Deep Topics: Not Always Welcome

I was just talking with a close friend about this one. She'd told me about how a client of hers loves to come in and spout off about politics, religion, and other sensitive topics. And it's not as if these two are what'd you'd call close friends. 

I told her about a time a couple of years ago. It was right before my mom passed away, and as things were getting heavy, I'd remembered about counseling that is available through my company's Employee Assistance Program. I thought it would be a good idea just to have an additional outlet for what I was trying to process.

The counseling went fine until the fourth session, which occurred a couple months after my mom was gone. Seemingly out of nowhere, the counselor asks, "So are you mad at God over losing your mom?" I was thrown for a loop. I asked, "Why would I be? This is life, and what good would that do anyway?" 

That was one of the reasons, among others, I decided to end that round of counseling. I've mentioned it here before, but I'm not the most devoutly religious guy on the block. I do have a faith, but I don't always open up and talk about it, especially with people I don't know or trust. Perhaps I am too closed off, but topics like that require permission before delving into them, especially with someone you don't know. There are boundaries. 

I've had close friends ask permission or perhaps apologize for delving into something too deep. If they are close and I know and them, no apology is needed. 

"Think before you speak" goes a long way. 

Autumn? Not always a fan...

To read social media, lots of people seem to be excited about the first day of fall. Colorful leaves, cooler weather, pumpkin spice everything... But I don’t always look forward to fall. 

Though it doesn’t happen every year, I sometimes encounter seasonal affective disorder as we lose daylight. I think that started for me the autumn after I was in a car accident in 1993. It happened again the fall and winter after we lost my wife’s dad in 2000. 

I’m expecting it again this fall. This time last year, we were in the middle of my mom’s second battle with cancer, and though we did our best to remain strong and hopeful, it was becoming clear we were going to lose her. (We did, November 6, 2019.) 

I tried hard last year to let myself grieve when I needed to, and to not push it off as I’ve done in years past, an effort to be strong for everyone else and not look after me. I have to remind myself of that again. 

I call it the “year of firsts.” We’ve been through the first Christmas without her, what would have been her 80th birthday and my parents’ 51st wedding anniversary, and so on. And now there are reminders of many tough days this time last year.

I will again make an effort to take care of myself during this time and to look for and work for the hopeful things. Despite all the stuff life has hurled our way the last couple years, there’s a lot of good stuff and good people out there, too.

And so it goes...

Look For the Candles

One of life's treasures is a good friendship. I have a friend I've known since my junior year in high school. She has always been wise beyond her years and a good sounding board for whatever is on one's mind.

Last fall was a tough time. My mom had been battling cancer for almost a year and it was clear the end was approaching. It was a tough new reality to come to grips with. It's natural for us to always think we have more time. Just in discussing the situation, she reminded me to "look for the candles." In other words, wherever we are in life, whatever situation, there are those bright spots we can identify. We may just have to look a little harder for them.

After my mom passed away and we got through the holidays, I thought, here's to 2020 being a nice smooth year for us all. And as they say on social media, 2020 has been like, "hold my beer."

There's a lot of craziness right now, but it does help to look for the candles. The late CBS newsman Charles Kuralt was quite good at that in his career. Two decades of his career were the 1960s and 1970s. If you read your history, there was a lot of insanity going on in those years: the assassinations, Vietnam, Watergate, and more. I can't imagine what those years would have been like if social media had been around.

And yet, Kuralt had a brilliant ability to find the candles in our society. That's in evidence in this quote attributed to him:

If you haven't experienced any of Charles Kuralt's work, look for his book "A Life on the Road," written just a few years before he retired. There are some wonderful stories of humankind.

Grief Bombs

Last year was a difficult one. Three friends and I all lost parents in 2019. Another close friend is losing his dad as I write this.

One of my friends, who lost her dad in April of 2019, told me about the idea of "grief bombs." It's an excellent description. The idea is that the grieving process is not really linear. We're somewhat conditioned to think that it is. We should go from denial to anger, from depression to bargaining, and right onto acceptance. But grief in real life doesn't work in a textbook fashion, I'm learning.

My friend whose dad is in hospice now has been describing some of what he's been seeing and feeling the past week. I want to be a willing listener for him. He has shouldered the responsibility of caring for his dad for many years now, and he's been alone for a lot of it. (For reasons I don't know and don't understand, other relatives have pretty well left it to him and can't or won't help.)

