Tag: Love

“Fear is the Thief of Joy”

This is not my quote. I think I saw it on Facebook and liked it – a lot! I retrieved it from a list of future blog subjects I keep online. I’m finally claiming it.

“Would have, could have, should have”, is similar. Often spurred on by fear, the regret this saying suggests is the result of fear retrospectively. Though regret is not always triggered by doing something or choosing not to do something out of fear, it often is the result of it.

There have been plenty of times in my life that I forged ahead into some unknown, fearless of, and often ignorant of, the consequences. We all have. Some are simply bad decisions. In every instance, I have learned some major life lessons as a result. But the decisions I remember so clearly are those when I chose not to pursue something or someone and have since wished I had.

Fear can be a weapon or a power tool to usurp control. This kind of fear certainly robs the victim of Joy. I suspect that it brings no joy to the oppressor, even if there is some sort of satisfaction derived from wielding it.

My education tells me that there is, in fact, healthy fear. Fearing the unknown is entrenched in our instinct for survival. We most likely would not have risen to the top of the animal kingdom without it. Healthy skepticism sometimes can keep us alive.

But we will never know what we would learn, or what pleasure, joy, or satisfaction we would gain, by choosing to let fear dictate our behavior and/or decisions. Like coming to a fork in the path. By choosing one, you never know what was down the other. It is not always the path that looks easiest, flattest, brightest, smoothest, that brings good things to our futures. Sometimes it’s the scary, rough, dark ways where we find our greatest joy.

And that is not always the situation. Sometimes we choose not to do something, say something, offer something, for fear of being rejected, laughed at, ostracized. Social norms, peer pressure, self doubt, keep us from performing such acts as saying hello to a passer by or offering up a compliment to someone who looks nice, speaks well, sings on key. Who amongst us has failed to ask a boy or girl to coffee or a date for fear of a negative response. Fear keeps us from following through. Fear drives us to do things we know we should not. Fear of being alone. Fear of fitting in. Fear that our opinions will meet with resistance, or worse yet, physical harm.

Fear is the thief of joy. My recent experiences have forced me to view life altering decisions in a different way. I am no longer so fearful of taking reasonable risks that might improve my quality of life without harm to others. Another new mantra is “life’s too short.” I cannot afford to delay venturing out, trying new things (something my OCD psyche hates), expanding my circle, making new acquaintances. No one knows what tomorrow will bring. And as I’ve said before, I cannot, and do not live in the past.

That leaves only today to decide what influences my decisions. I choose to be open, kind, empathetic, engaging. I choose to realize that every person is just that. Another human being trying to live their life as best they can with what has influenced them, what they have been given. It’s really quite liberating.

Sure, this MO has its risks. It might even be dangerous. But if the alternative is living in fear, robbed of the potential joys that accompany human interaction, to me it is worth the risk.

What can I say?

It’s late Friday night and I’ve just started this post for Saturday noon release. I’m sitting in a motel room, 100 miles from home, trying to put something together worth your valuable time to read. Not sure I can.

This brief overnighter to visit family is the first of several travels planned over the spring and summer months. More trips to see family, an anniversary trip to Nebraska, and one to celebrate a milestone birthday. Likely more on all that later.

The week went by so quickly! Between appointments, household chores, and much more time playing music, it just seems to have slipped away without enough attention to my faithful readership. Unfortunately, with my upcoming travel schedule, I worry about publishing on a consistent schedule. On the other hand, I hope gather more read-worthy material to write about.

Either way, I’ll do my best to consistently post on Saturdays. For now, I hope you had a quality week and have an even better one to come. After all, wut else javia to do? 😉

PPA:

It’s a TLI
PA: It’s also a TLI, or a TLA

I used to do this in the classroom. There were so many abbreviations. In my jargon, a TLA is a three-letter acronym – and also a two-letter acronym. But I know that actually, PPA is not a three-letter acronym. It’s a three-letter initialism.

Acronym

a word (such as NATO, radar, or laser) formed from the initial letter or letters of each of the successive parts or major parts of a compound term

Merriam Webster Dictionary

Initialism

an abbreviation formed from initial letters

Merriam Webster Dictionary

“Okay”, you might say, “Wut’s this all really about?” Well, I thought I might be coining a new acronym/initialism, but once again, Google search saved me from embarrassment.

