A few months ago, I had my first dream about you. Why it took so long and what it was about still alludes and haunts me ...
I didn't even see you in it, I just heard your voice and you were behind a small wall, telling me to go.
Last night, I had the first real dream. I came into a room and my Grandma and Grandpa Rake were there. Grandpa was standing behind Grandma who was sitting in a rocking chair with her eyes closed. (I don't remember ever seeing her in a rocking chair.) Grandpa looked healthy and happy and had that big grin on his face and was so happy to see me. Grandma opened her eyes with a startled look, saw me, smiled and said "Honey, Kenna's here."
I looked around and you were outside open french doors on a veranda with your back to me. You turned around and I ran and hugged you. It was a hug like nothing I've ever felt. I know it became hard for you to be physically affectionate with anyone and you always kept a slight distance, understandably so. But this time, you just melted into me, and me into you and it was the best feeling I can remember in so long. I couldn't let go and you didn't let go. It was the most serene, loving, amazing and peaceful connection.
Then I noticed the beautiful sunset and that everything was a pure, indescribable soft, yet bright white.
Everyone was draped softly in white, wispy, flowing cloth. No words...
Then I awoke.
My first thought was to cry because I didn't want to leave you, not then, not ever.
Then I realized it appeared to be similar to the stories people tell when they are revived after technically dying but being revived. I had been talking about that topic with friends this week so maybe I just continued the conversation in my sleep. I don't know what I believe anymore but what I do know is:
Karma
When I see you, you are seeing me.
Thank you for coming. If this is what I have to look forward to, it will be so hard to wait, but I think that was the message. Live now the best I can, look forward to reuniting with you and my loved ones gone before. I always believed everyone would be together some day, but this was the first time since you left that I actually realized you were all together.
I'm trying, honey, but I will always need all of your help.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
What's In A Name?
It's so hard to go back to those first hours, but this story needed telling. It's time.
Grandma and Grandpa had just signed over the papers that morning for Kameron to take ownership of MYDARKO, your beloved Donnie Darko Subaru. It seemed the fitting thing to do. I cautiously drove it to Kamerons' and K.C.'s house, so afraid I would get into an accident before arriving. That day, we all sat in their backyard telling Kenna stories with family and friends. I told them about the huge container of cinnamon sticks you purchased the week before. When I asked why we needed such a large jar, you proceeded to tell me the logic behind your choice. "Well, Mama, you could buy the name brand jar in the fancy spice aisle which is very small and very expensive per ounce, or you could go to the ethnic food section and buy this jar, which cost much less for substantially more product. You do the math!" I started to say that maybe we could use them for potpourri or as package ties or in apple cider ...."Okay, Martha Stewart, stop right there!" you interrupted in your exasperated voice.
After you left us just days later, this just seemed so poignantly funny to me as I shared it with our family.
A few minutes later, Kenton asked for a ride to the mall. Kameron said I could take your car. "Oh no!" I said. "You know if I take that car now that it's arrived safely, I will get rear ended as soon as I leave the driveway." No one believed it, of course, but Kameron said I could take their old car instead if I'd rather. And that's what we did.
Kenton and I took off down the driveway, made a right turn, then another right turn, then a left turn. Waiting at the light, I saw a car make a u-turn in the middle of the street and try to come up behind me. He wasn't looking ahead, just behind, and sure enough, he ran right in to the back of the car. Kenton called Kameron and said we had been in an accident. Of course he laughed and didn't believe us because we had been gone for less than five minutes.
Kenton was calm and collected and dealt with the man, who was very apologetic. When he gave Kenton his phone number, Kenton dialed it on his phone and the man's phone rang in his pocket. What a clever brother you have as that was not even on my radar! I, having tried to hold back so many emotions for days, just lost it. Really lost it. I poured out the whole story about you and your death and the cars and our whole life story it appears, in a matter of seconds. This poor young man was without words while this crazy women was babbling and blubbering on the side of the road. After a few minutes, we moved both cars into the lot on the corner and he and Kenton exchanged information while I just sat on the curb in stunned disbelief.
When all was done, we went to leave and I apologized for becoming hysterical. He assured me that I had every right to do so and how sorry he was to have made this tragic time worse by his carelessness. He took all responsibility for the accident.
I finally thought to ask his name.
He reached out his hand to take mine and he said, "Dan. Dan Cinnamon."
"No, it's not!" I insisted loudly and laughed in disbelief. Thinking I misunderstood, he repeated it just the same way. Really? Who has the name Cinnamon? And at that moment, on that hot afternoon, in the incredulous irony of it all, I just sat back down on the curb and started to laugh hysterically. Again, this nice young man didn't know what to do. Kenton was smiling when I finally looked up at him and we both just knew you were still in charge, laughing with us.
If that isn't a Kennasent-in-your-face moment, what is?
It was only the first in what was to be a long line of them for our family and friends.
To be continued.....
Grandma and Grandpa had just signed over the papers that morning for Kameron to take ownership of MYDARKO, your beloved Donnie Darko Subaru. It seemed the fitting thing to do. I cautiously drove it to Kamerons' and K.C.'s house, so afraid I would get into an accident before arriving. That day, we all sat in their backyard telling Kenna stories with family and friends. I told them about the huge container of cinnamon sticks you purchased the week before. When I asked why we needed such a large jar, you proceeded to tell me the logic behind your choice. "Well, Mama, you could buy the name brand jar in the fancy spice aisle which is very small and very expensive per ounce, or you could go to the ethnic food section and buy this jar, which cost much less for substantially more product. You do the math!" I started to say that maybe we could use them for potpourri or as package ties or in apple cider ...."Okay, Martha Stewart, stop right there!" you interrupted in your exasperated voice.
After you left us just days later, this just seemed so poignantly funny to me as I shared it with our family.
A few minutes later, Kenton asked for a ride to the mall. Kameron said I could take your car. "Oh no!" I said. "You know if I take that car now that it's arrived safely, I will get rear ended as soon as I leave the driveway." No one believed it, of course, but Kameron said I could take their old car instead if I'd rather. And that's what we did.
Kenton and I took off down the driveway, made a right turn, then another right turn, then a left turn. Waiting at the light, I saw a car make a u-turn in the middle of the street and try to come up behind me. He wasn't looking ahead, just behind, and sure enough, he ran right in to the back of the car. Kenton called Kameron and said we had been in an accident. Of course he laughed and didn't believe us because we had been gone for less than five minutes.
Kenton was calm and collected and dealt with the man, who was very apologetic. When he gave Kenton his phone number, Kenton dialed it on his phone and the man's phone rang in his pocket. What a clever brother you have as that was not even on my radar! I, having tried to hold back so many emotions for days, just lost it. Really lost it. I poured out the whole story about you and your death and the cars and our whole life story it appears, in a matter of seconds. This poor young man was without words while this crazy women was babbling and blubbering on the side of the road. After a few minutes, we moved both cars into the lot on the corner and he and Kenton exchanged information while I just sat on the curb in stunned disbelief.
When all was done, we went to leave and I apologized for becoming hysterical. He assured me that I had every right to do so and how sorry he was to have made this tragic time worse by his carelessness. He took all responsibility for the accident.
I finally thought to ask his name.
He reached out his hand to take mine and he said, "Dan. Dan Cinnamon."
"No, it's not!" I insisted loudly and laughed in disbelief. Thinking I misunderstood, he repeated it just the same way. Really? Who has the name Cinnamon? And at that moment, on that hot afternoon, in the incredulous irony of it all, I just sat back down on the curb and started to laugh hysterically. Again, this nice young man didn't know what to do. Kenton was smiling when I finally looked up at him and we both just knew you were still in charge, laughing with us.
If that isn't a Kennasent-in-your-face moment, what is?
It was only the first in what was to be a long line of them for our family and friends.
To be continued.....
Ask and Ye Shall Receive
I'm sorry it took so long for me to visit your beautiful place of rest. When I did, I sat alone, on the top of that beautiful mountain, looking over the late evening turquoise blue of June Lake, the sunset colors of the aspens, and the blue haze of the night sky, highlighting the outline of your tree.
The mountains across the lake were aglow as the sun set. I looked up towards the top of your tree and there was the moon between the branches, in a hurry to rise, as if in a race with the setting sun. I sat on a rock and listened to the silence and asked you for a sign. Any sign. A bluebird for Grandma Judy, a blackbird for you, a pinecone dropping, the eagle who flew over the top of our tree when we scattered your ashes, any sign. I waited until it became dusk and I became concerned that the sign might be a meandering bear, so I decided to head back to the house. As I walked away, not bothering to wipe the tears, I turned to look one last time at the view. And I realized that was my sign, the golden sunset, the silver moon, the gentle breeze that reflected in the light on the slight waves on the lake. It was then I finally felt your peace for the first time.
My dear sweet Kenna, I should know better than to ask for a sign. They are all around me every day.
But you couldn't leave it at that, could you? As I rounded the curve by June Mountain, there, in the middle of the road, was the brightest blue bird I have ever seen. It didn't move as I came closer. It finally tilted it's head, looked at me and then flew away. My sad teardrops turned into streams of laughing tears.
I told K.C. about it when we went back the next day. I left her alone to talk to you in private and she was surprised to see a pinecone near her. I wasn't surprised at all when she told me because of the pinecone thread that has been running through our lives forever. And then, just to make sure I got the message that you were present, on the way home, there, in the middle of the road, in the same spot as the bluebird, was one tiny blackbird. Once again, laughing through the tears. What else could we do?
Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
take these broken wings and learn to fly,
all your life,
you were only waiting for this moment to arrive,
you were only waiting for this moment to be free.
The mountains across the lake were aglow as the sun set. I looked up towards the top of your tree and there was the moon between the branches, in a hurry to rise, as if in a race with the setting sun. I sat on a rock and listened to the silence and asked you for a sign. Any sign. A bluebird for Grandma Judy, a blackbird for you, a pinecone dropping, the eagle who flew over the top of our tree when we scattered your ashes, any sign. I waited until it became dusk and I became concerned that the sign might be a meandering bear, so I decided to head back to the house. As I walked away, not bothering to wipe the tears, I turned to look one last time at the view. And I realized that was my sign, the golden sunset, the silver moon, the gentle breeze that reflected in the light on the slight waves on the lake. It was then I finally felt your peace for the first time.
My dear sweet Kenna, I should know better than to ask for a sign. They are all around me every day.
But you couldn't leave it at that, could you? As I rounded the curve by June Mountain, there, in the middle of the road, was the brightest blue bird I have ever seen. It didn't move as I came closer. It finally tilted it's head, looked at me and then flew away. My sad teardrops turned into streams of laughing tears.
I told K.C. about it when we went back the next day. I left her alone to talk to you in private and she was surprised to see a pinecone near her. I wasn't surprised at all when she told me because of the pinecone thread that has been running through our lives forever. And then, just to make sure I got the message that you were present, on the way home, there, in the middle of the road, in the same spot as the bluebird, was one tiny blackbird. Once again, laughing through the tears. What else could we do?
Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
take these broken wings and learn to fly,
all your life,
you were only waiting for this moment to arrive,
Sunday, June 17, 2012
"Starring Kevin Costner as Kevin Costner!"
I miss your running joke about Kevin Costner. He still is one of my favorite actors and I know this because I watched Dances with Wolves again today for probably the 30th time. I had to reflect that maybe it's not as much his acting as it is the roles he chooses. Maybe it's because he looks a little like my dad. Dad is kind of a cross between Costner and Steve McQueen. Whatever the reason, you always gave me a bad time about liking him because you thought his acting wasn't really acting, just him being him. You'd laugh and say "Oh, look, it's Dances with Wolves, starring... Kevin Costner... as ... Kevin Costner!", or "Message in a Bottle starring... Kevin Costner ... as ... Kevin Costner!" And so it would go with any film bearing his presence.
What you didn't know and might have found interesting and perhaps elevated your view of him are the following tidbits:
Dances with Wolves and Field of Dreams are among the American Film Institute's 100 Most Inspiring Movies of All Time.
He turned down Jeff Bridge's role (albeit of his best performances!) in Jagged Edge and the Kill Bill roles!
"I made a life. I pretend to be heroes, that’s what I’ve gotten to play but that doesn’t make me."
K. Costner
But I think you would have loved his recent mini-series, "The Hatfield's and The McCoys", even if you couldn't admit it! Everyone else in the series were actors you liked!
His band also has a song out that has become quite popular, so there is no denying he has talent, and even you might concede to that!
By graveyards and battlefields that blood still stains
Back to a time when the angels came
Walking all alone in the Southern rain
In the forests and the fields so many men were killed
I can hear their cries still echo through these hills
That was the time when the angels came
Walking all alone in the Southern rain
The angels came down to the fallen men
They held their hands and they prayed for them
They carried their souls beyond the moon and the sun
All the way to heaven one by one
The angels worked so hard for so many years
To heaven and back again they shed so many tears
They left no one and they placed no blame
Walking all alone in the Southern rain
The angels came down to the fallen men
They held their hands and they prayed for them
They carried their souls beyond the moon and the sun
All the way to heaven one by one
Walking all alone in the Southern rain
Never heal the troubles never heal the pain
But that was the time when the angels came
Walking all alone in the Southern Rain
While looking for the lyrics to Angels Came Down, I found another song. When I do my silly dance for you in the moonlight, I now hear this song in my head. And I think how happy I am that it is performed by Kevin Costner... as Kevin Costner!
Nowhere to go but down from here
Here am I wishing that you were near
But it all came crashing down
You were nowhere to be found
Yeah I remember your little girl smile
I guess never had you
Just held you for a little while
Till it all came crashing down
You were nowhere to be found
There’s still pieces all around scattered everywhere
You could break my heart girl a thousand times or more
I’d still come running back to knock upon your door
Don’t get me wrong I really ain’t that mad
You’re just the best thing I’ve ever had
And I remember last November
Yeah I see right to the day
You turned around and walked away
Then it all came crashing down -
You were nowhere to be found
There’s still pieces all around
Pieces of my broken heart
The Moon So High tonight
Nowhere to go but down from here
Well you’d think by now I might’ve learned to say goodbye
But I’ll never say goodbye I’ll never say goodbye ...
What you didn't know and might have found interesting and perhaps elevated your view of him are the following tidbits:
Dances with Wolves and Field of Dreams are among the American Film Institute's 100 Most Inspiring Movies of All Time.
He turned down Jeff Bridge's role (albeit of his best performances!) in Jagged Edge and the Kill Bill roles!
"I made a life. I pretend to be heroes, that’s what I’ve gotten to play but that doesn’t make me."
K. Costner
But I think you would have loved his recent mini-series, "The Hatfield's and The McCoys", even if you couldn't admit it! Everyone else in the series were actors you liked!
His band also has a song out that has become quite popular, so there is no denying he has talent, and even you might concede to that!
Angels Came Down
Walking all alone in the Southern rainBy graveyards and battlefields that blood still stains
Back to a time when the angels came
Walking all alone in the Southern rain
In the forests and the fields so many men were killed
I can hear their cries still echo through these hills
That was the time when the angels came
Walking all alone in the Southern rain
The angels came down to the fallen men
They held their hands and they prayed for them
They carried their souls beyond the moon and the sun
All the way to heaven one by one
The angels worked so hard for so many years
To heaven and back again they shed so many tears
They left no one and they placed no blame
Walking all alone in the Southern rain
The angels came down to the fallen men
They held their hands and they prayed for them
They carried their souls beyond the moon and the sun
All the way to heaven one by one
Walking all alone in the Southern rain
Never heal the troubles never heal the pain
But that was the time when the angels came
Walking all alone in the Southern Rain
While looking for the lyrics to Angels Came Down, I found another song. When I do my silly dance for you in the moonlight, I now hear this song in my head. And I think how happy I am that it is performed by Kevin Costner... as Kevin Costner!
Moon So High
Moon’s so highNowhere to go but down from here
Here am I wishing that you were near
But it all came crashing down
You were nowhere to be found
Yeah I remember your little girl smile
I guess never had you
Just held you for a little while
Till it all came crashing down
You were nowhere to be found
There’s still pieces all around scattered everywhere
You could break my heart girl a thousand times or more
I’d still come running back to knock upon your door
Don’t get me wrong I really ain’t that mad
You’re just the best thing I’ve ever had
And I remember last November
Yeah I see right to the day
You turned around and walked away
Then it all came crashing down -
You were nowhere to be found
There’s still pieces all around
Pieces of my broken heart
The Moon So High tonight
Nowhere to go but down from here
Well you’d think by now I might’ve learned to say goodbye
But I’ll never say goodbye I’ll never say goodbye ...
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Baja or Bust!
 |
| Frigate |
So beautiful and peaceful with lovely people not in a hurry. The Tamale Lady brought fresh tamales our first morning. We fished off their boat and saw brown pelicans, frigates, and ospreys sitting on their huge nests high atop the rocks.I put the proverbial "message in a bottle" for you and Dad and Pam will send it out in the Sea of Cortez. You loved the water when you were little, not so much when you got older. I hope you are traveling to all the places you ever dreamed of and more and finding the peace there that you couldn't find here.
Dad saw the same beautiful angel cloud in Baja that Chana and I saw on the playground. We have no doubt who it was. A painting waiting.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
I'm a Barbie Girl in a Barbie World
Barbie Encounter #1:
 |
| "My First Barbie" circa 1980 |
You had just turned three and we were in the doll aisle at Toys-R-Us. A lady asked your opinion about the type of Barbie she should get for her granddaughter who was about your age. Of course, people began to gather as you spoke like an authority with the vocabulary and confidence of an adult, albeit it in that little confidential, whispery, cartoony voice we so loved.
You explained that "My First Barbie" would be a good choice as they had "simple clothing with easy snaps for tiny fingers and there were many different hair colors". You told her that you, however, liked the other ones because you had mastered buttons and shoes because you were an expert. She smiled and thanked you and chose the blond "My First Barbie". You looked at me and said, "She made a good choice!" Everyone was smiling and laughing but then, just as she began to walk away, you shouted in true Kenna volume style, "Oh, by the way, be sure to tell your granddaughter that real women aren't built like that!" People literally bent over, kneeling in the aisle as you grabbed my hand to head off to the Legos.
Barbie Encounter #2:
Recently, I found the red, white and blue clad Barbie in your hope chest. When we first saw this "Barbie for President" doll in 1992, you merely asked,"Why doesn't it just say President Barbie?" Period.
And even now, twenty years later, we are still left with this recent announcement that shows we have not come so far in the presidential field, "The “I Can Be … 2012 President Barbie doll will be available for pre-order beginning April 5 at mattelshop.com and at retail stores in August." Arrggghhhhh!
