are our country. We gathered together yesterday by the hundreds of thousands, in Los Angeles, the count at 750,000. We stood in massive crowds, peacefully, smiling at each other and chanting together, holding amazing signs with heartfelt messages. We walked through crowded downtown streets, on a sunny day, a break between rainstorms, warmed by comradery and basking in hope. We took a break from feeling alone, from watching depressing news, and made our own news, together.

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      photo credit Nicole Weisberg

Life goes on for me, for my daughters and my family. We made it through the holidays and move towards the last few landmarks to come before reaching the year anniversary. We find some moments of togetherness, some happiness and are adapting to this different life. New things now seem important, the new responsibility of maintaining the rights that were not in jeopardy nine months ago. We have created some new habits, checking in on each other more often, letting each other know we are home safely at night and saying goodnight. It’s good to have a close connection and to feel cared about in a world that can feel isolating.

Life goes on for our country and today as storms pound through Los Angeles, I smile thinking about yesterday, when we were smiled upon by the first sunny day in a week as we marched. The weather paused and gave us hope on a hopeful day. Today everything is washed clean and I hope our momentum continues and elevates. Today we must continue our search for truth in the midst of “alternative facts,” for hope on the other side of this despair and for unity to emerge through the tactics of divisiveness. The Women’s March gave evidence that we are not divided by religion, race, gender or politics but united in our belief that our desire for democracy, for a free country and for love to win as the power to heal us.

Life goes on for me as I crave real talk, the kind of talk that is deep below the surface. Through the connection to others, to those caring people in my life, I have avenues for my raw feelings, my bubbling emotions and worries. For those brave enough to jump in the deep waters of connection, I am grateful. A friend said that these nine months are beginning to be enough time to give birth to a new and active movement within me. Just as with bringing my daughters into this world, nine months seemed to fly by, but nine months also seems like forever.

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January 1, 2017 · 12:58 am

Getting Through

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2016 was a year of getting through things.

Radiation, surgery, death, a memorial and the scattering of ashes

It was a year of new financial responsibilities and for letting go of things.

It was a year filled with loneliness.

 

There has been the first anniversary, birthdays and holidays without Gary.

2016 was a year of disappointments and lost elections, the loss of hopes and fear for the future. This was a year when so many left the planet.

2016 was a year of new things, new babies, weddings, new experiences, new responsibilities, and new goals.

This was a year that started with hope and ended with uncertainty, with many people afraid to look forward.

We must move forward, so for 2017, I will look forward to good health, success, more writing, learning to play the ukulele, growing friendships and savoring my family. I look forward to finding a landing-place, with hopes of creating a life that feels full.

In 2017 I hope for a better world that resonates with peace, with compassion, with humanity.

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December 7, 2016 · 10:27 pm

Dodging Acorns

img_2689If life imitates art, then I guess it can also imitate fables like Chicken Little. My life is a lot like that lately and I find myself dodging acorns. On many days it feels like the sky is falling and I’m looking for someone to tell so that I can be reassured that it isn’t really falling, it is just life. Life with it’s suddenly appearing hurdles and inconvenient inconveniences. As my sister reminded me, there is never a good time for an inconvenience.

These minor annoyances aren’t the real acorns, the real acorns are the larger life hurdles that pop up suddenly when I realize there is yet another new situation to navigate such as negotiating a car repair, or taking the trash out every week. These things aren’t huge, but they are new to me because I always had a partner to share the responsibilities of keeping a home.

Then there are the larger acorns looming ahead, things I will encounter soon, negotiating a car deal, going through every item in my house in an effort to “downsize,” finding a home, packing everything in my home and moving. I thought many of these decisions would be things Gary and I would be deciding together, like where we would go on our next vacation, but in this new life, the one where I am alone, it’s a new, unfamiliar game.

I try to remember to take one day at a time, or sometimes an hour at a time. I navigate running into well-meaning friends and acquaintances that hug me and ask how I am doing when my only answer is a slight smile and tear-filled eyes. I get through each day, but I don’t see a future yet. I get through each day but the days without plans are hard. I get through each day, but I don’t have a lot to look forward to at this point. I’m working on those positive affirmations. I’m making lists.

Things I am grateful for:

A comfortable place to live

Food to eat

My friends and family

A rewarding job

My health.

 

Things I am learning:

To change heater filters

To add washer fluid to my car

To handle car repairs and maintenance

To make a fire and enjoy it alone

To eat dinner alone

 

Things I want:

A home.

A life with purpose.

A life filled with friends and family.

A clear sky, or at least one with very little chance of acorns.

 

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November 21, 2016 · 7:52 pm

The World has Changed in Seven Months

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                         Looking for light.