He said it's been so tough to see his dad fading away, and it's as if he is starving him. He's not, and he knows it's not true. The natural dying process is taking its course, and the hospice people are doing what they do, helping keep his dad comfortable and as pain-free as possible. I told him I know what he's going through. I remember thinking the same thing last fall as my mom was in hospice. We may understand it's all part of a natural process, but it is very natural to also feel helpless when we have been so involved the rest of the time.

Not to sound selfish... but his descriptions provoked a grief bomb, and brought me back to some vivid recollections of my mom at the end, last November. It will soon be eight months since she's passed away, and in some respects, it still doesn't seem quite real. We went up to visit my dad for his birthday recently, and her absence is still so palpable. The sadness strikes at odd moments, sometimes when I least expect it.

But it is to be expected. Many of us are still within what I call that "year of firsts" - the first milestone days within the first year of one's passing. Birthdays, anniversaries, other holidays, etc.

I don't have any grand answers on any of this. But I am grateful for family and friends who are willing to listen when I need it.

A Motherly Truth

More than 20 years after her passing, Erma Bombeck remains one of the foremost observers of motherhood. I found the following words of hers and posted them to my Facebook page this past Mother’s Day:

My mother passed away on Wednesday of this week, after a year long battle with cancer. Erma’s writing here says just a little of what I’ve been thinking and reflecting upon this past year.

Death takes away a lot, but it cannot take away the memories we have.

A Lot to Process

The past week has been a whirlwind of activity and emotion. I've shared here previously that my mom has battled cancer over the past year. The battle is coming to its conclusion. We learned this past Friday that is was time to begin hospice care. It's a prudent move. The focus has to be on the quality of life for whatever time there is left.

I live about three hours away from my parents, so there has been a lot of travel through this. I am not complaining. We are a strong family, and I am beyond grateful. At the beginning, my father said, plainly: "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you this (the diagnosis), but this is a fight and we're in it for the long haul." He set the tone and we all have known what we needed to do and when.

Dad and Mom have been married for 50 years. This has been terribly hard on him. But he is here for her and for us. His strength gives us strength.

I was back up there today for a funeral arrangement conference. The time has not yet come, as of this writing, but this is one more instance of my dad thinking ahead. He said he simply didn't want to be in crisis mode when the time does arrive, especially with all of the choices that had to be made. I couldn't agree more, and I wish more people would think this way. In fact, I was about to suggest we start to work out some of the arrangement details and Dad was already on it. My sister and aunt and uncle were also there. The funeral director was just amazing. Attentive to detail and compassionate... not at all pushy. We have a plan. 

On one level, my mind still can't reconcile that we are actually experiencing and doing all this. But it is reality, and we must confront it head on, of course. 

I saw my mom at Hospice today. She is quite frail and didn't seem to be very alert. My aunt told her I had come to visit. I believe she can still hear, but she didn't react. When the time came for me to begin the drive home to my wife and son, I said something like, "I have to go, Mom, but I'll see you again."

In situations like these, I will not say "goodbye." It is, in fact, "I'll see you later."

The drive back was tough at times. I stopped for a break to refuel the car and to get a soda. (The soda, while not so healthy, is one of my coping mechanisms. Some soda and I load up the cup with ice. I'll sip the soda and chew the ice.... something to do and to help stay awake.) I had an intermittent pressure in my chest. No heart trouble here. Just a physical sign of stress and sadness. I was thinking about everything I had seen and heard today. 

There really are no good words for any of this. Sometimes it is helpful to jot it down. But I'll find more to say another time. And so it goes...

A Relevant Quote

"I guess life does what it is supposed to do. And you accept it and go on." (Johnny Carson)

Uncertainty

For a good bit of my life, I've been a guy who likes the boundaries drawn pretty clearly. My father used to tell me that it's important in life to "roll with the punches." I'm better at that than I used to be, I suppose. Life has a way of teaching you many lessons, and you do learn to roll and pivot with it all.

For the past year, my capacity to roll with the punches has been tested. I haven't ever discussed this online, certainly not on social media. Outside the family, close friends know, people whom I can trust and with whom I can really talk honestly.

