Life and Death and Life Again

The death of my mother two days before Christmas has left me with much to say but no real way to say it. I meant what I said when I said I wasn't going to grieve much when she went. It was time for her to go and we knew it was coming.

Still, the circumstances contrived to make it just that much more ... I don't know. Stupid is the wrong word but I can't really think of a different one. It was a Saturday and I was getting ready to blog about how it was exactly four years ago that day that David died. And then my sister called.

And I couldn't write one single word.

Two days later at Christmas dinner, the consensus among my brothers and me was that we were surprised she didn't die on Christmas Day, therefore ruining one last Christmas for us. She used to do that, pull some dramatic trick just to make sure no one was happy on the happiest day of the year. She used to have the Christmas tree down and all the decorations put away by noon, too.

You're shocked, I know. In some ways, it was a great relief to know she was finally gone, finally unable to affect us negatively in person. Unfortunately, her legacy is that she negatively affects us even in death, by the way she raised us and how we had to deal with her nonsense over the years.

Now we have no parents. My dad died 11 years ago January, and frankly, while not a perfect father in any sense, I miss him more than I'll ever miss my mother. 

But dealing with the death of my mother isn't a good thing. In my head, or rather, in other people's heads, I'm supposed to be heart-broken at the loss of a parent and apparently unable to be happy ever again. 

At least, that's what one church lady was telling me. This church lady is sweet and sincere. I didn't have the heart to tell her how relieved I was I never had to deal with my mother again. 

Here's my mother's legacy to me: I was the birth control pill she forgot one morning. I was going to be fat just like her when I got older. She pitied the man I married. When I got pregnant with my oldest, she wanted to know why I did that to her. She wrote a scathing letter before my wedding, telling me how awful I was and that I was only getting married to have a father for my child. And then she showed up at the wedding.

Yeah.

And the ultimate legacy, she passed down her mental illness to me. Not just to me, to all of us. We have all dealt with it as best as we could, hopefully better than she did. 

Here's the thing, though: I have no doubt in my mind that she's with the Lord. Despite her emotional abuse, her attitude of victimhood, her absolute certainty that nothing was ever her fault; she loved God. And He loved her.

Just as He loves me. 

I just wish I could remember some of the good things and describe them here. 

Things I remember about The Mansion

As you might recall, The Mansion is what we called a very large Victorian house on O Street in Sacramento, where we lived for three years starting right after my 5th birthday. It was converted into medical/dental offices after we moved out.

The house was partially furnished with antiques and there was an old Victrola in the living room, with some records. Sometimes we'd get to play them. Most of the time, the TV was on, and our antenna had a rotor on it so we could rotate it from inside the house. Cool beans. Please don't ask my oldest brother about E-skip.

We had a full dining room that was separated from the living room by sliding wooden doors. There was a dumb waiter from the kitchen to the second floor, but we never used it. I always thought it would be a blast to try riding in it, but no such luck.

I remember standing at the very old-fashioned sink in the kitchen. I think it was aqua blue, but I could be wrong. There are no photos. That kitchen is where I learned how to make sugar toast.

I think there was a front stairway, all wood and polish, that we hardly ever used. There was a back stairway that we used instead. I remember jumping the last few steps all the time, wishing I could fly.

My grandma came and lived with us for awhile and took up the whole side-front room, which my mother called The Library. I suppose the built-in bookshelves were the reason for that. The full bathroom was between that and what was called The Study, but was really my dad's bedroom. My mother took the very back bedroom on the second floor. I remember being very surprised once when I found my mother and dad in his bed together because it was so rare.

The bathtub in the full bathroom was an antique clawfoot which my mother de-valued by painting it elaborately and gluing fake jewels all over it. She did the same thing to the bathroom walls. It was big and pink and maroon and fairly hideous. She wanted to be a hippie, I think. 

