When Friends Leave

There were always five or six of us in the car as we drove through Michigan's frigid upper peninsula in the depths of winter, astounded by the banks of snow piled high on the side of the road, far taller than our car. We were crammed onto the bench seats of the vehicle, often singing, always laughing, as we passed through tiny villages en route to public schools in towns only slightly larger than the ones we had passed through. (For the younger readers of this blog, there was a time not all that long ago when three adults fit comfortably in the front seat!)

Patty, Andy and Jerry loading the cars on our theatre tour.

We were one car in a group of several, a band of happy actors studying theatre at Michigan State, and on the road, taking two shows to towns in the north starved for live theatre. One was a musical, "Carnival," the other, "The Pied Piper," a delightful musical for children.

What Would Wally Do?

My friend Wally died last week. You've seen his work -- the beautiful images of Paris that hang above my mantel are by Wally. And my personal collection holds many favorites from this well-loved and respected photographer who focused on European images.

 

And, as you might expect, it takes a chunk out of a person to know there will be no more lunches, photo shoots, good talks about photography or travel with someone you just plain like and have known for a very long time. 

Coping with the Grief Monster at the Holidays

Holidays, no matter how joyous, can have their challenges. These seem to manifest all the more strongly after experiencing a loss.  (Cue the music.)

Whether it is a death, a relationship issue, the loss of a job, the first year being separated by distance from a loved one, a serious illness that might cause loss of mobility or other issues or any significant and deeply sad or concerning life event, it can be a bit difficult to find happiness while the rest of the world seems holly jolly.

A number of years ago on my old blog, "Chopsticks and String," I shared some tips on coping with the holidays during a period of loss. Those hints were built over time from years of volunteering at a children's grief center, reading countless articles and books during my own journey and talking with any number of friends who have traveled the road you may be traveling now.

This post includes some of those ideas. I encourage you to please leave anything you may have found helpful in the past in the comment section.

Be Gentle With Yourself

Every year you did the holiday party. If it feels good to do it, don't hesitate. But remember, no one expects you to be the life of the party -- or the host. Someone else might like a turn!

Depending on how recent the loss or how you might connect that loss to the holiday season, you may choose to sit a few things out -- or tone them down. And maybe not. But the point is, this season can bring up all sorts of things. Good memories. Loads of baggage. If it's the first year you are not with your loved one, perhaps the first when your children are celebrating with their "other" family, it can be tough. Find the way that works best for you, whether it is being with a few dear friends, traveling to a new destination or volunteering at a shelter. You can make your new holiday.

Don't forget to rest.  You don't have to be the Energizer bunny. Store up your energy but take advantage of times you can let go and just rest.

Do One New Thing

Long ago, a friend once told me, I'm dreading the traditional this year. The new experiences I'm looking forward to, but the old ones -- I don't know."

So, give yourself a break. Pick the traditions that you want to hold onto this year (or always). But try something different too -- maybe it's a new cookie recipe, a different arrangement for decorations, making a gift, doing a craft, inviting a guest to dinner who has never been part of your celebration before. (Even if you're happy as a clam, why not give it a go?!)

You might discover the best and most unexpected holiday concert you've ever seen or walk through a winter wonderland. Whether it's the Nutcracker you've never seen or that first walk through the zoo, think outside of the box. It might become your new tradition!

Consider the Others

It's sometimes hard to think outside of one's own grief or loss. But doing so can bring great joy to yourself and others. Perhaps you might volunteer through an organized activity like a food pantry or ringing the bell for the Salvation Army. Maybe it means adopting a family in need. But it might be something as simple as helping an elderly neighbor wrap gifts, drop things at the post office or delivering cookies to the neighbors you've never met. You'll make that person's day and you'll feel pretty terrific yourself!

Or, practice "Random Acts of Christmas" -- chipping in $5 at the grocery cashier to go toward the order of the old man behind me, anonymously of course. Priming the meter or parking attendant with another dollar's worth for the next user. An anonymous gift to someone who needs a lift. Once you start, it is really hard to stop.

Get Out of Town

Consider a road trip. If being home is too hard, venture to a new place -- Toronto? Las Vegas (below)? New York? Or spend the holiday at the home of friends or other relatives.

It doesn't have to be a permanent tradition, but it might make the first year under new circumstances a little easier.