PPA is an initialism for Pre-Performance Anxiety. According to WebMD, pre-performance anxiety is stress and anxiety about performing in front of people and causes performance anxiety. PA can be considered either an initialism or an acronym since its letters also form a colloquialism for father. Performance Anxiety is also known as stage fright.

Now do you see where I’m headed with this? I now have two performances scheduled for next week. On Thursday I will participate in an open mic at Sidekick Coffee & Books in Iowa City. I recently added this venue after previously committing to the 55+ Connections Lunch at the North Liberty Recreation Center.

I’ve known about the 55+ gig for some time and have been practicing a set of songs that I hope will engage and somehow positively affect the lives of those who attend. Now that the time is near at hand, I find myself second guessing. Are my music and lyrics really “good” enough for public consumption? Is my presentation polished enough to expose myself to scrutiny? Will my aging, stiff fingers work!!!? On the up side, I do think I’ll remember the words.

I am not self-absorbed enough to think I am the only person who experiences performance anxiety (stage fright). I immediately think of my 13-year-old granddaughter who landed a major part in a community theater musical that opens next Friday, the same day as my 55+ performance. Break a leg, E! And there are others in my immediate sphere who have upcoming meetings and interviews who may deal with similar anxieties.

I found an interesting article, Get excited: reappraising pre-performance anxiety as excitement, on the National Library of Medicine website. Just reading the abstract helped me reframe my perspective:

Abstract

Individuals often feel anxious in anticipation of tasks such as speaking in public or meeting with a boss. I find that an overwhelming majority of people believe trying to calm down is the best way to cope with pre-performance anxiety. However, across several studies involving karaoke singing, public speaking, and math performance, I investigate an alternative strategy: reappraising anxiety as excitement. Compared with those who attempt to calm down, individuals who reappraise their anxious arousal as excitement feel more excited and perform better. Individuals can reappraise anxiety as excitement using minimal strategies such as self-talk (e.g., saying “I am excited” out loud) or simple messages (e.g., “get excited”), which lead them to feel more excited, adopt an opportunity mind-set (as opposed to a threat mind-set), and improve their subsequent performance. These findings suggest the importance of arousal congruency during the emotional reappraisal process.

Alison Wood Brooks 
PsycINFO Database Record (c) 2014 APA, all rights reserved

Next week will be a culmination of an extensive period of hoping, dreaming, and preparing that began even before my retirement and Pam’s illness and death. I’ve conveyed many times my desire to “take it on the road” with Pam during our retirement years, using venues as a tour guide for going places and seeing things together. Something we so enjoyed together.

These two gigs also mark the beginning of a new phase of reaching for the dream. Though I have performed at very limited open mic sessions and in front of a friendly audience of family and friends at a church, these are the first true public appearances in front of people whom I don’t know. No one will have heard the songs. No one will know what to expect. At the 55+, I’m not even sure they know that the program is a musician. They only know that there is a program every last Friday of the month.

Success will look like people not walking out during the first song or shortly thereafter. It will look like people looking at me, perhaps nodding with some sort of mutual understanding. Maybe even clapping? Success will catapult me forward in my journey, give me confidence to book other performances, find other ways to get my music out there. Obviously, failure will look and feel quite different.

Therein lies the fear with pre-performance anticipation. I am excited that I have followed through with the commitment to pursue my music. I believe that I have a message of humanness, one that not everyone is willing to share. It happens to be through music. I am fearful that my musical message will not be received, even though those who have listened have encouraged me.

Performance anxiety, stage fright, is another matter. My mouth gets dry, my heart rate goes up (even more than when I just play the songs), and I have trouble staying focused. My eyes and ears seem to work overtime to ferret out any peculiar distracting input, of which there are ample, when one is on stage. Practice, even trying to imagine myself at the venue, helps. Just thinking about looking out over the audience during practice is enough to distract me. Thus, the more I do it, the better I will be able to focus – I hope.

Again, none of this is unique to me. I am sure that many of you can relate at some level. And again, I am just egocentric enough to think it’s worth writing about. That you might enjoy the reading, and maybe get something worthwhile out of it.

By this time next week, all of the anticipation, anxiety, excitement, and of course, the performances will be over. I will have an emotional let down, as I always do. I will review and evaluate the outcome. Then I will pick myself up and figure out the next plan. Yet I have made a greater commitment – to Pam:

I will go on. I will be okay.