Barbie Encounter #3:
When Chana and I made the boy's t-shirt quilts this year, you had a Barbie shirt that proclaimed in gold lettering, "What a Doll!" on the front and "Barbie" on the back. Half went on Kenton's quilt and half went on Kameron's. Both were amused that she was represented!
Barbie Encounter #4:
Barbie Encounter #5:
I recently found the last Barbie I ever received. It was from you, of course. It's the Beatrix Potter Tale of Peter Rabbit doll. I know you got it for me because we shared a love of her personal story and her stories! I'm not a doll collector but it appears that I now have my own Barbie collection that just keeps growing with these appearances. I love that you knew I would like this connection to literature. Thank you, my sweet girl.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Someday My Prince WIll Come
 |
| These are the rabbit ears you wore in the play! |
Your favorite joke back then: "What did Cinderella say when her pictures had not arrived at the Photomat"? (You sang) "Someday my prints will come!"
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Another Mother's Day
When is it not a mother's day? Mothers should celebrate every day.
We are mothers every day, forever.
This is my second one without you. And as much as I don't want to dwell on that, it seems impossible to ignore. Last year was hard and we just needed to get through all of those "firsts". That first Mother's Day in what I logically knew would be many was unbearable. But this year, it is the one where reality sets it. This is how it will always be, Mother's Day without my Kenna, my daughter, my girl.
Sometimes people unintentionally make insensitive comments such as "Hasn't it been long enough?" or "It's been almost a year." or "When are they going to get over it?"
No one that has lost a child would ever, ever utter those words to one who had lost a loved one, especially a child or a sister or a granddaughter or a niece or cousin like you. Because the answer is "Never."
Time heals nothing. It just moves along. You are pulled along in it's tide, even when you don't have the strength or desire to move. You pretend, you smile, you laugh and try to enjoy the moments where you can, but it will never be "over".
I am so grateful for the love and support of my family and friends, but this is a lonely journey few can take alongside you and truly understand. The tears are always at the surface just waiting for anything to make them fall gently or pour like a waterfall. A song, a insipid commercial, a conversation among others, anything can set it off and there you are, not "getting over it". Ever.
I watered the garden last week and noticed the Yesterday, Today and Forever plant was close to blooming, just as it had last year at this time, precisely on Mother's Day. Today, I walked out to see if it had bloomed. Just as I opened the door, the first small white butterfly of the season flew near my face, hovered near me as if to say, "Follow me!" which I did. It flew around the garden and straight to the plant where it landed on the fully blooming petals of lavender and purple and white. Although it's not usually your style to be subtle, I thank you for coming to me so peacefully and quietly on this Mother's Day!
We are mothers every day, forever.
This is my second one without you. And as much as I don't want to dwell on that, it seems impossible to ignore. Last year was hard and we just needed to get through all of those "firsts". That first Mother's Day in what I logically knew would be many was unbearable. But this year, it is the one where reality sets it. This is how it will always be, Mother's Day without my Kenna, my daughter, my girl.
Sometimes people unintentionally make insensitive comments such as "Hasn't it been long enough?" or "It's been almost a year." or "When are they going to get over it?"
No one that has lost a child would ever, ever utter those words to one who had lost a loved one, especially a child or a sister or a granddaughter or a niece or cousin like you. Because the answer is "Never."
Time heals nothing. It just moves along. You are pulled along in it's tide, even when you don't have the strength or desire to move. You pretend, you smile, you laugh and try to enjoy the moments where you can, but it will never be "over".
I am so grateful for the love and support of my family and friends, but this is a lonely journey few can take alongside you and truly understand. The tears are always at the surface just waiting for anything to make them fall gently or pour like a waterfall. A song, a insipid commercial, a conversation among others, anything can set it off and there you are, not "getting over it". Ever.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Down the Rabbit Hole
I had an appointment this morning at 10:00 AM downtown. I arrived early so I decided to drive around and look at the beautiful architecture of the old homes in old downtown Sacramento. On 23rd and S street was a yard sale sign. No reason to stop, no need to buy anything, no time to really spend doing that, but something pulled me. I looked at the small driveway and saw industrial type items, an old propeller, a metal chair, rusty tools. Don't even look, I told myself. Still, the pull. On thing I have learned very late in this life is to listen to that little voice in my head. When it whispers, I want to understand it. When it begins to grow louder, I think there must be a reason. Who knows? So I listened.
I perused the old objects and saw nothing of interest. Okay, I am just killing time before my appointment, I rationalized. Then, this lovely, sweet, happy man stepped out and said, "Oh, the art work is inside the house." "Don't tell me that!" I exclaimed. But of course I went in. The first thing I saw was a painting of a ski area that looked like June Mountain. Curious. Then I saw an antique painting of trees that looked like one of my mother's old paintings. Curiouser. And then, there it was, a beautiful hand painted watercolor of Paris that I wanted to get for Kameron and KC for their surprise (which may still take me years to do at this rate!). I thought it would be quite expensive for an original watercolor, but he said it might be a print so it was only ten dollars. I looked again and I said I thought it is an original. (I know, I should keep quiet sometimes!) He looked again and agreed but still said ten dollars anyway, for my honesty.
Another couple was looking at the beautiful original pieces of jewelry he had created decades ago. They offered what I thought was an insulting price for a beautiful large agate stone piece. He politely declined saying that it meant more than that to him. They again offered another insulting price and, again, he declined. "So, for a few bucks, you'll lose this sale and we will never return!" the man huffed. "For a dollar, I'd be happy if you never returned." he replied. Without thinking, I applauded. They left and we began to talk about the crazy way people seemed to be behaving recently in all areas of life. He then showed me beautiful dishes from the fifties, old LP's, all things of interest to me, to Kameron, to KC, to Kenton. But I tried to stay focused and not go crazy! I bought the Paris painting, the tree painting and a beautiful hand tinted picture for less than twenty dollars. He went to get change for me and I said no. I wanted to show him that what he had was worth it to me and that maybe I could make up for rude people, if only for that day. He smiled and asked if I was an artist. I said "No, but I play one on TV!" I told him about the true artists in our family, my mom, my Uncle Jim, my Great Aunt Edith, your drawings and writings, Kenton's music and art, Kameron's musical ear and gift of knowledge. Then I shared the story of the only painting Kameron ever made. I still love that story. I had finally bought the very expensive tubes of watercolor that I wanted and knew the tiny tubes would last my entire painting career. I came home one day and Kameron had used them to paint a canvas in a colorful modern art design. It was quite good, but he said "Wow, Mom, these little tubes don't go far. They barely covered the whole canvas!" I smiled, complimented his creation, then told him never to allow the painting to get near water (as dried watercolors reconstitute!), but I believe it is hanging in their bathroom now. I was sharing this story as the gentleman was carrying the paintings to my car, when he sat them down and said, "Wait! I'll be back."
He returned after a few minutes of what he said was a "search" and handed me the largest flat tin of watercolors I had ever seen! He had opened it to show me the paints inside. It was probably from the fifties, and was used and messy and missing a few of the 76 color pots, but I didn't see any of that. He began to apologize for the condition and I was moved almost to tears. Almost. Then he said, "I think you and your children would enjoy using these." He closed the lid and then I was moved to tears that I could not explain to him. Curiouser and curiouser. I knew you were there and smiling and laughing and knowing exactly why my heart was bursting. He could not have known, but you did. And once again, happily this time, down the rabbit hole I slid.
I perused the old objects and saw nothing of interest. Okay, I am just killing time before my appointment, I rationalized. Then, this lovely, sweet, happy man stepped out and said, "Oh, the art work is inside the house." "Don't tell me that!" I exclaimed. But of course I went in. The first thing I saw was a painting of a ski area that looked like June Mountain. Curious. Then I saw an antique painting of trees that looked like one of my mother's old paintings. Curiouser. And then, there it was, a beautiful hand painted watercolor of Paris that I wanted to get for Kameron and KC for their surprise (which may still take me years to do at this rate!). I thought it would be quite expensive for an original watercolor, but he said it might be a print so it was only ten dollars. I looked again and I said I thought it is an original. (I know, I should keep quiet sometimes!) He looked again and agreed but still said ten dollars anyway, for my honesty.
Another couple was looking at the beautiful original pieces of jewelry he had created decades ago. They offered what I thought was an insulting price for a beautiful large agate stone piece. He politely declined saying that it meant more than that to him. They again offered another insulting price and, again, he declined. "So, for a few bucks, you'll lose this sale and we will never return!" the man huffed. "For a dollar, I'd be happy if you never returned." he replied. Without thinking, I applauded. They left and we began to talk about the crazy way people seemed to be behaving recently in all areas of life. He then showed me beautiful dishes from the fifties, old LP's, all things of interest to me, to Kameron, to KC, to Kenton. But I tried to stay focused and not go crazy! I bought the Paris painting, the tree painting and a beautiful hand tinted picture for less than twenty dollars. He went to get change for me and I said no. I wanted to show him that what he had was worth it to me and that maybe I could make up for rude people, if only for that day. He smiled and asked if I was an artist. I said "No, but I play one on TV!" I told him about the true artists in our family, my mom, my Uncle Jim, my Great Aunt Edith, your drawings and writings, Kenton's music and art, Kameron's musical ear and gift of knowledge. Then I shared the story of the only painting Kameron ever made. I still love that story. I had finally bought the very expensive tubes of watercolor that I wanted and knew the tiny tubes would last my entire painting career. I came home one day and Kameron had used them to paint a canvas in a colorful modern art design. It was quite good, but he said "Wow, Mom, these little tubes don't go far. They barely covered the whole canvas!" I smiled, complimented his creation, then told him never to allow the painting to get near water (as dried watercolors reconstitute!), but I believe it is hanging in their bathroom now. I was sharing this story as the gentleman was carrying the paintings to my car, when he sat them down and said, "Wait! I'll be back."