Honor the Memories

There can bea lot of long shadows at the holidays. While it may be difficult to find anything to smile about with certain losses (certainly loss of a job brings with it financial concerns and the memories of a divorce or separation might not be good ones), it can help to try.

You can remember a person who died in any one of a number of ways -- sharing memories at the table; lighting a candle in that person's memory; setting a place at the table; looking at photos; visiting the cemetery. If you are crafty, consider taking a garment they loved -- a favorite shirt or bathrobe -- and making ornaments for your tree and those of family members or close friends. A star ornament from a treasured garment will be a lasting reminder each year on your tree.

I have a "Dad" tree and a "Mom" tree. These very different trees reflect things they loved or collected. It's one way I can do something fun and cheery -- have a pretty tree -- yet remember their delightful and happy spirits.

 

This honoring of memories can be as public or as private as is right for you. Certainly, one can light a candle in private, while a place at the table may be more obvious. The point is, find what works for you.

Remember the Children

If you have young people in your family, they may be having difficulty in handling their feelings about a holiday season without mom or dad or a beloved grandparent or even a pet. They may have some behavior issues or simply be sad and tearful.

Try some of these activities with them: 

• Let children design a paper place mat about their perfect Christmas (and don't be surprised if they draw the missing person)
• Let them create a special ornament for the tree in honor of the person who died. 
• Let them burn out their stress with a marshmallow fight! A few big bags of super-puffed marshmallows can fly across the room releasing some of that energy!
• Encourage older ones to write a letter to the person who died, sharing their feelings. 

I also refer you to this link on the Ele's Place site about holiday tips for grieving children.  Ele's Place is a children's grief center that started here in Lansing, MI and now has other locations in the state. Their site has many excellent ideas.

Grief doesn't disappear on cue and holidays can kick your emotions in gear. Trust me on this -- I still have tricky moments at the holidays near my dad's death anniversary or when I hear certain songs. (If you play "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"-- even the Muppet version -- I will lose it.)

But the fact is, this is a part of life now. A new job may come along, a new relationship might bring joy. But a death is a death, whether we are mourning what was or what was not and now never would be. Believe that it can and will change over time, that healing isn't always fast and one may well always feel the loss. In good time it will heal. Getting through the now is what matters first.

And accept hugs.

Just be gentle. Because you are a survivor. And you will survive.

Sharing with:   Let's Keep In Touch     

Sometimes We Just Have to Believe

I cry when I watch Judy Garland sing this song in "Meet Me In St. Louis." I cry when John Denver sings it with the Muppets and I'll cry in this James Taylor version, too. (cue the music).

My holidays are pretty merry and bright this year. I had good news with my biopsy, our Baby Grand was christened, I've enjoyed every minute I've spent with Rick and our friends. Shopping is under control. Cards (finally) got out. Baking is nearly done (and better be by the time this posts!)

But I know more than a few people who are experiencing their first holiday without someone they love and some of those losses are very recent ones. Getting down that road can be tough. There are no easy answers but sometimes there are things that can help us get through the tough days, a holiday survival kit for those experiencing loss.

I've been down that road too. The loss of my dad 24 years ago in December was what led me to volunteer a year later at Ele's Place, a family grief center, where I worked with middle school-aged kids for 10 years. While I was there I learned a lot about managing the grief journey. I'm no expert, but I've walked it myself and I've walked with others. I know the first year is very hard, but that doesn't mean the next ones are easy. But believe. Time may not heal everything but it heals a lot.

We helped our kids and their parents learn strategies to acknowledge their losses, to remember their people -- and in doing so, learned a few things that those of us not currently in grief can do to be helpful.

I've written some of these tips in a post here on Modern Creative Life. I hope if you have time, you'll take a look or share it with anyone you think might benefit from it.

If you are one of those experiencing loss this year -- loss of family, friends, your home or your job -- please know that my heart is with you with wishes that in this season, amidst your sadness you will also find bit of joy and happiness.

It may be in the eyes of a child -- or a beloved pet. In an unexpected gift or act of kindness.

Believe. It will one day be better. And remember, we grieve because we loved. Which, when you really think about it, is the greatest gift of all.

Come back tomorrow to celebrate my tenth blogging anniversary with a drawing and giveaway!

