Mother's Day

An acquaintance of mine suffered a miscarriage, just before Mother’s Day.   I’m sure her husband and their children will try to make Mother’s Day special for her — but the loss will be felt, probably more than they can ever imagine.

On a day like Mother’s Day, how do we comfort a mother who has lost a child?  How do we comfort a child who has lost a mother?  How do we comfort a woman who wants to but is unable to conceive?

But we don’t like to think about that side of this Hallmark Card Day…

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Non-Huggers, Be Forewarned!

I was in a silly mood in water aerobics this morning.  It was just minutes before class, and the several women were still wading in, focusing on finding that perfect spot they’ve picked out for themselves.

One such lady was coming right toward me.  She didn’t seem to see me standing there, because that imaginary spot of hers had her full attention.  If she continued on her current course, she’d have collided into me. 

Foreseeing this, I could have moved… but I didn’t. 

I simply stood there with my arms outstretched, with a silly grin on my face, waiting for some reaction from her…

Still nothing from her… 

She just kept coming.

So, I stood there, arms outstretched, acting as the pool’s silent, silly-grinning tollgate.

It wasn’t until she was just inches away that she finally noticed me.  She stared at me for a couple of seconds — expecting me to move — but, then, she saw my silly grin.

Her facial expression changed as things started to register with her.  She stretched out her arms as well, and gave me the hug I was waiting for.  Only then, was she allowed to pass.

She commented that her husband and she just had a conversation about this same thing at breakfast this morning.  Her husband is from a family that regularly hugs each other.  She, on the other hand, came from a family that never hugged each other — so she’s not used to all this hugging.  Her husband simply told her that she’ll just have to get used to it.

That opened up a “hug” discussion among the group.  The instructor mentioned that, years ago, her daughter dated a young man who grew up in a family that didn’t hug.  Her family is a hugging family.  At first, whenever this guy came to family functions, he was uncomfortable when he was treated as “part of the hugging family.”  This “young man” is, now, the instructor’s son-in-law; and he’s been converted.  He simply surrenders to the hugs…

The rest of the ladies’ stories ended the same way.  Between the battle of the huggers and the non-huggers, the huggers always won over their opponents. 

I came from a non-hugging family, so it’s not surprising that the first — and best, in my humble opinion — inspirational/motivational speaker I latched onto was Leo Buscaglio, Ph.D. — aka "Dr. Love."  He also was an author and a professor in the Department of Special Education at the University of Southern California.

While at the University, he always took an interest in his students.  One week, he noticed that one of his more responsive students was missing for several of his classes.  Because he missed her inquisitive face, he asked around and learned that she had committed suicide. 

This news devastated Leo.  He never wanted to lose another student to suicide, again.  Because of that, he focused on how important human connection was to life.  He began a non-credit course called Love 1A, which focused on the need for human connection, arguing that social bonds are essential to transcending the stresses of everyday life.  Human contact enriched life and crossed communication gaps between generations. 

He’s written a number of books — and each book embraces you with his humor, his humanness, his genuineness, and his love for life and humanity.  His work is most closely associated with the topic of love and human relationships, emphasizing the value of positive human touch — especially hugs.

This association with hugging became his trademark at lectures.  After each presentation, thousands of people would line up and stand patiently, waiting to hug him.  He wouldn’t leave until the last person was hugged.  Many times, the recipients of the hugs would tell him that they couldn’t remember the last time they were hugged… it had been that long ago. 

Leo died in 1998, but you can still experience his life-giving energy through his books and even view him on YouTube. 

If you take the time to get to know him through his books and videos, you’ll see how amazingly giving he was to everyone.

And I often wonder…

What would the world be like if we all had someone like Leo in our families — an expressive and loving family member who constantly told us how wonderful we are and how wonderful life is, and who was never afraid to share his feelings or give away hugs every chance he got?

And from my little survey in the pool today, I’m feeling confident that Leo’s hugging campaign is alive and well… in more and more people.

So, non-huggers, be forewarned.  We’re coming after you!

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Time to Move On

I took off work early to go to the dentist.

What’s eventful about this dentist visit is that it would be my last visit with Dr. Bodo.  He’s an 80-year-old man with a gentle touch, kind soul, and patient temperament — and he’ll be retiring from the profession in a couple of months. 

I know it’s time for him to move on — but I don’t like it! 