He returned after a few minutes of what he said was a "search" and handed me the largest flat tin of watercolors I had ever seen! He had opened it to show me the paints inside. It was probably from the fifties, and was used and messy and missing a few of the 76 color pots, but I didn't see any of that. He began to apologize for the condition and I was moved almost to tears. Almost. Then he said, "I think you and your children would enjoy using these." He closed the lid and then I was moved to tears that I could not explain to him. Curiouser and curiouser. I knew you were there and smiling and laughing and knowing exactly why my heart was bursting. He could not have known, but you did. And once again, happily this time, down the rabbit hole I slid.
 |
| This is the tin! (Picture from Christie's auction) |
Monday, April 16, 2012
Bird Watcher
When you left the Rascal and Lil Bear in my care, you were probably hoping I would keep up your tradition of dressing them up. I just can't. But I am keeping Lil Bear healthy and flea free and spoiling her with wet food (only a little!). She doesn't know how ridiculous she looks with the infamous lion cut so we won't tell her when we get it again this summer. Rascal is gone and can't hiss at the haircut cat she didn't recognize.
When you brought them here with Baby Kitty, they were all such indoor, stay out of the snow and away from the bears and eagle talons, pets. But Rascal took to the outdoors in this beautiful weather immediately. Not so much with Baby Kitty and Lil Bear.
Remember how long it took for Lil Bear to even go outside and walk in the grass? She put her paw on the grass one step per day for weeks. Now she loves the yard and goes out to meander. She stalks birds and squirrels all the time but never is successful in catching either. I thought she was too old to out run them.
Well, today, Lil Bear, at the grand old age of 12, caught her first bird!
 |
| Lil Bear on my lap! |
She was sleeping on my lap when, out of nowhere, a small bird flew across the room, banged into one window, then another. Lil Bear leaped off my lap and into the air and took the bird down in the corner by your hope chest in less than 4 seconds. I really didn't know she could move that fast! I'm yelling and telling her to let go, (she didn't seem to hear me over her guttural growling), Kenton came running, picked her up right off that little bird and put her in time out. We both ran around looking for an open door or window or some way the bird got in the house. Nothing. Maybe she was hiding in here for awhile as the screen door was open for a bit yesterday.
There were a few little feathers around but the bird seems fine, although I can't pick her up. She moved under the hope chest so I am hoping she'll come out soon. She's probably terrified. I know it got my heart racing!
Lil Bear is now banished to the kitchen and is crying to come back in the back room.
So, where are you when I need my little animal whisperer?
Lil Bear will probably have a renewed interest in trying to catch those little birds at the feeder outside the window.
Update:
The tiny bird finally came hopping out this evening. I sat and quietly watched to make sure it was okay, then I slid open the window and knocked out the screen so it could fly out. Well, it hopped up onto one of my planters with the large ficus tree where a small ceramic bird sat on the edge. The bird cocked it's head from side to side as if to ask it how to get out of this place. Not getting a response, it jumped over to the other planter and, of course, there was another little wooden bird perched on that one. Again, it tried to communicate but didn't get anywhere. I thought I was torturing this poor little creature and he must have thought he landed in Bizzaro World amid all the bird decor. Finally, I moved over near the little bird and it jumped onto the windowsill where there were, yep, three little bird statues. After a few seconds of looking at them and getting no response, it flew out the window.
I let Lil Ber back in the room and she is still hunting for her catch of the day.
Don't Dress Your Cat in an Apron
by Dan Greenberg
Don't dress your cat in a apron
Just 'cause he's learning to bake.
Don't put your horse on a nightgown
Just 'cause he can't stay awake.
Don't dress your snake in a muu-muu
Just 'cause he's off on a cruise.
Don't dress your whale in galoshes
If she really prefers overshoes.
A person should wear what they want to
And not just what other folks say.
A person should wear what she likes to-
A person's a person that way.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Dancing Queens
Whenever I heard this song, I thought of you. It's what I hoped for you, what I prayed for you, what I so wanted for you. It feels so empty now, as if my Pollyanna dreams for you discounted how deep your pain was rooted. I know you didn't lose many of these things while you fought the battle. I just wanted them to help you heal. Naive, once again. Now the song reminds me of all the joys in life I've experienced and guilt shadows the glaring reality that you never will.
But now, in your honor, and to my great chagrin if anyone were ever to see me, I dance for a few minutes ever night with wild abandon to whatever oldie is playing at the moment. It's ironic how many of the songs, no matter the time of night, have a message that seems to come from you to me or from me to you. I'll take it...
 |
| The Hitchhike Age 16 LVHS Yearbook 1968 |
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give fate a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake
But it's worth making
Don't let some hell bent heart
Leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out
Reconsider
Give the heavens above
More than just a passing glance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
Music and Lyrics by Mark D. Sanders/Tia Sillers
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| Wherever you are, my little ballerina, I hope you're dancing... |
Friday, April 13, 2012
Out of the Blue
As the rain tapped on the window against the backdrop of the sunset, I thought how stunning it was, but how these moments are always sadly tempered because of not being able to share them with you. I was feeling melancholy and missing you all. Then, out of the blue, Robin called. I think there should be a new definition for the phrase "out of the blue" because she took me right out of it. We went for frozen yogurt. As I was getting out of the car, I unexpectedly told her about Kameron's new tattoo. As we walked through the door of the shop, I was explaining that the numbers came from the "Donnie Darko" movie. Guess what song was playing? I hadn't heard it since your celebration of life because I change the station when it comes on or bypass it on itunes.
Of course you know what song it was, as this was another Kennasent moment in a Mad World.
They come at the most unexpected times, just out of the blue.
Donnie Darko Trivia
Interesting
Of course you know what song it was, as this was another Kennasent moment in a Mad World.
Donnie Darko Trivia
Interesting
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Curiouser and Curiouser
The year you were born, Easter seemed to come early, although Easter means "moveable feast", not fixed in relation to the civil calendar. Hence, many of the gifts we received had a rabbit or bunny theme. They were everywhere; stuffed animals, blankets, a small rabbit hooded sweater, rabbit slippers, ribbons, a rabbit planter with a small plant, even wrapping paper. It seemed as if you had a theme before you could even choose one! And all throughout your life, they seemed to make an appearance just to keep us on our toes.
And of course, there is always the crazy Alice in Wonderland connection we share still.
Last week, after a very trying 36 hour trip in a car, a train, a taxi, a Greyhound bus, another bus, then Dad and Pam's truck, we pulled into their home in Baja and a rabbit ran across our path, slipped under the gate to their backyard and just stood there. It actually appeared to look over it's shoulder, inviting Rosie to give chase, which she did. We all agreed it was you, stopping to say everything is going to be alright. And from that second on, it was. On the morning we left at 5:00 AM, there you were again crossing the road in front of us as we left their little town to begin the long trip back in reverse, alleviating my fears. I listened to your ipod on the bus to the border and was comforted by the eclectic choice of music. I loved every song. Most made me cry because I know they were the last songs you heard. It is so painful to know that. It hurts to write the words. I knew I would have to hear them someday and that day seemed to be beckoning.
Sweet dreams, my little Rabbitrella.
And of course, there is always the crazy Alice in Wonderland connection we share still.
"Why, sometimes I've imagined six impossible things before breakfast!"
Albeit it a rather large one, Donnie Darko has a rabbit in it.
Albeit it a rather large one, Donnie Darko has a rabbit in it.
Last week, after a very trying 36 hour trip in a car, a train, a taxi, a Greyhound bus, another bus, then Dad and Pam's truck, we pulled into their home in Baja and a rabbit ran across our path, slipped under the gate to their backyard and just stood there. It actually appeared to look over it's shoulder, inviting Rosie to give chase, which she did. We all agreed it was you, stopping to say everything is going to be alright. And from that second on, it was. On the morning we left at 5:00 AM, there you were again crossing the road in front of us as we left their little town to begin the long trip back in reverse, alleviating my fears. I listened to your ipod on the bus to the border and was comforted by the eclectic choice of music. I loved every song. Most made me cry because I know they were the last songs you heard. It is so painful to know that. It hurts to write the words. I knew I would have to hear them someday and that day seemed to be beckoning.
Sweet dreams, my little Rabbitrella.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
I'm a Believer
Hey, Babe.
Feeling blue, another reminder of one of the many reasons I will always miss you.
Davey Jones passed away today at age 66. Seems so young. I remember walking through the cafeteria one day about ten years ago and the Monkees song "I'm a Believer" was playing so I started singing and rocking out and all of the first and second graders looked at me in awe. One of them said "Mrs. Tidwell, do you like Smashmouth?" "What?" (It was on the Shrek movie soundtrack performed by Smashmouth. I sadly had to admit that I knew it from a group from the 60's...)