Today marks seven months that Gary has been gone and in those seven months everything has changed, in my life, in the country and in the world. Nothing is familiar and nothing is the same, holidays coming and going like mountains to climb and descend. The anticipation is somber and the days are long. Seven months ago the embrace of family and friends provided some security in the foreign world in which I was now forced to live. I gathered courage from their encouraging words: “You’re doing so well” and “You are so strong.” The truth is I am not so strong and much of the time paralyzed with the insurmountable tasks of unraveling my formally entwined life. The truth is there are many lonely days and nights as I learn to live alone and to be alone. The truth is that I cannot see much point (or fun) in cooking for just me and I miss cooking and eating together with Gary. I haven’t figured out how to have purpose and I spend evenings watching mindless television. The best I can do is take myself to yoga to practice breathing.

I have tried, over the past seven months, to focus on moving forward and to feeling gratitude. I have expressed gratitude to my family and close friends. I write about gratitude and make lists of things I am grateful for. I am very grateful that Gary did not suffer for long and that we, his family, did not have long roles as care givers, watching him drift away. I try to remember how much worse it could have been and I know others who did have to suffer much more. I am grateful for my job and to be part of a caring community. I am grateful to live in California for many reasons, but to be honest, the climate in our country, the overwhelming negativity and hatred expressed by so many, has hit me hard and like others I know, has intensified the grief cycle I was already immersed in.

It is hard to believe it has been seven months. It was somehow easier at first when I had so many tasks to take care of. I could lose myself in the busyness of it all. Now, those things have settled down a little and I find myself face to face with the holiday season. Normalcy, with Gary barbecuing turkey and thoughts of him making latkes next month, is gone. I haven’t found a new normal yet. I haven’t figured out how to do more than exist and get through each day and am floating without a landing in sight.

I think that now many people share these feelings. Of course there are many others alone, those who have also lost loved ones and those who are separated from loved ones, but now there are also many who have lost faith and confidence in our future as a country. Families are estranged and friendships are strained. For me, an already sensitive person, it sometimes feels like a very heavy burden. Life can change in a minute and there are no guarantees. Life has changed dramatically and each of these many minutes over the last seven months have felt like a trip into a dark tunnel that I travel hoping to see if there will be any light at the end.

Life certainly isn’t perfect, including relationships. Governments aren’t perfect either, but somehow losing the familiar, the known, someone who honestly cared, is a difficult idea to comprehend. The loss of hope, optimism for the future, the future as we expected it, is a crushing weight and wearing a mask of positivity can be exhausting.

Seven months, from the hope of springtime, to the darkness of winter. The months come and go and I long for the light to return, for some sign of hope and the chance that things can feel normal in a way, a different kind of normal, but one that sits comfortably and allows enough space to breath in and then to exhale.

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October 30, 2016 · 8:20 pm

Looking Beyond

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Sometimes it’s hard to look beyond the moment.

Everyone says, “Take it one day at a time.”

Everyone says, “It’s only been six months.”

Everyone says, “You don’t have to make any changes right away.”

 

Sometimes it’s hard to see the future.

I wonder what it will look like.

I wonder what home will look like.

I wonder if I will always feel this lonely.

 

Sometimes it’s tiring creating a new life.

Thinking of ways to fill time.

Thinking of ways to stay active.

Thinking of what to eat for dinner.

 

Sometimes it is easy to imagine possibilities.

The possibility of home of my own filled with the things and memories I love.

The possibility of a new routine of exercise and healthy, home-cooked meals.

The possibility of sharing time with others and having fun.

 

Sometimes the clouds hover above creating a ceiling.

I look up and I can see the fluff overhead.

I look up and can see a break in the clouds.

I look up and know that through the crack, a mysterious future awaits me.

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October 12, 2016 · 10:02 pm

Daughters, Deli, Cupcakes and the Beach
img_2832Today, Yom Kippur, the day of forgiveness and the beginning of a new year, we were together.  The traditional fasting ended early in the afternoon.  We have suffered enough this year and were ready for a day of togetherness.  My daughters and I found the familiar and rested in memories at Mort’s Deli where we had gone so many times with my parents and with Gary.  We went to Bea’s Bakery and stocked up on our favorites and then drove the familiar s-curves to the beach.  We sat on the sand reading, the books we had brought and the family Yom Kippur book we have read together since the girls were small.  We found comfort in the stories and sang Oseh Shalom together.  As a treat, we enjoyed cupcakes and cookies.  I looked out at the ocean, across the sand, and realized I was looking for someone who wasn’t there.

