I have been writing lately, but not posting here.  Lots has changed but I just want to jump in to my daily magic.  I have been keeping a log for a few months of all the magic in my life.  I realized this past year that magic is everywhere, you just have to open your eyes and heart to see and feel it.  Once I started doing that everything changed.  Sometimes it’s BIG MAGIC and some days it’s little magic.  But every day there is magic.  Sometimes magic is just making it through a really hard day and slipping into a warm bed.  Other days it is sharing space with another beautiful soul and connecting deeply.  Yesterday, I witnessed my daughter’s magic.  It blew me away.

My youngest, Maya, who is eight walked home from school with a friend.  She came straight home and joined me in my office where I was getting some work done.  She started her homework and was telling me about her day.  She started complaining that two other older girls on the block were texting each other about getting together to ride bikes at 4pm.  Maya was upset because she doesn’t have a phone and was feeling like she was going to get left out.  I suggested Maya walk over and see if the other kids were getting together but Maya is pretty strong willed and said she didn’t want to bother if they weren’t going to include her she didn’t want to go anyway! “Ok, Maya but I’m sure they aren’t leaving you out on purpose, they are your friends after all,” I said.  “No, I don’t want to go anyway!” says Maya.  Clearly Maya’s feelings were hurt and when Maya is hurt, she gets angry to try to avoid the hurt feeling.  I let it go and we both kept working.

Suddenly, at 4:11pm the doorbell rings! Maya jumps up, “It’s them!” She and I both run to open the door.  There out in front of our house is the most beautiful group of neighborhood kids with all different size bikes and helmets and smiles.  “Maya, you want to come ride bikes with us?” they ask.  She lights up like a christmas tree and looks at me.  “Sure!” she says.  I close the door and we head to the garage to get her bike.  Before she makes it to the garage I call her to come back.  I hold her smiling face in my hands and tell her to look at me.  “Maya, remember this, they came.  Trust your friends.  They came.  They want you with them, life is better with you and they know it.”  “Yes, Ma,” she says.  She grabbed her bike and helmet and off she went out into the sunny day with her friends.  I closed the garage and teared up.  I thought of my friends, and how I know my life is better with them in it.  I thought of how they keep showing up to get me too.  I thanked God that my kids have such sweet kids around them to take them out for a bike ride on a Thursday afternoon.  See what I mean, Magic.

I woke up this morning with a heavy heart. It’s September 11^th again. Fourteen years have gone by. How is that possible? I followed our morning routine and got the kids out the door for school and then sat for a moment to watch the news and see how people were remembering. I was surprised none of the talk shows were talking about 9/11 when I quickly searched various channels. I guess since it has been fourteen years the news stations don’t feel the need to have all day long coverage like they used to. I wonder how that makes the families who lost someone that day feel? Eventually, various of the news shows paused for their moment of silence when the first plane struck. I sat and watched and sighed. All those people lost on the same horrible day.

I remembered all the things I always do when 9/11 rolls around again, where I was when I heard, what I did for the rest of the day and who I was lucky enough to go to sleep with that night. I looked on Facebook and saw that several of my friends were remembering also, where they were, what they did that day and days after.

Then it struck me, I was comforted knowing we were all mourning today again, together. Many people across the country and the world are also having my same experience today. Going about their day, but with a heavy heart. Today is a day of community mourning and that made me feel better. Being in the same boat with so many. A shared experience of sorts.

For many mourning and grief is such a private cross to bear. Many grieve alone and in private from others. So, this day of knowing so may others are remembering feels like a revelation to me. I am, of course, not happy we are having to cross this road together but there is a power and a strength of togetherness.   We are not alone.

So, here I am just like you thinking about this day fourteen years ago and sending you a hug.

I haven’t written in a while.  I have thought a lot about ideas and issues that apply to this blog but just haven’t written them all down.  I’m not sure why.

I realized recently that somewhere along the way I lost my guts.  In my twenties I remember feeling that I could do whatever I wanted to.  Nothing seemed out of reach.  Nothing really scared me.  Everything I wanted to do, I just did it.  It was easy.  Some might have called my life a “charmed life.” It just worked.  Aside from a few breakups I just cruised along enjoying life and all my goals seemed attainable.