Wandering Writings

More on Birds
Ecclesiastes 1:9
January thaw

More On Birds

Whoosh! I connected the sound.

Though all of my menagerie of feathered friends take to flight at the slightest movement or sound (except maybe the robins), departing sparrows are most noticeable simply due to their numbers. I had not recognized until this week that they make a collective sound as they depart from the bushes and ground just outside my living room window. I suppose my hearing devices pick up the whoosh better than with just my unaided hearing, but I was taken aback when I realized the soft sound was associated with their flight. Now I notice it all the time. Fun!

Goldfinches

American Goldfinches are hereby added to the menagerie. They are less noticeable in the winter when the males lose their golden color and thus blend in with the sparrows and other finches. But I was able to recognize them in the birch tree, feeding on its seed pods as they dangle, totally exposed, from the leafless branches.

Goldfinches are a treat, both visually and acoustically. Our neighborhood includes many echinacea plantings that produce a thistle-like seed pod at the center of their flowers – a favorite of the goldfinch. Goldfinches stay here the year round and I do enjoy their songs. You can listen by clicking the link above.

More On Bluebirds

One more note regarding bluebirds. Last week’s post instilled in me a desire to set My Little Bluebird to music. I listened to their songs on the link included previously and am attempting to emulate and include them, currently with chord progressions that I hope to put with the words. I’m thinking it’s going to take some massaging of the verse to make it work, but I look forward to creating something new and meaningful.

More on birds
January Thaw

Ecclesiastes 1:9

What has been is what will be,
and what has been done is what will be done;
there is nothing new under the sun.

Book of Ecclesiastes, New Revised Standard Version

I think of this verse often as I ponder what to write to you about each week. I am self-aware enough to realize that my musings are simply different ways of expressing the same thoughts and feelings, observations and sensations, that humans, and maybe other animals and plants, have experienced since time began. I am self-centered and bold enough to express them anyway!

The wisdom in this verse also applies, and I think of this often also, to what’s going on in the world around us. I remember, many years ago (like back in the ’60s and ’70s) trying to impress upon my dad the tenuous times we were in. He would always respond that all which I mentioned, wars, floods, earthquakes, climate change, etc. have been with mankind since the beginning. It does not portend the end of the world.

Fifty plus years later, I think I understand and accept that he was right. Unfortunately, just because it’s nothing new, nor does our current global “situation” necessarily mean the end of mankind, nor that it has all happened before and the deeds being done repeat previous mistakes, make it easier to accept and deal with individually or collectively. When will we ever learn?! (scroll down to listen)

More on Birds
Ecclesiastes 1:9

January Thaw

After one of the harshest beginnings to a new year, with record-breaking snow totals, January appears to be going out like a lamb here in eastern Iowa. I listened to the snowmelt dripping from the downspout each time I woke last night. I’m sure I’ll hear it again tonight as there is still plenty of snow on the roof and temperatures are predicted to remain above freezing. Additionally, we have a 100% chance of rain later today and into the night (Thursday). Rain! In January!

Add to that the dense fog that lingers all day as the humidity level stays nearly equal to the ambient temperature, a result of the melting snow. Sure beats sub-zero cold! Hopefully, February will take the hint and keep up the “nice” weather.

Still, cabin fever is setting in. But with daytime temperatures in the 30’s and maybe even 40’s next week, I am braving the weather for some outside walks. The brisk air is refreshing and still preferable to inside exercise.

The combination of cabin fever and temperate weather give me incentive to plan for travels again. Thus, I have a plan for the time around the second anniversary of Pam’s passing. Another trip to “her” bridge. Last year’s adventure was just that. You may recall I had to abandon my camping trip due to severe weather. This year, no camping. Rather I plan to visit other places along the way that I have wanted to return to.

Another trip south to visit my family, especially my Mother, around Atlanta is also in the works. Hopefully, this will become another adventure including new destinations along the way. I am also planning a special trip to celebrate a milestone birthday somewhere I can camp and hike. I’m looking into going east instead of west. No decisions yet.

January thaws are nothing new either. I am, however, happy to be looking forward to spring and summer. Happy to think of successfully making it through a second winter alone. Barring any unforeseen calamities, it appears that I will. And this winter will have been a much better one than its predecessor.