Davy Jones Tribute
On July 27, 2009, you and I were running errands and an announcement on the radio said they were giving away tickets to Raley Field that night to see the Hullabaloo concert. I cried that I had forgotten that I wanted to get tickets and was upset. You said we should go win them. So you waited with me to try to win tickets at the furniture store, in what was your least favorite thing in the Sacramento, the dreaded heat. But there you were, sitting on a concrete curb. After an hour, others had won and I was ready to pack it in and leave, but you insisted we stay because you knew I really wanted to go.
And voila, I won two tickets and, double voila, you won two as well. We couldn't get in touch with anyone as we had to head straight to the concert. We were standing in line at Raley Field, trying to figure out who to give the second set of tickets to before the show started. You were watching people at the ticket window and saw two women, about my age, walking up, heads together in a serious conversation that went something like this, "No, I insist. I wanted to do this for you!" "But we can't really afford this." "Of course we can, just no drinks or treats but the music will be enough. It's Mickey Dolenz from the Monkees and Mark Lindsey from Paul Revere and the Raiders and, (slight squeal), Peter Noone of Herman's Hermits. All our favorites!" "So, let's get those tickets now!" We pulled them aside and explained that we had won an extra set and would like them to have them. They actually teared up and one of the ladies said it was the other's birthday...Of course it was.
Which brought me all the way back around to another concert you did not want to attend but you did so because you knew how much I wanted to go. In fact, I waited in line at Tower Records just to get a wristband to get in the line where maybe I would be drawn to get tickets for one of the two, changed to three shows. And, as luck would have it, I did. So I bought four tickets and we invited Dad and Pam. At the very last minute, they couldn't fly in, so there we were in the parking lot at Arco Arena, walking along discussing what to do with the two extra tickets. A young man was walking by us and his head almost snapped off of his shoulders as he swung around and said "What, you have a ticket?" I said I had two. "I'll give you $200.00 apiece for them! I promised my girlfriend I would get tickets but.. but.. but..." He looked about ready to cry or throw up. We said we couldn't take his money and he interrupted with "But that's all I have. I can send you more or give you a check or..." Again, we said we couldn't take his money but he could have them. He just stopped, stared at you, then at me, shook his head and said "Whaa..what, really...?"
So we gave him the tickets, amid hugs and thank yous and "Man, she is gonna be so thrilled."
When they showed up in the seats next to us, you whispered "Oh, they are so adorable. I'm glad they got the seats!" He insisted on buying you a t-shirt and you didn't have the heart to tell him you really didn't care for the big star about to hit the stage.
But he bought us drinks and cotton candy and you had as much fun watching them as I did watching my Garth Brooks that night.
Thank you for being so accommodating. I know it was the most painful time in our lives, following the attack and the arrest of the animals who hurt you for life, and G'ma passing, but you still did it for me. So, yes, sweet girl, I know you loved me. ("Country music? For crying out loud, Mama!!")
Feeling blue, another reminder of one of the many reasons I will always miss you.
Davey Jones passed away today at age 66. Seems so young. I remember walking through the cafeteria one day about ten years ago and the Monkees song "I'm a Believer" was playing so I started singing and rocking out and all of the first and second graders looked at me in awe. One of them said "Mrs. Tidwell, do you like Smashmouth?" "What?" (It was on the Shrek movie soundtrack performed by Smashmouth. I sadly had to admit that I knew it from a group from the 60's...)
Davy Jones Tribute
On July 27, 2009, you and I were running errands and an announcement on the radio said they were giving away tickets to Raley Field that night to see the Hullabaloo concert. I cried that I had forgotten that I wanted to get tickets and was upset. You said we should go win them. So you waited with me to try to win tickets at the furniture store, in what was your least favorite thing in the Sacramento, the dreaded heat. But there you were, sitting on a concrete curb. After an hour, others had won and I was ready to pack it in and leave, but you insisted we stay because you knew I really wanted to go.
And voila, I won two tickets and, double voila, you won two as well. We couldn't get in touch with anyone as we had to head straight to the concert. We were standing in line at Raley Field, trying to figure out who to give the second set of tickets to before the show started. You were watching people at the ticket window and saw two women, about my age, walking up, heads together in a serious conversation that went something like this, "No, I insist. I wanted to do this for you!" "But we can't really afford this." "Of course we can, just no drinks or treats but the music will be enough. It's Mickey Dolenz from the Monkees and Mark Lindsey from Paul Revere and the Raiders and, (slight squeal), Peter Noone of Herman's Hermits. All our favorites!" "So, let's get those tickets now!" We pulled them aside and explained that we had won an extra set and would like them to have them. They actually teared up and one of the ladies said it was the other's birthday...Of course it was.
Which brought me all the way back around to another concert you did not want to attend but you did so because you knew how much I wanted to go. In fact, I waited in line at Tower Records just to get a wristband to get in the line where maybe I would be drawn to get tickets for one of the two, changed to three shows. And, as luck would have it, I did. So I bought four tickets and we invited Dad and Pam. At the very last minute, they couldn't fly in, so there we were in the parking lot at Arco Arena, walking along discussing what to do with the two extra tickets. A young man was walking by us and his head almost snapped off of his shoulders as he swung around and said "What, you have a ticket?" I said I had two. "I'll give you $200.00 apiece for them! I promised my girlfriend I would get tickets but.. but.. but..." He looked about ready to cry or throw up. We said we couldn't take his money and he interrupted with "But that's all I have. I can send you more or give you a check or..." Again, we said we couldn't take his money but he could have them. He just stopped, stared at you, then at me, shook his head and said "Whaa..what, really...?"
So we gave him the tickets, amid hugs and thank yous and "Man, she is gonna be so thrilled."
When they showed up in the seats next to us, you whispered "Oh, they are so adorable. I'm glad they got the seats!" He insisted on buying you a t-shirt and you didn't have the heart to tell him you really didn't care for the big star about to hit the stage.
But he bought us drinks and cotton candy and you had as much fun watching them as I did watching my Garth Brooks that night.
Thank you for being so accommodating. I know it was the most painful time in our lives, following the attack and the arrest of the animals who hurt you for life, and G'ma passing, but you still did it for me. So, yes, sweet girl, I know you loved me. ("Country music? For crying out loud, Mama!!")
Seriously?
Last night was Open House. I love having the children share what they've learned with their families! Everyone seems happy and proud. When it was over, Chana and I were walking out, tired, yet pleased with the turnout and the supportive comments and compliments received. "See you in the morning at coffee!" we said simultaneously.
And then, in the dark and the rain, with a smile on my face, I walked out toward my car, promptly kicked the door stop (that we had asked to be moved months ago!), and down I went! I cried just like the Kindergartners do when they "fall down, go boom!" because it flipping hurts, not to mention humiliates and humbles oneself! My ankle was injured, I scraped both knees, landed on my left arm, hit my chin on my hand, and bounced.
"Really, I thought? What message is this?" I know you speak to me in a whisper sometimes and if I don't hear, you get louder. Most of the time the messages seem bent on making me aware of little things I could do better or safer or not at all, but this? I couldn't see the reasoning behind it. Four days before our first vacation in forever? Did you not want me to go to Baja?
The next morning, I ended up going to the school's required medical office that turned out to be the same one I had taken you to for your headaches. They were always so kind and empathetic.
When I signed in, the receptionist said "We haven't seen you in awhile. Kenna's headaches must be getting better!"
"Yes." I nodded, because I couldn't breath, let alone explain. When the doctor saw me, she inquired about you, so I told her. She was very quiet and, of course, sad. Sad for me, sad for us, but mostly sad for the loss of someone so special, which is the true story. Somehow, no matter where you went, whatever the circumstances, how little or how much time you spent with people, they connected with you. It was a gift that keeps on giving because when I went to sign out, the nurses and receptionists, who now knew, told me how sorry they were and how sad they felt, and as we all stood there trying not to cry, the happy "Muzak" tune stopped playing and what should begin but "Tears in Heaven". We all, without knowing the other was doing it, looked up and I exclaimed out loud, "Really, Kenna, this song, on this day, at this moment? Really?" When I looked around, there was not a dry eye in the waiting room, so I went outside and lost it. Lost it to the point of the ugly cry. Completely lost it. When I managed to get in the car to go back to school, the first thing the DJ said was that it was Eric Clapton's birthday, which I had completely overlooked apparently, but was vividly reminded, and then he played the best song ever written, my favorite, Layla. Really, Kenna?
Happy Birthday, Eric. Seriously.
Kenton and I saw this live, March 2007!
And then, in the dark and the rain, with a smile on my face, I walked out toward my car, promptly kicked the door stop (that we had asked to be moved months ago!), and down I went! I cried just like the Kindergartners do when they "fall down, go boom!" because it flipping hurts, not to mention humiliates and humbles oneself! My ankle was injured, I scraped both knees, landed on my left arm, hit my chin on my hand, and bounced.
"Really, I thought? What message is this?" I know you speak to me in a whisper sometimes and if I don't hear, you get louder. Most of the time the messages seem bent on making me aware of little things I could do better or safer or not at all, but this? I couldn't see the reasoning behind it. Four days before our first vacation in forever? Did you not want me to go to Baja?
The next morning, I ended up going to the school's required medical office that turned out to be the same one I had taken you to for your headaches. They were always so kind and empathetic.
When I signed in, the receptionist said "We haven't seen you in awhile. Kenna's headaches must be getting better!"