Last November (2018), my mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She'd been sick for about a month, but the doctors who were seeing her just couldn't determine what was going on. Then the news of the diagnosis came. I was in my office when I got the text from my dad. I didn't over-react, like I might have once upon a time in my life, and I had been beginning to suspect there was a cancer diagnosis somewhere in the offing. But as I was processing all this that day, another text from Dad said it all and set the tone. It went something like, "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you all this, but this is a fight and we're in it for the long haul." That is so characteristic of him. Things may get to him, but he doesn't like to stew on what he cannot fix. His message is, ok, what do we do about it?

(I should pause here and explain about the texting. On one level, it's not a good way to communicate. It lacks tone and emotion. And Dad, who is a traditionalist, used to hate it. Just pick up the phone, he would say. But in a crisis situation, he's learned, as have I, that it is a good and consistent way to get the same message out to people who need to know, with no distortion.)

It's a year later and we're in round two of the cancer fight, now with some troubling (but not uncommon) complications. By May of this year, after rounds of chemo and a surgery, and thanks to the support of some great doctors and others and her family, she was declared cancer free. I don't think any of us thought this was over, because we new going in it wasn't curable, but it was highly treatable.

Mom called me one day in mid-August to tell me the cancer returned. 3 small spots: one lung, one on the liver, and one in an area of the abdomen. I hoped my voice didn't betray me on the phone. My mind was racing, but she'd said the doctor was ready with a new round of monthly chemo, and we all agreed, without necessarily saying as much, ok, this is just the next part of all of it... we will get through it.

Then those complications came... and a lot of pain and anxiety / agitation for her at times. An oncology resident at the hospital where she is took some time to explain things to me more. I am so grateful for her time and the talk. Dad, my sister, and one of my aunts have been keeping me up to speed quite well (I live about three hours away from the hospital, and get there whenever I can). But it was important for me to hear it and try to digest it first-hand.

For a lot of my life, I have liked the role of "the fixer." I like making things better for people. When my sister was a baby, Mom said it used to really bother me when she would cry and fuss, and I would rush over to try to make it better for her. And here I am trying now to make it better for Mom, and it's something I can't fix, except to be there. And it doesn't seem like enough.

I had a really hard time at the hospital for the first couple hours Saturday. (Dad and my sister had gone home for a break...they live two hours away...and Dad was coming back today, along with a visit from my aunt and uncle.) Mom was in a good bit of pain from a procedure the day before, though her nursing staff is quite on top of things with pain management. The meds do cause confusion, and she was mumbling some, much of it unintelligible.

She dozed off for a while and I stopped down to the hospital cafeteria for coffee. I should have eaten lunch but nothing sounded good. I was able to talk to my aunt on the phone for a bit and that helped, and of course I was keeping Dad and my sister posted on anything new.

Late in the day, I needed to get back on the road for home. But there were some lighter moments I had, thankfully. Somehow it came to me to play a little game with what Mom was trying to tell me, not making fun of it, but simply just to go along with it. I said, "Mom, I'll run out and get the nurse for you." She replied, "Ok, take the dog with you." (She'd been mumbling, get the dog, get the dog. I couldn't figure out where that was coming from. She has never liked dogs and we never had one at home.)

So I told her, Ok, Mom, don't worry...I've got the dog and I'll take him out. Then she said, but I still hear it. I said, "No, he's outside. You can just hear him through the window." This actually seemed to reassure her and she calmed down some. She said, "ok, bye, love you." It put a smile on my face and I was able to head home.

Her medical team is doing their best, and so is her family, and so are all of our friends, with their prayers and good vibes. I don't know what's next, and there's a lot I am dreading, but I do know this: we just have to take it one day at a time. Tomorrow is another day.

Faith and Hope

A friend’s mom passed away last week. I went to the viewing yesterday morning, and though I’d already been thinking about it, there was an important symbol by the casket. A symbol of symbols, really, that gives us reminders of faith and hope in times like these.

I am not the most devout Catholic on the block, but when I see the Easter candle lit at viewings and Masses of Christian Burial, I’ve tried to reflect on multiple concepts this one candle gives us.

The Alpha and the Omega: God with us at the beginning and the end.

The Cross: The ultimate sacrifice of Christ, to save us from sin and death.

The light of the candle: The light of Christ that is with us at the beginning (symbolized by our Baptismal candle), at the end, and beyond.

There is a line in the text for the Mass of Christian Burial. I am not sure I remember it exactly, but it reminds us the “life it not ended, is merely changed.”

We have these disquieting reminders of aging and our own mortality. On one level, they can be reminders that this thing called life that isn’t forever, and we’ve got to make our time here count.