May the rest of your winter be healthy and hopeful.

More on Birds
Ecclesiastes 1:9
January thaw

Birds

A pair of Cardinals has been nesting somewhere nearby for several years now. They mate for life. They warm my heart for several reasons. They are beautiful, regal birds. The male’s bright red color, complete with pointed tuft, exudes confidence and power. He is first to the cardinal feeder, approaching cautiously, peering out from one of the surrounding trees before swooping out to perch on the tray filled with Safflower. The Mrs., though less conspicuously brown with red highlights, matches her mate in majesty with the same tufted head and powerful profile.

When I wake early enough, I see them in the dawning light, half hiding as in shadow so as not to be seen and somehow in danger. Always cautious, the slightest movement, either from the outside, or if I am seen through my window, puts them to flight. They repeat the pattern at dusk. I find myself keeping open my blinds in hopes of catching a glimpse in the fading light after sunset. Sometimes, and it seems especially on these cold, snowy days, they come out during the day. Mr. Cardinal prefers the feeder, Mrs. Cardinal, the ground (or snow currently) where seeds have been kicked off the feeder ledge, mostly by the many messy sparrows that ‘grace’ our feeders every day – all day.

Mr. C. at Sunset

Pam’s Mother loved cardinals. Thus, do her children and grandchildren. One of them gave us a Metalbird tree ornament that now protrudes from the Birch tree outside my living room window near the feeders. Since her passing several years ago, the prevailing thought is that somehow the presence of a cardinal indicates her spirit visiting among us, usually at times of want or need. I don’t know about that, but they are no less a reminder of our loved ones (I now include Pam) whenever they appear. That is special!

Cardinals are by no means the only birds to visit the feeders my neighbor and I have hanging on shepherd’s hooks between our houses. Most numerous and pesky are the sparrows. I’ve counted upwards of forty fluttering balls of brown and white feverishly attacking every type of feeder and the spillage on the ground around them. They remind me of coots on a lake swimming along the shore in hoards, hoping for some tasty marine morsels. Or bluegill in a pond, lurking along the edges and milling just under the surface in the deeps, always hungry; ready to snatch the bait or tied flies I cast in hopes of bass or trout.

Fewer in number, and not quite as pesky, are the house finches. Their size and shape are similar to sparrows. But their colorings make me think that at some point there must have been some hanky panky between some cardinals and sparrows. I like them, though, I guess for their colorings as much as anything.

Chickadees are so much fun. They flit about like cardinals, always cautious, always aware. Often arriving in pairs, they first settle in the trees then dart over to the cardinal feeder, take one seed, then return to a branch, pecking at it between their toes to break the shell and enjoy the meat inside. Then off again to the feeder and back. But never returning to the same branch. Their lighthearted appearance lifts mine as I watch.

I also like the juncos. They are typically ground feeders that seem to be around more in the winter months. They are easy to spot against the snowy blanket and dine on the buffet created by sparrows spilling their fare from the feeders above.

Many years ago, in another town, outside another window, I had two woodpecker feeders among several others. I delighted in attracting several species from downy and hairy, to flickers and pileated. Once in a great while a true red-headed woodpecker would grace me with its presence. So far, since hanging the feeder here, my only patron has been the downy. But I keep hoping.

Just recently, a pair of blue jays found their way back to the area after a very long absence. Though they are bullies, they are beautiful so I like seeing them around.

There are many other birds I listen and look for when I am walking through the woods or along the waterways. Of course the eagles and hawks enthrall me still. But now the one I wish most to see is the Bluebird. They are somewhat rare around here, migrating from the south to breed. I’ve always enjoyed seeing their bright blue plumage. Now this species means so much more to me. The bluebird on my mantel reminds me also of the beauty of the person I once knew as my wife. This could be the makings of a song (or at least a poem). Oh, wait. It already is.