"Yes." I nodded, because I couldn't breath, let alone explain. When the doctor saw me, she inquired about you, so I told her. She was very quiet and, of course, sad. Sad for me, sad for us, but mostly sad for the loss of someone so special, which is the true story. Somehow, no matter where you went, whatever the circumstances, how little or how much time you spent with people, they connected with you. It was a gift that keeps on giving because when I went to sign out, the nurses and receptionists, who now knew, told me how sorry they were and how sad they felt, and as we all stood there trying not to cry, the happy "Muzak" tune stopped playing and what should begin but "Tears in Heaven". We all, without knowing the other was doing it, looked up and I exclaimed out loud, "Really, Kenna, this song, on this day, at this moment? Really?" When I looked around, there was not a dry eye in the waiting room, so I went outside and lost it. Lost it to the point of the ugly cry. Completely lost it. When I managed to get in the car to go back to school, the first thing the DJ said was that it was Eric Clapton's birthday, which I had completely overlooked apparently, but was vividly reminded, and then he played the best song ever written, my favorite, Layla. Really, Kenna?
Happy Birthday, Eric. Seriously.
Kenton and I saw this live, March 2007!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Belly Up to the Bar, Boys!
Valentine's Day 2012
On this celebrated day, when most are either enjoying a romantic evening with a loved one or perhaps wishing they were, I went to a support group to hear Steve Fugate speak. He has walked over 30,000 miles to spread the message on the sign he carries for all to see, "Love Life." His story is one worth sharing. "I am convinced that there is no pain equal to that of losing a child.
The grief was indescribable. I felt as though someone had taken an axe
and chopped out my heart while I was yet breathing! My son, this living,
breathing, precious life, my beautiful contribution to the universe,
was suddenly gone. I can in no way fully describe the pain, I don't know
how to scream on paper..."
Before the evening was over, I experienced an epiphany so profound that I came home, sat in the dark and looked at the stars twinkling outside the window for hours.
He said his children adored their father, absolutely loved him and they were always trying to make him happy every day of their lives. And he simply stated, "So why would it be any different now?"
I know we all keep saying that we know you wouldn't want us to be sad, that you would want us to celebrate more often, to feel joy, to be happy, but it often sounds like a mere justification to do so without the accompanying quilt. It feels so hollow. Celebrate? Without you? How disloyal, how absurd. What is there to celebrate without you?
Then his words hit me so hard I realized I was holding my breath. Maybe I had been for all this time.
You were always doing things to make people happy in so many ways. Just that last year, you gave me so many reasons to be happy that I am constantly reminded and amazed. There are so many memories from the day you were born to the tangible gifts you worked your magic on to make appear. Giving always meant more to you than receiving. The rainbow bouquet for Chana, concert tickets for your friends in high school, my soap opera earrings, my favorite perfume only you could find when it was no longer for sale, Kameron's birthday dinner at Morton's that you saved for and you beamed throughout the entire evening, your funny notes, and your constant surprises are treasures we will always cherish.
I saw the times people were disturbed by their perception that you made it all about you at times, but I know the real reason for that. They do now as well. I know how profoundly sad and guilty you felt about that and how you tried to avoid it. Trying to disguise pain can often be misunderstood by others. I know it doesn't really matter anymore and that some feelings we just have to let go, we need to forgive you, we need to forgive ourselves. Easier said than done when blanketed by guilt.
Your last act was, in part, to spare us having to share the painful roller coaster journey you were on, although I know you could not have imagined the unbearable loss your absence would leave behind. It permeates our lives, minute by minute, dream by dream, and it defines who we now are while we struggle to find our place in this uncharted world.
But tonight this man's words resonated so clearly.
"They wanted us to be happy before, so why would that be any different now?"
It seems so simple.
Perhaps that is the point. Not only will I take comfort in remembering your generosity, I will celebrate this life I have because I don't want to lose that Pollyanna part of me. That Unsinkable Molly Brown is still shivering in that lifeboat, trying to sing to others. I know you don't want me to lose that either, even though you found it quite perplexing and annoying and unrealistic at times. I don't want to feel like I can never truly laugh again or enjoy the simple gifts of life. I want to be able to be me again with our boys. I know you want that as well. And they deserve nothing less. I would rather the laughter be with you by our sides, but I will have to take comfort in the knowledge you are with me in whatever form that takes.
I'll keep working on my "bucket list". I have some catching up to do as it has been on hold since you left. I'm sorry I didn't get this message from you sooner. I should have been listening more carefully with my heart and not letting the pain block your message.
I'm listening now.
 |
| Steve's Story |
Before the evening was over, I experienced an epiphany so profound that I came home, sat in the dark and looked at the stars twinkling outside the window for hours.
He said his children adored their father, absolutely loved him and they were always trying to make him happy every day of their lives. And he simply stated, "So why would it be any different now?"
I know we all keep saying that we know you wouldn't want us to be sad, that you would want us to celebrate more often, to feel joy, to be happy, but it often sounds like a mere justification to do so without the accompanying quilt. It feels so hollow. Celebrate? Without you? How disloyal, how absurd. What is there to celebrate without you?
Then his words hit me so hard I realized I was holding my breath. Maybe I had been for all this time.
You were always doing things to make people happy in so many ways. Just that last year, you gave me so many reasons to be happy that I am constantly reminded and amazed. There are so many memories from the day you were born to the tangible gifts you worked your magic on to make appear. Giving always meant more to you than receiving. The rainbow bouquet for Chana, concert tickets for your friends in high school, my soap opera earrings, my favorite perfume only you could find when it was no longer for sale, Kameron's birthday dinner at Morton's that you saved for and you beamed throughout the entire evening, your funny notes, and your constant surprises are treasures we will always cherish.
I saw the times people were disturbed by their perception that you made it all about you at times, but I know the real reason for that. They do now as well. I know how profoundly sad and guilty you felt about that and how you tried to avoid it. Trying to disguise pain can often be misunderstood by others. I know it doesn't really matter anymore and that some feelings we just have to let go, we need to forgive you, we need to forgive ourselves. Easier said than done when blanketed by guilt.
Your last act was, in part, to spare us having to share the painful roller coaster journey you were on, although I know you could not have imagined the unbearable loss your absence would leave behind. It permeates our lives, minute by minute, dream by dream, and it defines who we now are while we struggle to find our place in this uncharted world.
But tonight this man's words resonated so clearly.
"They wanted us to be happy before, so why would that be any different now?"
It seems so simple.
Perhaps that is the point. Not only will I take comfort in remembering your generosity, I will celebrate this life I have because I don't want to lose that Pollyanna part of me. That Unsinkable Molly Brown is still shivering in that lifeboat, trying to sing to others. I know you don't want me to lose that either, even though you found it quite perplexing and annoying and unrealistic at times. I don't want to feel like I can never truly laugh again or enjoy the simple gifts of life. I want to be able to be me again with our boys. I know you want that as well. And they deserve nothing less. I would rather the laughter be with you by our sides, but I will have to take comfort in the knowledge you are with me in whatever form that takes.
I'll keep working on my "bucket list". I have some catching up to do as it has been on hold since you left. I'm sorry I didn't get this message from you sooner. I should have been listening more carefully with my heart and not letting the pain block your message.
I'm listening now.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Star Light, Star Bright
On my birthday, I was already halfway through an eighteen hour labor with you. Contractions were two minutes apart and the doctor kept saying he could give me something, but this young hippie mama declined. I did thirty-six hours with nothing but some pretty fancy curse words with your brother and felt I owed you the same! Besides, Dr. Eaton promised me after Kameron's long labor that the next one would be half that and he was correct, right down to the hour. Eighteen hours? Piece of cake! When we arrived at the new hospital in Mammoth, which was only about a football field length away form our home, and had only been up and running for a few weeks, we found "no room at the inn'. (I wonder if that had something to do with your collection of nativities later in life?) It was packed full of drunken locals who had gotten into a bar fight and skiers who had been injured so no rooms nor beds were available. We were taken into the "cast" room amid the remains of recent cast applications splattered about the floor and walls and on the gurney itself! Your dad helped me stay on that narrow, hard, slippery gurney for the next eighteen hours with patience, ice chips, back rubs, and bribes. He was a great coach! Ironically, the only way I could lay was on my left side and on the wall was a poster of Wiley E. Coyote, falling off a cliff, with that resigned look on his face facing the camera and saying, "Ever have one of those days?" He became my instant favorite cartoon character! Although I would have liked to share a birthday with you, I never fancied the idea of children having to share their special day with anyone or any holiday. Apparently, you felt the same, so your first act in this world was to hold out for your own day. Not long after midnight of my hours-old 28th birthday, you joined us. You came out sucking your thumb and when you let out a little sweet cry, I knew you were a girl before your dad even told me. (We never wanted to know if we were having a boy or a girl with any of you but for some reason, your dad knew every time. I, of course, wanted you to be a girl so you could have a big brother to watch your back like mine did, and still does.)
The nurse wasn't able to clean us up because they had run out of hot water and clean linens. I, to use Grandma Rake's term, "spit cleaned" you as best as possible. The only picture I have of us in the hospital is with me, with my disastrous hair color (another story to be told!), holding you with your blood-covered little head.
When everything quieted down, your dad left to go tell Kameron and call our family. I lay on that cold gurney with you in my arms, just marveling at how you slept with your hands tucked near your face so sweetly and femininely, just the opposite of Kameron who always lay on his back, his hands thrown up and open over his head, all boy! I was in awe at what a completely secure and captivating little creature you were.