Somehow, I don’t feel any of that confidence now.  I still have all these ideas but I can’t seem to follow through on them.  I feel like when my mom died, my biggest cheerleader died too.  I think, with her by my side I  just felt like I could do it all.  She always believed in me, so it was easy to believe too.  Without her backing me I feel like a scared little mouse peeking outside my door to see if anyone is going to come eat me if I go outside.  I guess it doesn’t help that I haven’t had a paying job since November 2004.  I don’t feel like a professional person anymore.

With Maya going to kindergarten in the fall I am trying to figure out what I am going to do with the rest of my life, professionally. I’m very aware that I have been doing A LOT since November 2004 but I feel so removed from the working world.  I also feel myself wanting to be safe and do what is familiar even though it might not be what my heart really wants to do.

I just finished training to be a hospice volunteer.  Hopefully, I will be able to start volunteering soon.  Hospice volunteering may seem a bit strange for some, but it feels like the right step for me.  I belong there.   So I tell myself, baby steps.  I am doing something.  But I still miss my cheerleader who always made me feel confident in myself.  I miss that twenty year old girl who knew what she wanted in life.  I know she’s in there somewhere I just feel like some where along the road she got knocked down and isn’t sure how to get back up.

My mom got knocked down, I know.  She became such a bad ass professor.  She loved her  job.  It was such a part of who she was and I want that too.  I am in love with the family we have built but I know I am the kind of person that needs a career.  Something greater than me.  What a daunting idea.  I feel like at forty I am starting over, and don’t know where to start!

I realize I am not alone.  There are many people that have to start over for different reasons but how do you find your way?  How can I find my way without her?

Tiny my cat is 18 years old. I adopted her and her sister, Zora, summer of 1995. I was newly graduated from college and finally living in my own pet friendly apartment. She has almost been with me half my life. The thing is, she’s dying. I know it. I don’t think she will shake this latest odd behavior off. Tomorrow a vet that makes house calls is coming to check her out. I know what they are going to tell me. It’s time. I just don’t feel ready to put her to sleep. I feel like I don’t have any options. I don’t know why I’m not ready. I mean she is 18. She’s lived a great kitty life with me. Her sister Zora faded last year and I had to put her down. I think one reason I am feeling so conflicted is because we all love Tiny so much. My kids play with her daily. Even Craig has a little love for her. She really is part of the family. As sad as putting Zora to sleep, she was my cat only. Loyal to me till the end.

I am very aware that they are pets. Having held my beloved loved ones as they died, I know true grief. However I am still struggling because she is struggling. She isn’t eating much and she seems to be gasping to breathe. I wish there was hospice for pets at home. I really want her to die here at home but comfortably. I wish such a thing existed.

When I was in middle school my cousin Ileana came to live with us.  She lived with us for four years.  She became the sister I never had.  I found myself not wanting to go on sleep overs with friends because I didn’t want to miss whatever was going on at home with Ileana and my mom.  We loved being around each other.  On one occasion when I had to go somewhere I didn’t really want to but had to, I told my mom and Ileana to not have to0 much fun without  me or talk about anything fun.  I think this is where it started.  It stuck and when ever we were all together and one of us had to go do something we would warn the others to stop talking until the other could come back.  It became a family joke.

Lately, I have been thinking about what I want to do when I grow up.  Yes, I am 40 but I feel like I still don’t know.  I  have another year before my youngest is in school full time so I am trying to figure out the direction I want my work life to go when I am finally free at home to work.  I have lots of ideas, some seem doable others might be a little out there.  The strange thing is they are just ideas, I seem to be stuck at the idea part.  There are things I could be doing now that I am not.  And today I think I realized why.  My mom is gone, and I don’t want her to miss anything great that might happen in my life.  I don’t want anything great to happen without her.  So I am doing my best at not doing anything too exciting while she is gone.

Ridiculous, I know.  I can’t keep my life on pause since she is gone.  I didn’t even really realize that I was on pause.  But I think I am.  I have all these things I want to do but don’t pursue them.  I dabble but don’t go full steam ahead because if I do I might succeed and then she would miss it, and I don’t want her to miss it.

So, now I am aware of this but how do I move past it?  How do I succeed without her.  I know what people will say, she is there with you, she sees you and what you do.  But come on people, those of you that have lost important people know, it’s not the same.  I do think being aware of this is good.  Maybe knowing this will help me press the pause button and play again.