My Little Bluebird

Born of a Cardinal and a stone
She never wanted to be alone
Much too soon she flew away
The world will never be the same
She was my little Bluebird

    My little Bluebird You flew away
    Could you not stay for another day
    With broken wing and a heart of gold
    We never had the chance to grow old

A lovely bird kept my feet on the ground
Her arms around me, so comfortably bound
As one together, yet free to be
Our love of each other let us see
She was my little Bluebird

    My little Bluebird you flew away
    Could you not stay for another day
    With broken wing and a heart of gold
    We never had the chance to grow old

Now you live on in my heart and mind
A new life I now must find
Without you I feel so alone
But for you I will make it on my own
You are my little Bluebird

    My little Bluebird You flew away
    Could you not stay for another day
    With broken wing and a heart of gold
    We never had the chance to grow old

You gave my life meaning
Yet we didn’t understand
Why you were losing yours
Why am I keeping mine?
I go on for you my little Bluebird

    My little Bluebird You flew away
    Could you not stay for another day
    With broken wing and a heart of gold
    We never had the chance to grow old

(c)

No Travel Plans – I Am Home!

Every week I hope to conjure up some new, interesting topic to write about. Something other than exposing my life and psyche for all the world to see. Once in a while I am successful. The task, however, is made more difficult by shying away from politics and religion. Maybe some day. Meanwhile, I continue to share my inner thoughts and feelings in hopes that the reading is worthwhile and maybe will touch someone in a positive, healing way.

For the first time since Pam’s passing nearly 20 months ago, I have no travel plans. No holidays, no projects out of town, no weekend visits. I have no planned trips to Atlanta (yet), or vacations to plan for. Nor do I have any camping or backpacking trips planned. Though I think about that often. I did, however, book my first gig for February. But it’s here, within a mile from home.

I am home. I sit in my easy chair and look around while I’m on the phone or reading. I’ve been in the music studio a few times since the year began. I view the other end of the large family room to see another sitting area along with my rowing machine. And while I am rowing, I see my studio (funny how that works 😉 )

My home is transformed. Much of the furniture is the same. Some a bit rearranged. Many pictures and mementos on the walls and shelves are as they have been for years. Some have been replaced with ones I found in storage.

I have many reminders of my amazing Pam1. Her Bluebird on the mantel. Pictures of us from our early years together. Always we are close together, always smiling – for real! Sometimes I still buy daisies and alstroemeria, placed in an Isabel Bloom vase on the dining room table. Based in the Quad Cities, their decorative concrete sculptures were integral with Pam’s growing up there. I have many figurines depicting angels, animals, and various holiday representations. I enjoy seeing them around the house. Happy reminders of Pam’s happy things.

As I look, I see that home is now mine. Though I sleep in the same bed, I am beneath different covers. Different towels, mats, and curtains adorn my ensuite. Dishes, tools, and gadgets are organized for my sole use in the kitchen. And from my chair I scan the living and dining rooms to find that they now reflect me, rather than “we”.

Now when I look I have memories. Not forgetting all we had together, nor how we lost it. But not so much constantly reliving the painful times. Beginning to reflectively smile at the good times. I am becoming comfortable at home.

  1. As I navigate through my new life, I am constantly aware – possibly more now than before – of what an amazing human being Pam was. Of course, no one is perfect. But seemingly, her entire being was of love and giving. Always seeing good in people, with the possible exception of herself. Kind. Gentle. Humble. Caring. Loving. Devoted. Sweet. Naive? I am humbled by having been loved by this wonderful woman and by my fortune in knowing her and loving her so intensely. It is truly better to have loved…!

Lost And Found In The Music

Happy holidays to you all! And an honest hope for a happy, healthy, and peaceful 2024!

I woke up Christmas morning with the realization that I had, in deed, been anxious about the coming holiday. I thought I was done with this level of anxiety subsequent to my recent travels and family events. Not so. I didn’t understand why my blood pressure was still higher than normal nor why I found it difficult to sit still during the day or go to sleep at night.

Sure. I know the tendencies of those who grieve to be affected by holidays and anniversaries. I’ve lived it. But I thought I was really doing better. Didn’t I just write about it? So what gives!?

Doesn’t matter. It is so. I cried. No, I wailed. Over and over as the morning passed and the rain (not snow) continued to fall, and the wind continued to blow.

The well-wishes started to light up my phone. “Thinking of you.” “Merry Christmas, Keith.” “Hope your day goes well.” All nice, warm sentiments that I appreciated very much. Knowing that family and friends understood my sorrow forced smiles in the midst of sadness.

By late morning, though, not knowing what to do or how to create a happier day, I found that I wanted to play music. I’ve been practicing with my Alvarez Yairi recently, so I unsheathed it from its case, tuned it, and began to play. First were songs for and about Pam. After all, it is she who I honor on Christmas more that any deity. For she loved the celebration of the holidays so.