Somewhere on this Planet

I look around for you or a trace of you
Somewhere
But there is none
And then I remember that you are gone
Not just gone, but evaporated
And I realize that I have spent most of my life looking for you
Or waiting for you
Or with you
Now,
There is no more time spent together
Or time getting ready for
Or time searching
There is only time.
And never-ending waves
And beaches dotted with tiny bird tracks
Leftover footprints
And smooth, stacked beach rocks
As worn as I feel.

Every holiday is the first without Gary, and though we fill our senses with the familiar, there is nothing the same about these days.

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September 21, 2016 · 11:06 pm

Five Months In Five Months Out

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Five months in and we were madly in love. Listening to the best music, Springsteen, Zevon, Clapton, Eagles, Ronstadt, Jackson, listening to music you were creating with Ed in the studio that held nighttime adventures. We saw every new movie and ate at Chinese restaurants that no longer exist. We drove the streets of Hollywood, Santa Monica, Venice and Woodland Hills and we drove the highways to Yosemite, up the coast exploring, spending late afternoons at the beach watching surfers and sunsets.

Five months in and our families were meeting. Could this be serious? We didn’t let a day go by without spending at least a part of it together because separation was not possible. We became part of a bigger circle of friends and possibilities seemed endless as our futures began to merge, becoming entwined.

Five months out and I miss the love, and the music. The shared dinners at our favorite places no longer exist and sitting in the movies holding hands is a retreating memory. I drive the streets alone with Google Maps for company. Driving highways triggers memories, but also creates new memories with my daughters along. The beach with its salty air, endless waves and pelicans provides familiar solace.

Five months out and our little family grieves, not sure of our new formation, not sure about the approaching holidays and the new traditions we will begin to create. This is serious. A text thread miles long connects us now and if a day goes by without contact my heart aches for the loss of our intact family. I am grateful to be part of a community and an expanding circle of friends but I don’t know what the possibilities are or what my future will look like. The unwinding of two lives, braided together over time is an unfamiliar painful process.

Five months ago my world stopped with your heart and the unrequested resuscitation failed us all. I wake up many nights at 2:59 or 3:30. The time your heart stopped, the time they declared you were officially gone. I look at the clock as I turn out the light at night, 11:11 p.m. and I startle awake from dreams of you at 1:11 a.m. Is it a message? Can you show me a sign that is easy to read, more transparent, less symbolic? Hotel rooms numbered 303, an entourage of Honda Pilots, I am grasping for meaning and trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. I was told the other day, that there is no rhyme or reason and even with our best efforts to live healthy lives the best we can hope for is good luck. Five months in we had it. Five months ago yours ran out. Five months out and luck is a mystery.

 

 

 

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September 18, 2016 · 9:00 am

Lingering in Twilight

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               A sign and a reminder.

 

The hours between 4:00 and 7:00 p.m. when twilight approaches and the daylight hours are coming to an end bring a shadow of melancholy. The daytime is busy with work, errands, exercise and occasional plans with friends. Then twilight encroaches with stillness and quiet. I am not preparing dinner or readying a welcoming home as I have done for most of my life. There are not children here needing to be driven to lessons or supervise homework for. I come home to the house as it was when I left in the morning, put away my school things, lunch bag, and change into fresh clothes. I take care of “business” answering emails, bringing in the mail, paying bills, washing daytime dishes, and watering plants. The night looms ahead with it’s empty hours and solitary dinner.

I used to look forward to some quiet time after the energy filled day of teaching and being surrounded by so many people. I came home and enjoyed a couple of hours decompressing and finding my voice again. I enjoyed planning meals, surprising Gary with something healthy and delicious when he arrived home or better yet, cooking together, and looked forward to settling in on the couch to unwind together watching TV, or back in the days of Charlie, going for an evening walk. We went to movies frequently (I have seen one movie in the past five months) and loved to go out to our favorite restaurants. That is all in the past now.

I look for new ways to fill the twilight hours, so I can get to the evening, when I can retreat to old habits of reading, writing or my new habit of watching mindless TV. A few times a week I go to yoga class and find comfort on the mat, in the repetition of familiar postures and in the energy of others seeking solace. Occasionally I have an early dinner with a friend and relax in the company of conversation. I attend my grief support group and share with others traveling this uncertain road. Nothing replaces the familiar routines of my life though. Creating a new routine is trial and error with some things bringing relief and others bringing a new onslaught of loneliness and sadness.

The days are bearable, and the evenings a welcome relief, but the twilight is painful with its solitude. I wonder how people adjust to being one, instead of two (or more). I look out at the lights twinkling in the Valley and think about all of the people alone in their homes and wonder about this new phase of my life. I’ve been cheering others on in my role as an encourager for most of my life, providing support and positive affirmations, celebrating successes and reassurance in times of struggle. I have not practiced doing this for myself. My life now can be anything I want it to be, I just never really thought about what I wanted before now.

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