He’s been in practice for 56 years — longer than I’ve been alive.  My mother first took me to him when I was too young to climb into his chair.  As the years have gone by, I’m the one, now, taking my mother, and she’s having difficulty climbing into his chair…

It takes us more than an hour to drive to his office, and in all these years, we’ve never considered finding another dentist closer to home.  Now, we’re forced to…

Yes, this is hard for us.  It’s hard for him, too.

He tells me that he is sad to have to close up his practice.  He’s not just closing a business; he’s saying goodbye to a part of himself.  Many of his patients have been with him for so long that they have become like family to him.   

  

But he has family of his own.  He has kids and grandkids all over the country; so I was imagining his retirement would give his wife and him the freedom to visit family and friends… but this isn’t the case.

Instead, he’s retiring to take care of his ailing wife and disabled son.

There’s no time for traveling.  There’s no time to enjoy the fruits of his labor.  There’s no time to relax.

As I grab for the door for this last time, I’m struck with the realization that I will never, again, hear his warning to drive safely home, and see his warm smile, waving me on my way…

Yes, it’s very hard for me to say goodbye to this 80-year-old man with the gentle touch, kind soul, and patient temperament… knowing that I’m not going to be coming back... to him.

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I’m Numb

I’m numb. 

For the past couple of years, I’ve been trying to contact a friend of mine.  We were really close years and years ago, but she moved out of state, and we've lost touch.

Over the years, I’ve called her; but after another move, the phone number I had for her no longer worked. 

Emailing her wasn’t an option, since she wasn’t comfortable with the computer and didn’t have an email address. 

The letters and cards I sent in the later years started to come back with no forwarding address. 

Knowing my friend’s hectic, constantly moving, and crazy life, I just assumed that she was happily busy with her family — and I, mentally, wished her well.

She’s such a beautiful person that I couldn’t wish her anything less.  She’s another exceptional person I’ve had the privilege to know.  Her loving spirit shines through every piece of her and brightens everyone and everything around her.  She is totally devoted to her family and “her family” includes everyone she meets.  Her presence makes such a difference to those she touches. 

So, I can understand how we fell out of touch, and I am so grateful that our paths crossed for as long as it did.

Two years ago, some internal need made me resurrect my search for her again.  I knew my friend wasn’t comfortable on the computer, but I thought, maybe, time had changed that and searching on Facebook was worth a shot.  It would be one way that she can keep in contact with her family — and I thought, maybe, her daughters would have set up an account for her. 

So, I took a shot.  Unfortunately, my friend’s name is pretty common, and I had to develop a hit-and-miss strategy to my Facebook search.  I thought I had found her and sent her a friend’s request… but got no response.

That didn’t stop me, though.  Each time her birthday rolled around, I would reach out again and again… with no response.

This year, when her birthday came around, I reached out again…

Then it struck me.  Her youngest daughter would be in her twenties now — and part of this Facebook generation.  If I can find her, I can ask her to wish her mom a happy birthday for me.  And that’s what I did.

Yesterday, the daughter messaged me back. 

Her mom — my friend — was killed in a car accident, by a drunk driver… two years ago.

I'm numb.

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Enjoy the Simple Pleasures

On the night of September 30, my mother called to tell me her aunt — my great aunt — died at 7:38 that evening.

My great aunt was 96 years old.  She has been in an assisted living facility for twenty years, and for all of that time, she has been wishing herself “eternal rest”— making our years with her as miserable as she was. 

It was clear that she was not pleased with the way things have unfolded for her.  Her life held no mystery, pleasure, or joy.  Life only held pain and discomfort for her.  Memories of the past didn’t help, because even the past added to her discontentment…

No, she was not happy with her lot in life…

Toward the end, she was in and out of the hospital — internal bleeding coming from some unknown source.

After this last visit, she was discharged to rest comfortable in her own bed. 

I went by my 86-year-old mother’s the following morning, to see if she needed anything from me and to make sure she was emotionally OK. 

Mom seemed relieved that her aunt had finally gotten her wish.  She was taking everything is stride, making funeral arrangements and such.  She appreciated my help, but she had everything under control.

That evening, I took a leisurely walk around my neighborhood.  It was the first cool night of the Florida fall season.  The sun was just setting, and a light breeze was blowing through the trees. 

It was just too precious to waste, so I put on my sneakers and headed off into the sunset.

Someone was grilling steaks outside; kids were riding their bikes and scooters; couples were walking hand-in-hand down the street; a group was playing touch football; and families were walking their dogs.