Bitter Sweet

It's a quiet night, midweek. It's been a tough few days. A tough winter. Bitter cold. It's one of those weeks where you feel like you just could be coming down with something. The cough is worse, the throat a little sore and the fatigue never ending. One of Lizzie's birds has taken to huddling close to the bird feeder for long periods of time. At first I thought it might be because he was sick but I really think he was using the glass to shelter from the wind.

I had bad news the week before last when I learned that a friend had died after a long and courageous battle with cancer. He lives across the sea and I've felt helpless that all I can do is offer words -- no doubt redundant -- to his wife, who was his greatest champion and advocate. I didn't know him all that well, but some of the best evenings of my life were spent at their dining table, sharing stories, drinking wine, eating bread and cheese. I would like to bring flowers. Or a cake. Just sit and be present. And I feel helpless.

And so, I have the flowers and I made the cake. In truth, the flowers (a lovely plant, really) and cake (a decadent flourless chocolate cake with only four ingredients) are to take to dinner when Rick and I join friends who recently sold their longtime home of more than 20 years and downsized into a smaller space. While I saw it during the moving process, they've since done renovations and I'm eager to see how it changed.

They, too, have had their share of struggles, most importantly the death of their son when he was 12. I cannot begin to imagine the depths of grief that accompany such a loss. Their new home is a step toward new experiences, not in any way leaving the memory of their son behind, but moving those memories to a new spot, waiting for new experiences and memories that will take them through the next two decades.

I look at the beautiful plant sitting in my family room. It's a white one -- I'm not really sure what it is, and I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm just relieved I haven't killed it yet. Between forgetting to water and the lack of good sunlight in my house, I am akin to the death squad for all plants that enter. It is why I take such good care of my Valentine flowers from Rick. Yes, they will die -- they are supposed to. But at least it will be natural, not from my own hand.

I'd love to keep that plant. The white flowers remind me of spring, something that they tell me will come here to Michigan sooner or later. At the moment I'm skeptical, but then I'm always skeptical in February. I just want this month over.

Only I know that isn't really true. I don't want time to go too fast. It seems to fly more rapidly than ever before. It's been nearly 20 years since Rick and I have been together and in that time I have seen the boys grow from cute little kids into handsome young men. I've had a good career, a boatload of sickness and a wonderful retirement. But it seems the years that will be left will bring changes. Hands stiffening from arthritis, knees that don't work the way they did before and who knows what will happen with the lungs. One day something will happen -- internally or externally -- that will change everything. And how I will long for that frigid day in February when I bundled up like Nanook of the North just to run to the store.

I'm sure Gretel wanted another day or week or month when she left us late last month. She was waiting for the birth of her two grandchildren. Gretel was a professor when I was studying theatre at MSU, teaching costume design. But we became better friends decades later, after her retirement. Her cancer was quick and unexpected and it turned her world upside down so rapidly it was a shock. Before she moved north to be with her son, we had some good visits and conversations, conversations that continued on the phone as she shared some of her holiday traditions, her hopes, her concerns. Gretel would grab onto this frozen day and hold it tight if she could.

I whip the eggs for my cake with fury -- five minutes, fast. They're large, light and fluffy. Then I melt the chocolate and butter for the cake slowly, add a bit of strong coffee and gently stir it together, pouring into the springform pan I felt lucky to find in the basement. (But I couldn't find the roaster for the water bath. I bet it's at Rick's. Well, a jelly roll sheet pan will have to do.) I take a good lick from the spatula and the leftovers in the bowl (precious few!). It's creamy and sweet -- but not too sweet. Bitter sweet. The day is bitter sweet.

I knew Bernie from my time at WKAR. She and her son were volunteers and you never saw two more dedicated people. When RJ was old enough, he became a hired student employee. Her heart was as big as her smile and there was never a task she didn't take on. When I saw her up north last summer, she said she expected not to see things through the winter. There was little more they could do for her cancer and she wanted to focus on the quality of life. Another life too short, I learned from today's Facebook posts. No, it hasn't been a good month for news.

Tomorrow (which by the time this posts will probably be last week) we will have dinner with our friends and share in their joy of starting something new. The conversation will be lively and I'll hear about their new grandchild, enjoy the warmth of a shared meal and a darned remarkable flourless chocolate cake, if I do say so myself! We'll see the house and leave full and happy for them.

But I think it's going to take me some time to really get my happy going again. Maybe I need to go buy some flowers. I suspect the Valentine bouquet won't last forever. Just the Valentine. Which, really, is the most important.