So I played. And I played some more. I was lost in my music. Not necessarily playing well. I hadn’t been practicing much lately. It didn’t matter. I was in touch with the sound and the origins of the lyrics that meant so much to me, and that I did write them. I played for an hour. And then another. Taking breaks to rest my hands and voice, wetting my whistle, eating snacks.

From my travels: Lolo Pass, I Look Away, Parkersburg.
Family; loves and losses: When Comes the Time, Rae J, Tell Elizabeth I Love Her, Sarah’s Song.
And, of course, my Pamie Sue: She Sleeps, The Song I Never Wrote For You, Our Lives In Love, Anything To Please.
And many, many more. Covers of Cat Stevens, The Moody Blues, Simon and Garfunkel.

On I played throughout the day. It felt good. I felt better. And I remembered the commitment I made to Pam, shortly after her death, to pursue the music. To follow through with the dream. To give to others that which I have to give. Not amazing, artistic greeting cards as was Pam’s gift, but my music, both old and new. To share myself and those in my life with anyone who will listen and relate, or just enjoy the sound.

The more I played, the more I realized that I am fulfilling that dream. Music is the one constant, the one calming, honest, and true gift that I have to hold onto as I learn to live on my own, without my Pam. And it is due to her that I have been free to write and play for the past almost 30 years. She has been my muse, my inspiration, my collaborator, and my fan.

Now I prepare for the next chapter in what has become the life of a singer songwriter – my life. I have been looking forward to it for a very long time. I have thirteen new, unrecorded, original songs and 6-8 covers that I hope to record over the next few months. Hopefully, I’ll be done by Spring, ready to “hit the road” armed with hours of live music to share. And there are several completed songs that I have yet to practice, to prepare them for performance and recording. Several additional in-progress songs also await in the fringes of my repertoire. I hope I get to them all.

Finding my voice in my music brings me joy and satisfaction. I celebrate my life with Pam, and without her. Being lost in the music is a good thing. I find solace and comfort, able to forget the anxiety of loss during the holidays, and of the challenges that lie ahead. At least for a while, while I play.

Maybe you, too, may find some comfort or consolation. Lost and found in the music.

Still it is difficult to grasp that she is gone.

Gains and Losses

Two Steps Forward

Yeah, I guess this is life! Recently made notes to myself reveal a general improvement in my psychological wellbeing. Such gains are tempered by yet another loss, though only a partial one.

I began to notice subtle changes as I prepared for and experienced transitioning Mom to memory care. I realized early this week that I had been gone every weekend, and over half of the weeks, from Thanksgiving with family in Ankeny, through last weekend with family in MN. I found myself feeling comfortable at home just before the travels began.

Last weekend I was visiting daughters and families in Minnesota. This has been an emotionally challenging trip since Pam’s passing. They are all great and I love them and seeing them in their homes, living their lives. Anticipating this weekend I realized that I wasn’t stressed over possible challenging emotions. Rather, I was just looking forward to being with them. Major – positive – change!

I had lunch with (fellow subscriber) Linda on my way to MN. Linda and I share very similar caregiver experiences (Dave passed 18 months before Pam). And though we continue to compare “notes” about our experiences, we spent at least as much time just talking about family and travels. In other words, we were focused on living our lives now rather than revisiting the past.

I am aware that I am feeling less guilty for feeling good. For the longest time feeling good ultimately led to another round of sadness/depression. How could I betray Pam by not being miserable?! But I actually feel happy at times. I am beginning to enjoy my life as a retiree. It feels good to feel alive again – to trust myself again.

None of these feelings are betrayals. I think of Pam constantly. Everything I do and see reminds me of her. I miss her intensely and tell her so. When I see a reminder, especially of who she was and how she lived life, I tell her that I love her. Though thinking and saying this is probably about me and not her, It is the truth non-the-less. This is what she wanted for me.

One Step Back

On the other hand, leaving Atlanta I knew that I wouldn’t be able to talk with Mom on a regular basis (we chose not to give her a phone, at least for now). I realized this week the sense of loss, in some ways similar to my feelings of losing Pam.