A large, bright star broke through the dark night and twinkled over us and I felt a peace only a mother can know. "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight." kept running through my head. In the soft light of that star, amidst the plaster cast off, and under the watchful eye of Wiley, I wrote a poem for you on some rose printed stationary I had thrown into my bag. It seemed the perfect paper on which to pen my thoughts because you had these sweet little rosebud lips.
"My Rosebud Baby". I remember it word for word. I haven't been able to bring myself to read it or recite it since you left us because it underscores how naive I was, how I failed to keep the promise I made to you on that beautiful, silent, snowy night so full of the promise of possibilities. I remember kissing you and telling you that you were the best birthday present I would ever receive. That much remains true.
When your father and your big brother arrived after the sun came up, Ken was carrying a small vase in one hand and holding Kameron's gloved hand in his other. Kameron was all bundled up in his blue and yellow jacket and his eyes were as big as his smile. He kissed your "owie" when he saw the tiny strawberry birthmark between your eyebrows. Your father didn't know about our talk or my poem. But in that vase was one beautiful pink rose and one tiny pink rosebud. I was speechless but not surprised.
The nurse wasn't able to clean us up because they had run out of hot water and clean linens. I, to use Grandma Rake's term, "spit cleaned" you as best as possible. The only picture I have of us in the hospital is with me, with my disastrous hair color (another story to be told!), holding you with your blood-covered little head.
When everything quieted down, your dad left to go tell Kameron and call our family. I lay on that cold gurney with you in my arms, just marveling at how you slept with your hands tucked near your face so sweetly and femininely, just the opposite of Kameron who always lay on his back, his hands thrown up and open over his head, all boy! I was in awe at what a completely secure and captivating little creature you were.
A large, bright star broke through the dark night and twinkled over us and I felt a peace only a mother can know. "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight." kept running through my head. In the soft light of that star, amidst the plaster cast off, and under the watchful eye of Wiley, I wrote a poem for you on some rose printed stationary I had thrown into my bag. It seemed the perfect paper on which to pen my thoughts because you had these sweet little rosebud lips.
"My Rosebud Baby". I remember it word for word. I haven't been able to bring myself to read it or recite it since you left us because it underscores how naive I was, how I failed to keep the promise I made to you on that beautiful, silent, snowy night so full of the promise of possibilities. I remember kissing you and telling you that you were the best birthday present I would ever receive. That much remains true.
When your father and your big brother arrived after the sun came up, Ken was carrying a small vase in one hand and holding Kameron's gloved hand in his other. Kameron was all bundled up in his blue and yellow jacket and his eyes were as big as his smile. He kissed your "owie" when he saw the tiny strawberry birthmark between your eyebrows. Your father didn't know about our talk or my poem. But in that vase was one beautiful pink rose and one tiny pink rosebud. I was speechless but not surprised.
The next morning, Cheryl came to see us and was told she couldn't because they were trying to get us into a room and clean us up. Well, you know Cheryl and she doesn't like being told what she can or can not do. So, she trudged through the snow along the side of the building, banged on the window and told me to go open the back doors to the emergency entrance.
She had brought you a beautiful little white outfit covered in rosebuds with lace around the edges of the feet. Again, speechless but not surprised.
So, that's how you came to our little family, alert, wide eyed, ready to fight for your own place in this world, and I was the happiest mother on the planet. Happy birthday, me! Happy birthday, you! You were the tiny rosebud who would blossom into the most beautiful girl in the world with the rosebud lips. You were my shining star. You are still.
Still Waiting
I found this on your FB page today.
5:45 AM..You haven't come to me in my dreams yet and I am so sad about that. But this morning, Rascal jumped off my lap, up onto the chair where my laptop was sitting, then onto the table. Then itunes started playing and it started with the downloaded songs. What are the odds? It began with Baby Mine, then Mad World, then Somewhere Out There, then Johnny Cash. I haven't used itunes since I made your dvd. Rascal then ran to the back door and cried to go out, which she has never done. I went outside with her. I remembered the empty litter boxes needed to go to the trash so I took them to the dumpster. And then..a few raindrops fell. "What is this? It's supposed to be 90 today!" Then the heavens opened up and it poured. By the time I got back to the door, I was soaked through. So I went inside, got your bright pink umbrella and took a walk in this crazy rain in my jammies. You were with me every step, "out there, out where dreams come true." I'm writing this at 6:10, still soaking wet, but laughing. Thank you for that, beautiful girl.
June 25, 2010
5:45 AM..You haven't come to me in my dreams yet and I am so sad about that. But this morning, Rascal jumped off my lap, up onto the chair where my laptop was sitting, then onto the table. Then itunes started playing and it started with the downloaded songs. What are the odds? It began with Baby Mine, then Mad World, then Somewhere Out There, then Johnny Cash. I haven't used itunes since I made your dvd. Rascal then ran to the back door and cried to go out, which she has never done. I went outside with her. I remembered the empty litter boxes needed to go to the trash so I took them to the dumpster. And then..a few raindrops fell. "What is this? It's supposed to be 90 today!" Then the heavens opened up and it poured. By the time I got back to the door, I was soaked through. So I went inside, got your bright pink umbrella and took a walk in this crazy rain in my jammies. You were with me every step, "out there, out where dreams come true." I'm writing this at 6:10, still soaking wet, but laughing. Thank you for that, beautiful girl.
June 25, 2010
Thursday, February 9, 2012
BFF!
I was thinking of all the things you didn't get to do. Some things were just too hard for you, some things would have put you in the spotlight you no longer sought, something you never shunned before the attack. It changed so many things, but mostly it changed the joy in which you moved through life. It limited your participation in what should have been your rights of passage as a teenager. What I regret most of all is that many things were just thwarted at the tender, vulnerable age of seventeen for you. Even as you matured, that young woman never got to experience what by rights was yours to have in all it's glory and pain, falling in and out of love, becoming a race car designer, writing for Saturday Night Live, going to MIT, making mistakes of your own, traveling, and following your dreams.
I was listing the things I had experienced and ached for your having missed out on many of them, good or bad, and I was thinking that you never got to be in a friend's wedding and then, a Kennasent moment, you smacked me upside the head and the picture of you and Cheryl emerged in my mind. Of course you got to be in a wedding, your "Aunt Cheble's", my best friend, your Godmother. I was the Matron of Honor but you were the Maid of Honor. And you did it so well. Just a few years ago you said that you were glad you were only in her wedding because it was so special for all of us, going to San Francisco to pick out dresses, practicing the high heel walk, and getting our hair and makeup done. The morning of the wedding when we were getting your hair done, you said, "Just remember, I can't be prettier than the bride!" And when you saw Cheryl in her dress, you said, almost with relief, "Oh, good, she looks so beautiful!" (Like there was any doubt!)
Remember when the furnace blew up on me? You and I were home alone, your Dad and Kameron were in Sacramento. The pilot light had blown out so I called your Dad and he told me how to light it, but he told me the steps in the opposite order and when I lit the match, the flame whoosed up and out over my hand, up my arms and neck and into my face. I was going into shock from the severity of the burns but felt no pain. I called Cheryl and she didn't hesitate, she just shoveled out her car and showed up, messy hair, no contacts, just her big glasses and her jammies and boots. She quickly wrapped you up, wrapped me up and took us to the hospital at 3:00 in the morning. There I sat with signed hair, no eyebrows or lashes, huge blisters all over, all that should have been frightening to a two and a half year old. You quietly sat there next to my gurney for a few minutes, (there we were again, baby girl, in the Mammoth Hospital on a gurney together!) looking at us and then, from behind your hand so others would not hear, you whispered, "Aunt Cheble, you don't look so good right now!" She barely glanced at you while flipping through the pages of the magazine she was reading with that look she had reserved just for her sardonic little goddaughter, and without blinking an eye said, "Really, Kenna? Have you looked at your mother?" To which you replied quite logically, "Yes, but she had a heater blow up on her, Aunt Cheble!"
How I loved watching your interactions over the years. You were the daughter she never had and she was the Aunt who spoiled you rotten! Maybe that's why you called it the "perfect relationship".
So many people loved and adored you and always will! We will forever miss being "the birthday girls" with you. Happy Peaceful Birthday, Sweet Girl!
I was listing the things I had experienced and ached for your having missed out on many of them, good or bad, and I was thinking that you never got to be in a friend's wedding and then, a Kennasent moment, you smacked me upside the head and the picture of you and Cheryl emerged in my mind. Of course you got to be in a wedding, your "Aunt Cheble's", my best friend, your Godmother. I was the Matron of Honor but you were the Maid of Honor. And you did it so well. Just a few years ago you said that you were glad you were only in her wedding because it was so special for all of us, going to San Francisco to pick out dresses, practicing the high heel walk, and getting our hair and makeup done. The morning of the wedding when we were getting your hair done, you said, "Just remember, I can't be prettier than the bride!" And when you saw Cheryl in her dress, you said, almost with relief, "Oh, good, she looks so beautiful!" (Like there was any doubt!)