There was a laundry room off the kitchen that led to the back porch. Or maybe it was the back porch and was just closed in. There was a small stairwell that led downstairs to the basement; my dad kept a workroom down there, in the small finished part. We could go out under the rest of the house from it, which was all dirt and cobwebs and musty. One year, my mother decked it all out as a haunted house for a church Halloween party. I didn't go down there for the party, it was for the adults.

Our front porch was huge and I remember sitting on it once in awhile. I also remember my next older brother getting ahold of the movie camera and making several short films of my little brother and me, stop action; and of flowers, bees, butterflies - you name it, he filmed it. Those are in the box in storage too.

I remember sliding around on the hardwood floors in my socks with my little brother.

I remember there was one full bathroom and one water closet on the first floor; and one sink and bathtub upstairs on the second floor. 

I remember my oldest brother built a miniature golf course in the window box of his bedroom.

I remember my sister and me sharing a room for a bit before she left for the Army, and it seems to me we had a walk-in closet. I remember her dressing to go out with friends in all orange, including stockings and shoes. Possibly.

I remember the entrance to the attic was in my next oldest brother's room, which he shared with my little brother. 

I remember for awhile I had a black and white TV in my bedroom - the height of luxury, because then I could watch TV from bed, something I eventually grew out of (in my 40's).

I remember being told to clean up my room, then getting the only spanking in my life from my dad because I had just shoved everything under the bed. No joke, I was a cliche from the beginning.

I remember the back yard was huge, at least to a five-year-old, and we had to go down about 25 steps off the back porch to get to it. My dad grew purple irises and there was honeysuckle and an orange tree. When the house was converted in the mid-1970's, they paved paradise and put in a parking lot.

I remember my dad mowing the front yard by hand. With a push mower. There are home movies of me mugging the camera and imitating him.

I remember swimming in a little 2-foot wading pool in what was laughingly called a bikini. There are movies in The Odd Saga of my older brothers splashing each other and running around. 

I remember chasing bugs in a field on the corner, which is now an office complex. It's where I began a love of ladybugs and pretty much got over my fear of insects. The grass was tall; I think we were lucky there weren't any snakes in there as well.

I remember having my "boyfriend" from school come visit for a playdate. He was the baby boy in a fairly prominent Sacramento family, from what I was told. He only ever came over once.

I remember our last Christmas together as a family. My parents blew out the stores, apparently, and there are photos of me in a brand-new blue satin robe, pretending to iron clothes with a toy iron and board. I remember figuring out there was no Santa that year, too. A few months later, my mother was moving us all to a two-bedroom house in a different part of town, where I had to share a room with her and my little brother, while my two older brothers had the other bedroom.

I remember running downstairs to my daddy in the basement, because I had asked where he was going to sleep in the new house and my mother told me he wasn't coming with us. 

I remember for years after we moved out, whenever I dreamed at night of home, it was The Mansion that filled my head.

I don't remember everything about living there, but what I mostly remember is I was happy, when the family was still a family and I was young enough to believe it would be that way forever. The home movie that was my life, and which, childlike, I believed God was watching while eating a bag of popcorn, was mostly perfect.

I'm not sure I wasn't right.

These Days

"One of these days the ground will drop out from beneath your feet

One of these days your heart will stop and play its final beat"

The radio is playing all of David's songs this morning as I try to bake cupcakes and make pico de gallo to take to my son's barbecue this afternoon.

"One of these days the clocks will stop and time won't mean a thing

One of these days their bombs will drop and silence everything"

I never used to believe in the idea of soul mates.  I watched my mother and dad sleep in separate rooms for years before she finally left to "find herself" and dragged us along with her.  And the man I thought I'd grow old with decided a wife and children weren't worth the effort - I left before I gave up my sanity completely trying to be the "good wife."

"But it's alright

Yeah it's alright

I said it's alright"

I figured it wasn't worth it to try anymore - I was a mom, not a wife, and I focused on that for a long time. But the crushing loneliness took its toll.

"Easy for you to say

Your heart has never been broken

Your pride has never been stolen

Not yet not yet"

And then I met David.