Photos of Judy and me and me with the cake by Judy Winter.

Saying Goodbye to One of Our Own

Who could have imagined, even ten years ago, that men and women around the world would be linked together and form strong, genuine friendships that began by looking at a computer screen and connecting to a blog? And who could imagine that having one of these friends leave this world could be so heartbreaking?

Tonight I received an email from fellow bloggie Lisa with the sad news that one of our own, Diana Losciale, better known to bloggers as "Oh," author of "This Writing Life" (formerly titled, "Oh, Books! Oh Paper! Real Life!), passed suddenly, following a very brief and courageous battle with cancer.

I came to know Diana when we took part in Becca's "Write on Wednesday" posts early in my blogging days. (In fact, many of you WOW folks, I still follow!). I loved her blog because it was such a mix of joy, passion, musings and warmth. Her own exuberant personality and big heart jumped off the page with her keen observations of life and her deep love for books and writing.

Diana loved many things -- her writing and books, of course. But also paper arts, photography, fashion, coffee (definitely coffee), Paris (maybe next to coffee), Christmas, her dog Huck, Archie (her name for all squirrels), art and travel and above all, her family. And that was just the top layer. She would devour "Poets and Writers" or "The New Yorker" with the equal intensity as she would "Vogue."

She was also a writer, editing and marketing professional by trade and by freelance. When Diana was editing a prayer book for those dealing with cancer, she asked me to contribute. It was the first (and only) time my poetry has ever been published. I hope that during her illness, she looked at a copy of that small book and found comfort in it.

As we followed each other's lives online, we decided, along with Kerry, that we'd like to meet. So, the three of us -- from Michigan, Missouri and Wisconsin -- convened in Chicago for a delightful weekend two-and-a-half years ago, a weekend filled with art, jazz, good food, better talk and a lot of sightseeing and of course, shopping. Diana wrote about it here, and here are my thoughts.

We all had complete confidence it would be fine -- but those we left at home wondered, "why in the world would these women who never met each other take a chance that they could spend a weekend together?" (Not to mention the potential that one of us could be an ax murderer!)

They needn't have worried. It was as though we'd known each other forever.

A year later, I visited Diana in St. Louis where we simply had the best time. Both Christmas nuts, we first fortified ourselves with a fabulous lunch, then hit three great shops that had just put up their displays. (In fact, as I put the things I bought this year, I thought of that wonderful day when we were both like kids in candy stores.) We marveled at the beauty of the butterfly garden.

 I couldn't help thinking, what a perfect venue for Diana. Every butterfly was lovely, colorful, in motion -- just like she was. Diana was in flight -- savoring every beautiful flower, special moment, bright day. 

We did a lot of photography that day...

... including a selfie.

And we talked non-stop about anything and everything.It was simply glorious.

It's funny, but Diana is around a lot in my space. A postcard she sent "just because" of the Eiffel Tower hangs above my computer. "I'm thinking of making a quiche today," she wrote."Something has me thinking of France. Maybe we should do a blog meet-up in Paris."

Wheat that she gave me during that St. Louis visit, left over from the displays at her daughter's wedding, is in a vase on my desk, moved this place and that at different seasons. She's just "there."

Lisa said Diana had cancer surgery in November. I didn't know this, and sure couldn't tell from her Christmas card with a long note ending "We didn't get together this fall, but look forward to a rendezvous in the future. More later!")

Yes, I am shocked. And heartbroken.

We all get on the blog, we share our stories, we learn of others' lives and passions. We mourn their losses -- of jobs of health, of loved ones; we rally to support them when life is challenging. We care. With every comment we build relationships. Relationships that are stronger than we know or realize.

But I realize it tonight like I never did before.

There is a new star in the heavens and it is bright, witty and it's going to twinkle more than most all of the others. It is called Diana.

(As I went through Diana's blog tonight, I copied some excerpts from her posts to share so if you aren't familiar with her writing, you may discover it. I have to say, it was very hard to choose, so these are snippets from just a few of her many posts. I am not sure how long her family will keep it active. I hope for a very long time, because I know it's a place I would love to return.)

From "Big Doings" (May 6, 2011) 

Would I have ever thought that planning a wedding could be so much fun? It’s magical.  The world has turned a different color, has taken on a new shine and everyone, absolutely everyone, loves love and rings and real weddings and ideas. Including Snarl – he is quietly proud of his sister! And he has graduation on the horizon so we get to escape to U town to celebrate and party for a weekend and cheer for him. 