I passed one house where a couple was still working on their flowerbed.  At another home, an elderly gentleman was enjoying his cigar on the porch.  There were no cell phones or iPods to be seen or heard.

No, everyone was just enjoying the sunset, the breeze, and the beginning of a new season…

The evening’s walk reminded me to enjoy every moment — no matter how ordinary the moment seems — because, sooner or later, the simple pleasures of life will be taken from us…

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Hostess of Memories

On the eve of another birthday, I’m reminded exactly how long I’ve had the desire to write...

Here’s one of my first pieces that was actually published in a local newspaper.  I was teenager at the time.  Gosh… if only I pursued this dream that many years ago, I wonder where I would be today.

Anyway… the piece is called Hostess of Memories.

The yard was filled with flowers and tall grass that waved in the wind. Hidden behind a tree stooped a little girl who was hunting her cat, which in turn was stalking a bird.  A car's horn blasted somewhere in the distance and the game was over.  In search for another prey, she eyed a butterfly which flew too high for her to catch.  Finally, she reached her destination....

She loved this house.  It was old and breaking down, but it still stood tall and strong.  Everything it touched would excite her.  Even the trees that surrounded her castle were special.  In a tree, she would sit very still on her wooden throne and hear the wind sing to her as the flowers and grass bowed down to her.

Sneaking around the corner, she would creep pass the old man in the rocking chair.  His snoring helped cover the squeaking floorboards under her; but, just about passed him, she would notice that the snoring had stopped.  Embarrassed that she got caught, she would shyly turn around to talk to her grandfather.

When she was younger, she used to be afraid of him.  Hands behind his back, he'd stand above her with his stern eyes piercing through his bifocals.  His gruff voice left her cold and frightened.  As she grew to know him, his eyes turned from stern to tired.  Even his bifocals lost their sharpness.  Now they would silently slip down to the tip of his nose, where they would rest.  He still would stand tall and fearful, but she knew that behind his back he held a box of cookies to be shared.

Hand in hand, they would walk inside.  Their castle was dark and musty.  The only sun that would come in was through the stained-glass window above the stairs.  With this light, the stairs gave off a magical silence that spread throughout the house.  When the house was alive with cousins, uncles and aunts, she would climb these stairs and let sounds of laughter and smells of cooking float over her.

Lying in the colorful shadows, she would spy on her family.  Through the window, she would see Grandpa rocking and nodding.  Her uncles, resting their feet on the shaky banisters, would joke with each other, while her cousins ran around, yelling in the yard.  Soon, she would get tired of being invisible and would run to join the others playing in the yard.

But she liked the house best when it was still and quiet and she had it all to herself.  Alone in the living room, she would climb onto Grandpa's favorite chair.  Bouncing on this green cloud, she'd look through the stack of magazines and newspapers that were in easy reach of the chair.  Hearing Grandpa coming, she would scuttle off the chair and onto the floor.  She would pretend to be hard at work on her log cabin and would steal glances to see if he suspected.  He, in turn, would pretend not to notice her sudden fluster.  Grandpa would sit in his chair, start up a cigar and pick up his paper and glasses.  After a while, he'd put down the paper, lean over and suggest new ways of building the cabin. 

The house was quiet.  All that could be heard was the old clock and Grandpa's quiet coughing.  She loved it here.  She wanted it to stay this way forever.  But it couldn't.  Grandpa died--and so did the house.

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Nothing’s Free

My dad was a dreamer, too.

He’d always fill out those Publishers Clearing House mailers, expecting to win what was promised in the letters.

Each time they came, he’d sit down and diligently complete the forms, attaching this stamp to that form, making sure they were within the designated lines, because if they weren’t perfectly aligned, his entry would be disqualified.

I remember one of the last times we were together, before he went into the hospital.  He was working on a PCH mailer.  He’d ask my opinion on what color car should he request and which sticker he should attach.  We’d sit down together and discuss the various options and come up with something he felt good about.

Dad died never winning the PCH, but it never stopped him from trying or believing that one day he would.

Funny thing is… soon after he died, I started getting the PCH mailers at my house.  They hadn’t come to me before, but suddenly, they started showing up in my mailbox.

I couldn’t help myself.  I had to continue Dad’s dream of one day winning that PCH check.  I couldn’t let him down. 

So, each time the PCH mailer comes to me, promising the $10 million check, I laugh at myself, because I know that I’ll be spending the night, going through the package, sorting out the stamps, searching for this official sticker to stick on that official form… just like my dad did…

But they’ve added a twist to this exercise.  They’ve added an online entry form that you must enter a special code to receive a prize of your choice. 