We used to laugh at the naysayers - people who didn't really know us who thought we were crazy for carrying on a relationship from 5000 miles apart.  Family who knew me and only wanted to see me happy but didn't know David other than someone I talked about all the time.  

"One of these days

I bet your heart'll be broken

I bet your pride'll be stolen

I bet I bet I bet I bet

One of these days

One of these days"

When we first met, I was astounded that any man could be as generous and loving as he was.  It was out of my experience - and we had a bit of a time getting used to one another.  David never seemed overwhelmed, always said the right things at the right time, loved me completely and made me laugh all the time.  I still have trouble believing someone could love me as much as I loved him. 

David and I, Irish Catholic and California Protestant, loved the same God, and we considered each other as God's gifts to us.

"One of these days your eyes will close and pain will disappear

One of these days you will forget to hope and learn to fear"

I was trying to come to him at Christmas - it was his 50th birthday and I was going to meet his daughter in person for the first time, and I was going to insist on meeting the parents finally.  He was trying to get enough money together to come to California, where he was happy to learn to live with the hot weather and be a grandpa.

And then David was gone.

"One of these days your heart will stop and play its final beat"

It surprises me still that I can be going along, living my life the best I can, singing in the kitchen while I cook, planning fun things to do with my girls, griping about work - and then all of a sudden I break.

"Don't say it's alright

Don't say it's alright

Don't say it's alright"

I know God has a plan - I know this.  David was a part of it - and he's up there now telling me to keep strong and be faithful.  Some days are easier than others, and I'm not as weepy as a few months ago.  Between David and the Lord I have been and continue to be loved fully. 

Let me quote another song, one I learned as a child and remember when things overwhelm me:

"For I know whom I have believed,

and am persuaded that He is able

to keep that which I've committed 

unto Him against that day."

David always teased me about knowing all the "Proddy" hymns.  But I know how much he loved to hear me sing, and even though he's not here now, I will sing for God instead - and see David in heaven when my time comes.

"One of these days

One of these days

One of these days"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"These Days" - Foo Fighters 2011

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDVAQI-4lto 

"I Know Whom I Have Believed" - Daniel W. Whittle/James McGranahan 1883

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5KMWd8nEQ2s

Post-Easter Reflections

Everyone who follows this knows it's been a very difficult year so far for me.  I lost My David on Christmas Eve and the aftermath of mourning has been a series of ups and downs as I try to understand God's plan and keep my temper at the people around me who think I should be done being sad.

It's getting easier, I hit a plateau in February, but March was completely off and April has been one stress after another.  Work, choir, grandbabies, Easter without David - I've been feeling rather sorry for myself.  

Fortunately, I do have people who love me.  I just have to believe that in my heart, even though I know it in my brain.

It's been 4 months since David died.  Sometimes I listen to recordings of his voice - we used to record Skype conversations sometimes and there's a message on my home phone answering machine from him that I will never erase.  

I miss my friend David. And Easter was his favorite time of year for some reason - he loved Lent and the contemplation of his life, the pageantry of the Stations of the Cross and the incredible story of the Resurrection.  

The Choir sang beautifully on Easter Sunday - only two songs, but the second one was a doozy and we got everyone clapping and cheering by the end.  I'm waiting to see if the video is posted on the church website - if there was a video - there usually is.

After spending the day before coloring eggs with my girls and hanging out with my oldest son and daughter (missing my younger daughter and son, who are busy with work) - my daughter Claudia spent the night with me and we took the girls to church on Sunday.  Everyone there was happy to see her after so long - she's busy with school and work and hasn't visited in a while.

After we took the girls home to John, Claudia took me out to lunch and we hung out for about two hours at the local international market - what a blast!  They had everything and anything you could ever want and I'm thinking I might go shopping there more often. Asian, European, Mexican, Russian - an almost endless array of goodies.

Claudia and I always have fun hanging out together - but I missed Clara being a part of it, because I know she would have loved it too.

And I miss My David.  He would have strolled through the store making rude comments about the frozen alligator legs and squids and chickens with their heads still attached.  David would have talked about Belgian chocolate, the array of vegetables he'd only heard about, and teased me about how I wanted to start cooking everything right away.