 

From "Sunday Summer a.m."(May 29, 2011)

Neighborhood humans are already turning on their air conditioners whose hum hits more of a bass F, an odd counterbalance to the nymph cicadas song which is at least the F above Middle C. It is a stream of sound. Those cicadas who are closer or older or bigger perhaps only by days, have learned to make the sawing, cheeping sound we recognize usually in the height of summer evenings. It is a male chorus. It is part of the “look at me” mating cycle of life.

Mother Nature has lifted her skirts so far this year, showing us some very odd ankle, some very rude knees, and a flash of crazy thigh. She is  dramatic, dangerous and petulant. She is not purposeful. She just is. 

And she is kind to offer this magnificent morning.
This crazy orchestra, this warm light, this buzz and concert of her creatures to this empty nester. That’s the sociologist’s term, though.

There is very little of “emptiness” in this nest.
Onward.

 

From "Holiday Writing Non-Whirl" (December 3, 2011)

So as I write and sip at the dawn of this weekend morning and gaze at the boxes of Christmas lights that will somehow spring to order and stage themselves for outdoor and indoor decor, and wonder about getting out there into the holiday fray, a great deal of which I really do enjoy, but moments in Blogland are  holiday-precious and full of friends and friends-that-would-be if actually here.

From "When Snow is a Good Thing" (December 29, 2012)

 With no camera at hand, there was nothing more than memory to capture the moments of the snow: the delight as though we were in a huge carriage; the gladness for a warm coat; the reflections from fogged home-y windows sporting wreaths and lit garlands; the silence of the snow as tho’ all were paused, listening for the sound of snowflake on  trees; the quick memory of snow as a child and the wish to rush off and find a sled; the way laughter sounds in the thick white air; the “hush” that comes with holiday giving us time, giving us some sort of shelter in which to ponder all that is good and all that can be good.

  From "Summer Drinks" (Sept. 17, 2012)

Little Archie comes creeping, creeping on little fingered paws. She’s come nearly every morning (that Í’ve been looking) for a drink, taking the same path, taking the same pauses midway.She’s a third gen nearby-tree squirrel as far as I can tell and she often travels alone tho’ I think she has two brothers. Very wary and very fleet, she is. This birdbath (or was it really for holding seeds? We don’t know)…anyway, this birdbath used to be Huck’s outdoor drinking bowl in the summer. So he thought. He lapped up the water whether it was hot or cold, fresh from the hose. Which is partly why we are not annoyed or astounded that Archie sips here. Huck wouldn’t have cared. We are tickled to see a critter braving the wall and sitting up to put her paws on the side of the bowl to drink. 

Then she scampers off to eat her fill of sunflower hulls and hominies.

 

From "Moving Around" (January 12, 2013)

The trouble with organizing stuff is that once it’s all in a nice tidy stack, on a shelf or in a drawer, so much thought and exertion went into achieving that cleaning-and-tidying that you feel finished with it and may not return to any of the now-organized matter…whereas a lovely old desk piled with tasks and treasures in a more casual manner, off to one side in such a manner if it’s a very large desk therefore leaving workspace, offers up treats, surprises and reminders as you muck through it, all the while aware of and ready to tackle whatever is the major task at hand.

 

From "Sunday -- or How Weekends Run at Breakneck Speed, No Matter What You Do" -- (January 27, 2012 )

Ya gotta love it, all the comforts of Sunday, wherever you can find them, as you teeter on the precipice of Work Tomorrow. While America is glad to have a job, sometimes the schedule just makes you want to put the typical time compendium on tilt and run it your own way.   As the Dowager Countess in Downton Abbey says, “What’s a weekend?” I am intrigued by how such a character, if real, would actually measure time.

Perhaps not at all.

And that sounds like a fine idea to me.

 

From "Crushing Cuties into Potion " (January 6, 2013)

They were left on the counter, having somehow escaped the holiday feasting madness…five little cuties…all alone…one of them was rather hard, its juice having gone somewhere, seeping through its skin maybe, I dunno. But it was rock hard and refused the juicing I was about to give the other four…because there’s magic in that juice…and writers can always use a little magic.

 

Be at peace, my friend.