I woke up late this morning. My husband had to go to work today but the kids were home on winter break. They were busy playing video games and taking care of themselves. So, I slowly made my way downstairs. I made fancy French toast. We built Legos, played with Christmas presents. We even made it out of the house to go bowling with my brother. We came home, built more Legos, ate leftovers and watched a Christmas movie. Kids went to bed and the grown ups stayed up late watching another movie. Oh, so ordinary and expected. But today can never be an ordinary, mundane day for me. Three years ago today it snowed, A LOT. I didn’t leave the house, everyone else did. I stayed home with my one year old daughter and my dying mother. Three generations together under one roof for a few more precious hours. While Maya napped my mom took her last breath and died. It wasn’t an ordinary day and three years later it still isn’t an ordinary day.

Several friends on Facebook have been posting daily gratitude posts this month. I love reading and hearing about what my friends are grateful for this month. I think it is a wonderful ability to be aware of all the blessings in our life. My mom, somehow without preaching, helped me grow up to be aware of good times while we were in the good time and she also made me appreciate small moments of joy in addition to the big obvious ones.

So here is my list  in no particular order:

My family, the one I was born into as well as the family I chose.  Our shared history connects us so deeply.  I am grateful for my dad who took us to Mexico every summer so we could know our family and connect and love each other, otherwise we would have grown up strangers and what a loss that would have been.  Life is richer when we are together.  Y el bailado nadien no lo quita!

My brothers.  I have mentioned them in other posts but think I would be a ship lost at sea without them.  We don’t live near each other anymore but I know they are THERE.  Knowing they are there means everything.

Craig, I chose him to be my family and what a good choice!  We have built a wonderful family together and are raising some awesome, crazy, fun, smart, silly creatures together.  How lucky are we.  And with Craig came his family.  I wish I had had more time with his dad and had the opportunity to meet his brother Jeff but alas I did not.  I am grateful  for my mother in law, Karen.  Magically we truly love each other and don’t have to tip toe around and pretend to be nice like so many other mother in law/daughter in law relationships I know,  I am very appreciative and aware of how great this is. 🙂

My three children. They made me a mom and changed my life in amazing ways. Their love, smiles and joy makes my life worth living and man can they make me laugh!

My posse of friends. My old lifelong gang to my newer friends add such richness to my life and kept me afloat when I was drowning in despair.  They are my extended family and life would not be the same without them.  Thanks guys.

My mom, forever grateful for her and all that she taught me.  She passed me her laughter, her sunshine, her silliness, her great beauty!:), her caring soul and her compassion.  She taught me to turn a regular event into a party.  I will never forget rushing home from school to get dressed up for Josh and Reba’s wedding on Guiding Light!  We actually got dressed up to “go” to the wedding.  How awesome.

I’m grateful for recovery and time.  Even though I still have some really, really rough days, time and work have helped me step further away from grief.  I am aware, even on those rough days, how much better I am doing.  Recovery and being able to rebuild your life is an amazing thing.

Rereading my list, all but one post has to do with people and I think that is appropriate.  In the end the people who come into your life are what really matters, they are ALL that matters.

Happy Thanksgiving lovely people.

I know it is very common for people who have lost loved ones to struggle certain times of year.  Some have a harder time with birthdays.  Imagining what would be happening in their loved one’s life and missing having them around to celebrate their birthday together.  Others struggle with the day the person died, remembering the moment, the sadness, the end of the struggle.  Some people may struggle with both or other significant days, anniversaries and other special days.  Sometimes the days leading up to the day are harder then the day itself.

For me, this time of year always leaves me with an ache in my throat.  It’s right there near the surface and I struggle to keep it in, down inside and put away.  I think today, with the first signs of winter brought me to that hard time of year.  Snow whirling around outside this morning as my excited daughter jumped around trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue.  The cold, cold wind all around as I got in and out of the car to run errands alone. Three years ago we were struggling day to day.  My mom was going downhill and in a few days she no longer responded.  A Sunday morning she didn’t get out of bed.  She would continue to live but no longer communicating with us through writing, just the shaking of her head, a smile, or a hand squeeze.