As much as I love my kids and hanging out with them in odd places, this would have been a great way to spend Easter with My David.

But God's got something else for me to do, and I only hope He can forgive me for missing David so much as I try to work toward whatever the Lord has in mind.

Adventures in Church Choir Directing

It is 10 days until Easter.  

I struggle with keeping things fresh with my choir.  At almost age 52, I'm actually one of the freshest of us there.  

David was supposed to be here to help me (and be my sound engineer), and we were going to "Rule The World" together.  I looked forward to introducing him to my church family, something he wasn't quite sure he understood, and to having someone in the tech deck who, as the Pastor put it, "got me."

They are a wonderful, loving, caring group of people who encourage me most of the time and put up with my expectations of choral greatness.  When my dad passed away in 2007, these people were my strength and singing was my outlet for grief.

When David died in December, they were all there again, telling me how much they loved me and allowing me my all-encompassing grief for a few weeks.

But I think I've done it again.  I've gotten my hopes up, raised my expectations too high and fear I am inadequate to the task of being the girl in charge.

I struggle with so many things in my life - the grief, the physical and mental exhaustion of trying to help keep some stability in my grandchildren's lives, the endless hours sitting at a desk doing nothing because I've already done it all before 10 am.

So when someone tonight told me that everyone was going to be looking at me on Easter, I simply stopped.

I was so excited about this music that I picked, and they were doing their best to learn it and make it sound like the real thing instead of a small church choir.  If David had been here, he would have put his wonderful ear, his instant recognition of what needed to be done, and his fingers to work on the sound board to make it sound great.

But everyone is going to be looking at me on Easter.

I am trying very hard to be my own champion since David is gone now.  Or, actually, I'm trying very hard to allow God to be my champion, which is what I should have been doing in the first place.

I don't want them to look at me at Easter.  I want them to look at God.  

I was hoping the music would allow that, bring the people to Him and Him to the people.  It's part of the reason why I accepted the choir director's position.

Meanwhile, I try to give the choir the chance to sing and do it well, and some nights are harder than others, but tonight everybody was looking at me.  

I love performing.  I love teaching.  I love directing.  I am excited by every new shiny thing that I can do or say or sing. 

But I don't want everyone to look at me.

Skype and other messages from the dead.

I miss him.  There are so many things I want to tell him, get his feedback on, hear his voice sooth my tears. I know he's gone and I weep a little weep every now and then.  But when Skype tells me he's online, I can't help but wonder if he's playing tricks on me just to see me squirm.  He did that, you know.

Okay, I'm not superstitious, I don't believe in zodiac crap, the local psychic is just a charlatan.  I know in my heart that one of his family has turned on his computer and hasn't turned off Skype (log in when Windows starts).  

But David was full of mischief.  He kept me laughing for hours, partly because I loved to hear his voice and partly because he loved me as an audience.  His favorite things lately were a penchant to turn TV and movies into Irish - "CSI: Fethard"; Star Trek: The Wrath of Dougal; Star Wars with Jawas who were from Kilkenney.  

He was irreverent, smart and loved his fellow Irishmen with mixed emotions, but proud to be an Irishman and willing to fight anyone who thought he was "Briddish".  I loved him so very much and miss being with him on Skype every day.  

So I think the message from David is, "I love you, you're stronger than you think," and "This is only a computer glitch you silly cow!"  I love you too, My David.

My David

It's been just about a month since My David died unexpectedly. It gets a bit easier every day, but as someone lately put into words for me, I still feel very much alone. I cannot speak to him every day, I cannot run to him with my problems, I cannot laugh with him when I watch something stupid on the telly. 

 But I know he is with me in my heart, and stays alive through my memories and love. I wish I could still share my grandbabies, my kids and my choir directing with David, but God knows best and I'm sharing all of them with Him now. My love for David will never end, but my love for My Lord is even more eternal. Praise God from whom all blessings flow.