The problem is that you have to go through pages and pages of advertizing and “tricks” before you can complete your official entry form to claim your prize.  You have to maneuver through pages and pages of offers that you’re not interested in and find the correct button to proceed  without signing up for anything along the way…

It’s a maze of marketing propaganda to get through.  I’m not sure that I did it successfully.  I’ll guess I’ll find out when my new laptop does or does not arrive.

In the meantime, I’m dealing with new scams and advertizing emails assaulting my email box every 20 minutes now.  I’m spending my days unsubscribing to things that I never subscribed to in the first place…well, I didn’t realize I had subscribed to in the first place.

I’m sure my email address has been sold to dozens of marketing companies by now, all because I entered the PCH entry code from the mailer.

I have to shrug it off.  Live and learn. 

Nothing’s free in this world… but it’s always nice to dream.

Yep.  I inherited my dad’s good nature and optimistic view on life.  I’m a dreamer like he was…

And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.


Thanks, Dad....



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Letting Go

A co-worked just lost her father.  She came into work today, to help get her mind off of the emotions she’s experiencing.  I sat with her for a bit, to see if there was anything I could do for her.

She asked, “When will I stop crying?  It’s not like I didn’t know this day wasn’t coming.  He’s been ill.  I thought I had prepared myself for it, but when this day finally came… I wasn’t ready...”

When will she stop crying?  There’s no easy answer to that question.  As time passes, the pain will dull; but, then, something will trigger a memory, and she’ll find herself right back to today’s pain. 

Going through the stages of grief takes time.  It’s important to know that and take each day as it comes. 

As long as we know what we’re going through, we can find a way to function through it.  That’s all we can do — function through the grief.

Depending on the type of relationship you had with your loved one, you will experience these stages differently than others.  Usually, when people learn of the loss, they will react with shock and denial.  As the shock wears off, unbelievable pain will replace it.  They may feel guilt and remorse over what they did or didn’t do… what they should or shouldn’t have done.  This feeling of frustration gives way to anger.  They may lash out and blame others for the tragedy.  During this time, they can start to isolate themselves and become depressed.

But, as time passes, you’ll start to adjust to your “new normal” without your loved one.  Things will feel calmer and more organized. Your depression will begin to lift slightly.  You’ll start working through things again.  Your mind will start functioning as it used to.   After a while, you’ll learn to accept and deal with the reality of your situation. 

This doesn’t mean that you will be instantaneously happy, carefree, and untroubled as you were before the loss.  It only means that you are moving forward and defining a new normalcy of life for yourself… after the loss.

Letting Go


I remember you taking me to school
You carried my books part of the way
Your hand patted me on the back
As you pushed me through the door


I didn’t think I was ready but you took no notice
You knew it was time to let go
You slipped your hand away from mine
And let me go on without you


I remember you teaching me to ride a bike
You stayed close to me
Your big hand covering mine
As you helped me steer and balance


I didn’t think I was ready but you took no notice
You knew it was time to let go
You slipped your hand away from mine
And let me go on without you


I remember you teaching me to drive
You sat next to me
Your hand covering mine
As I tried to fit the car into the space


I didn’t think I was ready but you took no notice
You knew it was time to let go
You slipped your hand away from mine
And let me go on without you


I remember you teaching me the hardest lesson
It was on the day you died
When I took your hand in mine
And found out how hard it is to let someone go


I didn’t think I was ready but you took no notice
You knew it was time to let go
I slipped my hand away from yours
And let you go on without me

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Getting Ready

Well, with that optimistic email from across the ocean, regarding some possible interest in Silhouette of a Friendship… From the Inside Out, I thought I’d better get back to Ready or Not—Life’s Coming at Ya… in case they ask if we have any other books we’d like to share with them.

Yeah, yeah… I know I’m a dreamer… but … what do I have to lose?!


There was one section that I needed to fill in — regarding the physical, social, emotional, and mental changes teens experience as they transition from adolescence to adulthood.

My thinking is:  If teens knew what was going on within them at that time, they’d feel better equipped to handle it and help those around them as well.

I don’t know if it will help, but I wish some adult had told me what was going on…



If someone had, I wouldn’t have felt so lost, unaware, and unprepared.

Anyway, that’s what I’m working on tonight.