There is also one other belief, harder to grasp at times: This isn’t goodbye. Rather, it is “we will see you later.”

So Long, Mrs. Crowe...

Today in Cincinnati, they say farewell to Mrs. Anne Crowe, nothing less than amazing teacher, and one of the best I experienced in my school years. She passed away last Friday. I was in her 8th grade Civics and Ohio History classes at St. Bartholomew School.

I was like Horshack, the over-eager kid from "Welcome Back, Kotter," looking to participate at every turn. She knew I had a serious interest in current events, government, and history, and she encouraged it. (However, I do remember one day, discussing current events, she asked a question. I put my hand up...and she said, "Does someone OTHER than Bob know the answer?")

Mrs. Crowe was passionate about her work, energetic, and very funny. It was a joy to be in her class every day and I learned a lot. Good preparation for high school, too.

The news is sad...another link to the past who is gone now. My thoughts are with her family and all who knew her. I regret I can't be there for the Mass of Christian Burial today. But I am spending some time remembering her and talking about it with friends.

But I can say...it's not goodbye, Mrs. Crowe. We'll see you later.

Learning to Ride Without Training Wheels

My six-year old son has been asking to take the training wheels off his bike. We had a nice day weather-wise today, so we decided it was time to give it a try.

I was there to hold on and catch him. He was able to go a few feet before tipping over. There was a lot of "I can't do this." I told him he shouldn't say that, because if he does, then he'll never learn. I also found myself getting impatient.

It's funny. I thought back to how, in various endeavors, I myself said "I can't do this." And yet, when I kept at it and put my mind to it, I could. I remembered back to early 1987, when, as a 16-year old, my father was trying to teach me to drive stick shift. There was a lot of "I can't do this" then on my part, too. I frustrated him, a lot.

But, somehow, I kept at it, and got the hang of it. Now, all these years later, I find myself telling my son not to give up, to keep practicing, and that he can do it. I have to tell him what I have to still remind myself to do.

An Incredible Story Worth Sharing

Friends, meet Bryan Ganey. He has an incredible and inspiring story to tell.

I first met Bryan about 15 years ago when we both worked in local radio. He's a sharp, funny guy, and a good friend. We keep in touch regularly, even though he now lives in another state.

He has lost almost 300 pounds, all through his own diligent efforts and lifestyle changes. Bryan is documenting his journey, and is now getting worldwide media attention for his efforts.

I could stand to take a page or two from his playbook.

Read, learn, and be inspired!

Time to Unplug a Little More?

A friend of mine wrote the following piece, and it is good food for thought.

Going Off the Mobile Grid

Technology can be a wonderful thing, but lately, I've wondered if it is possible to become too connected. Much as I enjoy Facebook, for example, it can be a black hole of wasted time. Sure, Words with Friends is fun. I enjoy catching up with family and friends, especially those I've not seen in so long. And yet, I've started to become either bored or annoyed with Facebook. Can't pinpoint that one, at least not now.

Some of it might just be....is this information I really need to know? Where family and close friends are concerned, that answer is likely "yes," or at least it's nice to know. But Facebook and sites like it give us an even bigger venue to "let it all hang out." That part of it, I am starting to conclude, is just not that useful. There are some things I'd rather not know.

I'm not saying I'd ever totally unplug. I wouldn't like that and I am not sure there's a practical way of going back. Where family is concerned, I absolutely want them to be able to reach me whenever, wherever. But my friend Gery is right on point. Sometimes a little less connectivity and a little more in the way of human interaction and meaningful activity would do us all some good.

Time to hit the reset button...

Funny thing...I hit the reset button on this blog more than 6 years ago. I haven't consistently used it since 2010. Mainly it's because I didn't have the time to maintain it, and for what it's worth, Facebook had become my blogging space, for pictures, news, things that irritate and inspire me, etc.

Lately, though, I've been craving to do some kind of journal, one that would be in a forum not necessarily as wide open as Facebook. Sure, anything on the internet is "out there," but these blogs, as least as I've run them,  seem a little less so. If people find them, I am happy to have the readership and the give-and-take of debate.

So it was time to remake this space a bit. I've kept some of the old elements, including links to news and other sites I enjoy. I'll be adding to those over time, too.

What else will I post? Who knows?. But I do like the new title I've chosen for this blog. It sums things up well: And so it goes...