Anticipating such an emotional event does not lessen the impact when it comes to pass. Just like with Pam, I could hardly let my emotions interfere with what I had to do, as a caregiver for Pam, and as a businessman for moving our Mother. The aftermath still includes some management, but there is much more time to feel. Now these new feelings of loss are mixed with those I already had.

Some of my gains are now back in the shadows. I can see them, yet they are clouded by renewed sadness. I know good feelings will return, but I struggle to grab onto them again.

Another cloud looms on the horizon. I’ve seen this cloud before when it was clear that Pam would not survive her disease for long. Mother will be 99 years old in just over a week. She has moderate dementia, but still realizes that there is not much left to live for. She also has stamina! The end will ultimately come. Probably sooner than later.

As I navigate gains and losses, I am sure there will be plenty of both to come for the rest of my life. This is something important that I have learned. Every one is a new chapter that I am ready and willing to live. I still want to – live!

Last week was the 17-month anniversary of Pam’s passing. It was the Tuesday after returning from Atlanta. I was still catching up on – well – everything from the trip. It wasn’t until this past weekend that I realized that the day went by without my acknowledging it. It was the first time. Next month will be a more significant milestone. Will I remember? Probably. Then, on to two years, and beyond. A step at a time.

Words – Impacting Our Lives

If you did not read last week’s post, Dream Within a Dream, I recommend that you do so before continuing here.

Family gatherings such as weddings, funerals, and reunions, evoke normal emotions of joy, sadness/loss, and “Wow! I haven’t seen her/him forever. My how they’ve changed.” Often, however, they bring deep-seated, maybe suppressed, feelings to the surface. Sometimes they erupt with power and major fallout. Sometimes they rise to the surface and are shared as either fond memories, or with trepidation.

Coming together as a sibling team to transition our Mother to memory care was such an occasion. All preparations culminated in a smooth transfer, even some elation, as we sat around the house reviewing what transpired, and discussing our myriad of emotions.

Over sixty years ago our father died at the age of 37. My eldest sister was 13, followed by another, age nine. I was seven, and my little sister was four. Our young lives were in complete disarray, to say the least. So many confusing events and emotions that children should not have to face, but often do.

It was a few days after Mom’s transfer that our emotional history surfaced when our “little” sister relayed her long-held traumatic experience. “After daddy died we were given a contest on who could be the most help to Mom. At 4 I could not begin to compete… I’ve never felt I could do enough or be enough help.“

My eldest sister responded, “ Interesting about contest-you have probably been trying to catch up your whole life!!!!” And my other sister, “I remember the competition. I cleaned out my drawers over and over again. Maybe that’s why I don’t do it anymore.” The youngest, “I remember you vacuuming.”

My contribution; “And I am still convinced that Mom telling me I had to be the man of the family instilled in me a perfection complex and that I could never do enough or get it right.” My younger sister’s response, “Yes and this role you have now fits right into that. And I didn’t want the role because at some level I felt I couldn’t do it.“

My uncle (my Father’s brother) told me years later that he always felt guilty for telling me that “God needed your daddy more that we do“, thinking that it caused some of my adolescent and young adult challenges. I totally let him off the hook when I told him it was what Mom had said that left the lasting impression.

Though my eldest sister did not relay any deep-held reactionary words, knowing her and with a few faint memories, I am sure that she, being several years older than the rest of us, naturally took on the role of surrogate mother, trying to help our overwhelmed, grieving Mother. Mom had been a stay-at-home mother and was thrust into the role of family provider. Thankfully, her friends came to her aid with a job and other assistance. But my sister was often the oldest person at home. I can also attest that she later raised two amazing daughters of her own. Along with her natural bent, she clearly learned much from her early, traumatic experience.

Yet more impactful words:

Eldest sister – “And Daddy telling J to take care of M!!!“
Middle sister – “Those were his final words to me.“
I chimed in – “And Mom’s first words to me.”
Middle – ” I was thinking that Keith!“
Eldest – “Pretty heavy trips to lay on children!“

Though much of this history was known to us, the vivid memories, complete with mental pictures/video of the events, have rarely been shared all at once and together. This single horrific event was amplified and indelibly printed on our brains – with lifelong impact – by our elder family’s words.

As I look back on my family relationships and rearing my children, I know I have my own gaffs to come to terms with. I’m sure we all do. By this time in our lives, I assume that my sisters and I hold no grudges against those adults in our lives as they were doing the best they could. Imperfectly, as we all are.