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Paradox of Happiness

There’s nothing new on the publishing front, although we are starting to get some wonderfully encouraging letters of hope from the publishers who choose to respond back to us.  They simply love Silhouette of a Friendship…From the Inside Out, but they’ve already set and spent their budget on books for the upcoming year and regret that they have no room to add ours to their lists. 

So, we’ll just keep trying.


Anyway, let me tell you about this very interesting group of men and women to whom I was introduced.  They meet once a month to focus on relationships, communications, etc. — really cool stuff and the subjects our books center around…

At this particular meeting, they were discussing the importance of having a support system around you when you’re going through tough times — for example, when you’re breaking up from a meaningful relationship.

I’m not sure everyone realizes how a strong social support group or relationship is crucial to human survival.  It’s the connection and commitment to others that pulls you through the most devastating experiences.  Simply put, you cannot do it on your own; you need others to survive. 

Not only is this key to your survival, it’s key to your pursuit of happiness.
 

A variety of biological, psychological, religious, and philosophical approaches strive to define happiness and identify its sources.  One dictionary defines happiness as a state of mind or feeling characterized by contentment, love, satisfaction, pleasure, or joy.  Ordinary people like you and me have been searching for these components since the beginning of time.  Social psychologists and scientists have been monitoring and prodding their patients/subjects in the hopes of determining exactly which combination of ingredients produces happiness. 

What makes happiness so hard to pin down is that it’s different for each person, and it changes for each person, literally, every day.  What made me happy yesterday may not make me happy tomorrow, because I’ve adapted to a different level of happy.  What made me happy yesterday isn’t enough; I want more… and more… and more.

What social psychologists have been able to determine is that happiness is as contagious as a virus.  If you surround yourself with happy people, you will catch it and be more likely to stay content with what you have around you. 

Another factor is, when you become committed and connected to something that involves other people, your focus is no longer only on your “self” — and what you do or do not have — but on what you can do for others and what makes others happy.  A sense of accomplishment and appreciation accompanies the action of interacting with others.

You need to cultivate social connections and strong social relationships.  It’s imperative to your own survival and happiness.  If you don’t, you will be lost and devastated when adversity comes your way.  

It’s an interesting paradox that, to assure your own survival, you need to focus on other people. 

And it’s a lesson many people wait too long to learn. 

As you can imagine, this main discussion splintered into a host of different other conversations — all fascinating stuff.  I really enjoyed the meeting.

But the one other discussion that I’d like to share with you is the dialogue we had regarding dishonesty… but we’ll talk about that next time.


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Hugs, My Friend…

I woke up this morning, trying to remember what day it was, in case I had to get up for work.

I smiled when I realized it was Saturday.

Then I remembered what I had to do today, and my smile disappeared.

I just learned yesterday that my gym buddy, Gladys, died on Wednesday.  She was a wonderful person.  Her loving spirit shone through every piece of her and brightened my soul.  Her presence made such a difference to those she touched.  I’m so glad that she was part of my life, which makes it difficult to think of my days without her.

Her memorial service is today.  I plan to attend, even though I’m a total stranger to her family.

Her family won’t know me, so why do I have such a strong desire to go? 

How comforting are words of condolences when they come from a total stranger?  I don’t know, but I feel that I need to go.

Maybe, it’s to comfort the family; maybe it’s to say goodbye to my friend; maybe it’s to say goodbye to Katherine’s grandmother.  Yes, Katherine’s grandmother died this week, too — and she’s another person that I’ve never met but with whom I feel connected.

I know it all sounds so silly, but I feel like I have a relationship with Gladys’ daughter, through Gladys’ love for her — and it’s hard for me to accept that I will be losing contact with her daughter along with losing Gladys.  It feels like I'm losing two friends at the same time.  That’s just too difficult for me to do… too difficult to accept… too difficult to just let go...  

It’s weird because, even though I have never met these people, I feel a loss.  It is like a couple of candles have gone out, and my world isn’t as bright.   

Maybe if Gladys wasn’t as special as she was, I wouldn’t be feeling this way, but I feel that I have to do something.  I feel that I have to tell her daughter that her mother loved her very much.  Gladys was so proud of her and was so proud to be her mother.  I know her daughter already knows these things, but I have a need to reinforce it, today.  I feel the need.  I feel…

I just wonder… how comforting are words of condolences when they come from a total stranger?

I don’t know, but I do know that Gladys would be pleased that I tried… at least I tried.


**  Hugs, My Friend… You will be missed and not forgotten...  **


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