The first year after my mother died I realized in the fall I was on a strange countdown but this time I knew the outcome.  I knew which day she died, I knew which day she stopped responding, I knew the day she rallied.  It was a strange reliving of her decline.  But every year it’s the same timeline and it is all mixed in with Thanksgiving and Christmas, two holidays that I love.  Quite the mix of emotions.  Being on this countdown doesn’t ruin Thanksgiving or Christmas for me, I have so much to be grateful for and love the joy of Christmas time with my nearest and dearest.  But the countdown is in the background. My mother died the day after Christmas.  Everyone left that morning.  She and I were alone while Maya napped.  I spent the entire day in her room with her playing holiday music on my iPad.  It was an amazing day outside, it snowed all day long.  I watched the snow from her big bedroom windows.  I held her hand.  I combed her hair.  I laid next to her in the blowup bed we had set up by her bed.  I gave her her medication.  I sang to her.  I read to her.  I cried over her as she took her last breath.  I begged her not to leave me.  Alas, she had places to go.

(Just had to stop writing this post to play a round of Plants vs Zombies with my kids so we could beat the treasure yeti.  This is one of the amazing parts of my life.  Writing a super sad post about my mom dying takes second place to what is important to my guys .)

So the countdown will continue again this holiday season.  I was glad this year it started for me in November instead of October as it did last year.  Maybe it will start later and later each year.  The strange thing is it doesn’t really bother me that I relive the countdown every year.  Somehow I feel it keeps me connected to her.  It is a strange mental pilgrimage to my mom’s death that I think I will continue to take every year.

How do you decide to go from saving someone’s life to arranging the best death? When is the right time to make that call? How can anyone make that decision?  How do families decide that for their loved ones?  Amazingly, lots of people have to stop everything and question the healing path they are on and change directions.

I will never forget that bright spring day in May 2010. It was a Tuesday and I was rushing to get ready to head to the hospital to meet my dad for his chemo treatment. At this point in the game he had Parkinsons and lymphoma. He was in a rehab in South Jersey and was being taken to PENN for his chemo treatment.  That morning his neurologist finally called me back and we spoke frankly. After I asked him what else we could do for my dad, he told me he thought my dad was at end stage Parkinson’s and that there really was nothing more he could offer.  Really? We talked a bit more and he informed me this stage could last a while but there really wasn’t anything else he could do. He told me my dad would eat less and less and would eventually be unable to swallow.  Then he asked me to consider donating his brain to research. Wow, talk about lack of tact.

I drove to PENN reeling. Why were we going to give him chemo if he was in end stage Parkinson’s?  This made no sense.  I was so relieved when I told my brother all this information and he said the same thing? We were on the same page. This was important.

My dad had arrived and I spoke to his oncologist about what we were thinking.  We all met with my dad as he lay in the bed unable to move much of his body due to the Parkinson’s. We told him what the neurologist said and that we weren’t sure we should keep treating his lymphoma. My dear father said, “Well if that’s what everyone has decided then, ok.” No, I didn’t want to decide FOR him, I wanted him to decide FOR him. I knew, however, that he couldn’t really anymore and we had to decide.

We called my brother who lived in Mexico, talked with friends and hospice. It felt like we were giving up somehow. There had to be something else we could do to make him better. But we all knew in our hearts there wasn’t.

I think my brother Dave said it, we had to start arranging the best death possible. He was right. So we did. That evening after a long day at PENN we transferred him to an inpatient hospice facility to give us time to arrange to take him home.

My dad was transferred to hospice by ambulance and I followed in my car. I arrived on the top floor of the old graduate hospital where the inpatient Penn hospice is located. I was a wreck. I could barely hold back my tears when I arrived and was met by a tall, big, wonderful black man. I told him why I was there and who I was looking for. This big beautiful man hugged me. A big, loving hug.  I still am thankful for that man and his hug.  He told me to wait in the lobby while they got my dad settled in his room.

I met met my dad in his room and helped him get settled. We met with the staff doctor and nurses and went over his meds.  It was late and my dad was hungry.  We had been so busy making arrangements he hadn’t eaten. The staff brought him up a sandwich and chips. I turned on the television and opened up his dinner. The American idol finale was on and I fed him his dinner. He only wanted potato chips so I laid down next to him in his bed and fed him potato chips and made him watch American Idol with me. This was a great end to a very hard day.