But it’s something to consider. Are there unresolved consequences of our words and actions on our parents, siblings, spouses, children? On my part, I hope those I have impacted understand that I never set out to hurt anyone. There are few people who do.

And now I’m off to visit many of those people to celebrate the holidays. For me it is really about celebrating our relationships with each other. I am thankful for each and every one. And I hope that for those whose relationships I may have broken, I might still make amends.

May your holiday season be merry and bright. And may those who love you, and those you love, express impactful words of love and, if necessary, understanding and forgiveness!

Dream Within a Dream

Today is Friday the 8th of December. By the time this post is published, I will be on my way back home from Atlanta. I wish I could say that the last eleven days were a rollercoaster of events and emotions, but the reality is that it’s been intense the entire trip.

My Hotel California (it’s her ringtone on my phone) sister arrived the same Tuesday as I, but a while later in the evening. We are here to support my We are Family (yes, her ringtone) sister and her husband Yoav, and my younger sister who lives in Atlanta (To My Little Sister – not a ringtone, but an unrecorded song I wrote for her), and each other through the final stages and aftermath of moving our Mother to memory care. That event took place last Friday, the 1st.

My sisters and I round out our Mother’s biological children. Mom has been staying with, and been primarily cared for by Jan and her husband Yoav for the past four and a half years with Darla’s valuable help.

Continued preparations masked the emotional stress associated with a life altering event such as this. And though we were able to discuss some of that emotion, we could not let it interfere with the task at hand.

Emotional stress can manifest in many different physical and behavioral ways. From cramps and rashes to a spectrum of silence to complete outpouring of thoughts and feelings. The five of us, first with Mom present, then with her absence, manifested several symptoms of both types.

But our time together was just that – together. We have been sharing a common, deeply personal yet communal experience of grief, loss, empathy, fear, and hope. We knew it individually and recognized it in each other.

My sisters and I took walks together, and individually, as we worked through our thoughts and feelings. On one walk I saw an eagle soaring high above, yet nearby. I texted my sisters who came out to see. I don’t attribute any higher power significance to seeing the graceful, flying creature, but experiencing it together was a treat.

As I knew it would, preparing for this transition over the past few months has pushed the loss of Pam back toward the surface of my conscious and subconscious mind. I could feel it lingering and swelling just below the surface. Of course it did. Not as a cataclysmic volcanic eruption; more like a fissure opened with thick hot lava oozing and moving along the surface of my psyche. I was able to express my feelings to this private support group of family. It helped to stem the flow.

Today I woke with vivid awareness of two dreams that actually were a dream within a dream. I was at home in the kitchen looking through the pass-through to the living room where Pam was sitting in her chair. It was a comfortable, normal scene with pleasant conversation. I watched her get up slowly (not normal) and realized, within the dream, that I was hallucinating and that Pam wasn’t really there. As she walked slowly toward the hallway and began to fade, I cried out that I knew it was a hallucination but I didn’t want it to end. Please!!!

I woke to find myself in a strange location, in some kind of garage with screened in, open, door. There were several other people there that I think I recognized, but can’t identify. Sitting next to two of these vaguely familiar co-occupants, I tried to relay my dream, only to have them tell me to get professional help. And so I tried to explain, even argued, that such manifestations of emotional stress are normal with loss and grief, but they couldn’t understand.

Commotion outside. An eagle pounced on a squirrel atop a power pole just down the street. Screeching. Flailing. The squirrel fell, with the eagle in pursuit. But missing that opportunity, it swooped toward a small dog outside a house across the street. Grabbed it. But it, too, got away.

I woke as the eagle was flying low, chasing the dog, who was chasing the squirrel! Now, awake for real, and as you can now see, I was able to recount in my mind exactly what had happened. This, too, was a manifestation of my emotional stress. Played out in a dream within a dream.

Epilogue

We continue to navigate our new logistical and emotional terrain since last Friday. Cheryl went home yesterday to California, and, as I said, I will be traveling as this post is published. Jan, Darla, and Yoav are left to take care of Mom’s daily needs, though in different roles, and they will have different experiences than before. From my perspective it has not been a rollercoaster. Rather an intensely emotional experience that we are all thankful to have shared together.

Life is But A Dream? Or are we dreaming within dreams? Too deep for me to contemplate now.