Remember when the furnace blew up on me? You and I were home alone, your Dad and Kameron were in Sacramento. The pilot light had blown out so I called your Dad and he told me how to light it, but he told me the steps in the opposite order and when I lit the match, the flame whoosed up and out over my hand, up my arms and neck and into my face. I was going into shock from the severity of the burns but felt no pain. I called Cheryl and she didn't hesitate, she just shoveled out her car and showed up, messy hair, no contacts, just her big glasses and her jammies and boots. She quickly wrapped you up, wrapped me up and took us to the hospital at 3:00 in the morning. There I sat with signed hair, no eyebrows or lashes, huge blisters all over, all that should have been frightening to a two and a half year old. You quietly sat there next to my gurney for a few minutes, (there we were again, baby girl, in the Mammoth Hospital on a gurney together!) looking at us and then, from behind your hand so others would not hear, you whispered, "Aunt Cheble, you don't look so good right now!" She barely glanced at you while flipping through the pages of the magazine she was reading with that look she had reserved just for her sardonic little goddaughter, and without blinking an eye said, "Really, Kenna? Have you looked at your mother?" To which you replied quite logically, "Yes, but she had a heater blow up on her, Aunt Cheble!"
How I loved watching your interactions over the years. You were the daughter she never had and she was the Aunt who spoiled you rotten! Maybe that's why you called it the "perfect relationship".
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Kenna, The Animal Whisperer
"Mama, Mama, look in my Hot Wheels van! Look! Look!"
I tried to peer in the little round side window but couldn't see much. It looked like something was moving but it wasn't clear as to what that might be.
"Oh, here..." you exclaimed impatiently in your little three year old voice as you dumped out the contents.
How you fit over 50 pill bugs in that toy van was beyond me! When I asked you how you got them inside the van, you looked at me like you couldn't believe I couldn't see, what to you, was an obvious fact.
"Well, they rolled into little balls to make room for each other."
I loved how you always took care of the little creatures of the earth.
We removed a large tarp on the driveway after a heavy rain, and found several hundred worms that had relocated under it. You calmly said, "Well...there are too many worms to save and besides, they know their way back to the grass, but those two snakes in the middle need my help." How you recognized 2 snakes among all those squirmy worms was beyond me.
When Kenton got a parakeet for Valentine's Day in Kindergarten, we hung the cage over the dining room table when we left so the cats couldn't get to it. When you all got home, the cage was laying on the floor, door open, bird gone. You and Kameron didn't want him to know what had happened, so instead of telling him how the cat had become a circus performer by jumping off the amoire, hanging on the cage and getting it to swing until it fell, you told him the bird actually got away and went up the chimney. That explained the feathers near the fireplace. When I came home and talked to him, he said very seriously, "Kameron and Kenna told me the bird flew away and he's happy. But Mom, I'm worried about the cat because she keeps going "Aha, aha" (coughing sound)....sigh.. (I hope he doesn't read this because we never did tell him the truth about that acrobatic cat!)
You taught Rosie to sing. How adorable you were when you howled and she lifted her red dog chin and sang along with you!
You had a gift, my dear.
Lil Bear misses you greatly and it took her a long time to quit going in, jumping on your bed and crying throughout the house looking for the only 'Mama" she ever had. She is now my best buddy and I, against your advice, have spoiled her rotten. And I apologize about the "lion cut" but she really needed it this summer. But you must have left a little of your gift behind with us because she jumps on my lap when I call her with that special sound you made. She sleeps cuddled under my chin at night and lays on my hip during the day. I love her now just as you did even with her stomach problems, hairballs, poor eyesight and all.
I tried to peer in the little round side window but couldn't see much. It looked like something was moving but it wasn't clear as to what that might be.
"Oh, here..." you exclaimed impatiently in your little three year old voice as you dumped out the contents.
How you fit over 50 pill bugs in that toy van was beyond me! When I asked you how you got them inside the van, you looked at me like you couldn't believe I couldn't see, what to you, was an obvious fact.
"Well, they rolled into little balls to make room for each other."
I loved how you always took care of the little creatures of the earth.
We removed a large tarp on the driveway after a heavy rain, and found several hundred worms that had relocated under it. You calmly said, "Well...there are too many worms to save and besides, they know their way back to the grass, but those two snakes in the middle need my help." How you recognized 2 snakes among all those squirmy worms was beyond me.
When Kenton got a parakeet for Valentine's Day in Kindergarten, we hung the cage over the dining room table when we left so the cats couldn't get to it. When you all got home, the cage was laying on the floor, door open, bird gone. You and Kameron didn't want him to know what had happened, so instead of telling him how the cat had become a circus performer by jumping off the amoire, hanging on the cage and getting it to swing until it fell, you told him the bird actually got away and went up the chimney. That explained the feathers near the fireplace. When I came home and talked to him, he said very seriously, "Kameron and Kenna told me the bird flew away and he's happy. But Mom, I'm worried about the cat because she keeps going "Aha, aha" (coughing sound)....sigh.. (I hope he doesn't read this because we never did tell him the truth about that acrobatic cat!)
You taught Rosie to sing. How adorable you were when you howled and she lifted her red dog chin and sang along with you!
You had a gift, my dear.
Lil Bear misses you greatly and it took her a long time to quit going in, jumping on your bed and crying throughout the house looking for the only 'Mama" she ever had. She is now my best buddy and I, against your advice, have spoiled her rotten. And I apologize about the "lion cut" but she really needed it this summer. But you must have left a little of your gift behind with us because she jumps on my lap when I call her with that special sound you made. She sleeps cuddled under my chin at night and lays on my hip during the day. I love her now just as you did even with her stomach problems, hairballs, poor eyesight and all.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Argyle Socks!
Okay, I shouldn't have done it. I tried really hard not to open my mouth. But...
I was on a serious sock shopping mission and heard a young mother in the next aisle telling her young child "If you talk like that again, you know what will happen!" He asked, "What?" and she said "A smack in the mouth!" And she was serious. He asked, innocently enough, "But why, because I'm just trying to tell you something, Mommy." She was busy on the phone and talking to her friend who was also with her so her son was more of a nuisance at that point.
"Not my business!" I said to myself. But then she came around the corner, cute little four year old boy hanging on the side of the cart, chattering away, "What's that, what's this for, Mommy?" His two year old baby sister was in the cart seat babbling as well. Sure, it can be overwhelming in her situation, but she didn't even appear to even like them. I actually felt a pang of some sort so I physically put my hand over my mouth so I wouldn't say what I was thinking. I tried, I really tried... But then, she said, slowly and loudly,
"So now, I want you to just - stop - talking because I am tired of hearing what you - are - saying."
Without another thought except for your voice in my head saying "Now, Mama, now!", off fly my hands and I went to her and explained it may not be my business and she could tell me to you-know-what, but that I had just lost my daughter and told her I would give anything, anything to have you talking to me, even if it was stuff I didn't want to hear. She just looked at me, so I continued. (I know, I know, I am getting too old to filter my thoughts sometimes!) "And" I continued, "What they are hearing is that you don't want to listen to them about anything." Her friend spoke up and said, "They're too young to remember this!" And I said, "But she will continue to say it so they will learn it well. You only have them for such a little time when they are young. And please don't be mad at them because I spoke to you. I only mean well." (Then I made a hasty exit!)
I hope you were just listening and smiling and maybe helping to safely hasten my exit.
I spend many hours at night reliving conversations with you from ones I loved, ones you loved, ones I wish we could have changed, ones that I don't know how they were received, ones that made us both cry, ones that had us laughing. I would give anything for another conversation with one of the most intelligent, thoughtful and thought-provoking human beings I ever knew.
I even miss our funny weather conversations from Fair Oaks to June Lake.
Summertime: "Oh my God, Mama, it is 72 degrees here. I hate this heat!" to which I'd reply, "Honey, it's 110 degrees here today!"
Wintertime: "Kenna, it's so cold, it's 40 degrees!" and you'd scoff and say, "Yeah? Try -14 degrees and shoveling snow, Mama!"
I even miss you telling me you were outside late at night next to your front door taking pictures of the bear trying to break into the trash container. I'd plead for you to go back in to be safe. You were never afraid of animals, not even the ones you should have been afraid of. Guess it wasn't the animals we should have feared, was it?
I especially miss the annual calls when you hit a deer. You reset your odometer every time to see how long it would be before the next one. How we all lived there forever and never hit one, but you, the lover and defender of all animals great and small, managed to find so many with your front bumper. "God, Mama, I hit another deer!" you'd cry over your cell phone on the highway, then abruptly end with "Gotta go!" and leave me hanging with worry. What I'd give to just worry about that again.
But what I miss most is when I'd say "I love you Kenna!" and you'd say "Yeah, yeah, yeah..." but you'd sneak in a "Love you, too."
P.S. I bought you a pair of lavender and purple argyle socks. Stay warm.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Gifts
I've received many incredible gifts throughout my life and hope I never take them for granted. My family, my friends, my work, my art, my history...
One of my first memories was the playhouse that Dad built for us when we lived in Palos Verdes. It was a magical place where we played, cooked, and built anything our hearts desired. I was always a little jealous of Mike's real tools but didn't realize I could ask for my own. When I was 55, (Yes, really!) I did ask for tools so Dad got me a tool belt and tools for Christmas! (I wonder if Mike ever asked for a Betsy Wetsy doll?) This "playhouse" was like a miniature home. In fact, future owners turned it into a guest house! When we moved to the mountains and had to say goodbye, I remember missing that house. In Mammoth, Dad built us our own little A-frame houses next to the little stream on our property. I loved mine and have such wonderful memories of playing in them, having my friends for sleepovers outdoors and trying to scare each other, Luau celebrations in the pines, and drawing and painting to my heart's content.
I received the lifelong gifts of loving music, writing and art from my mom. I can still hear her typing away late into the night and early morning hours as she wrote her weekly newspaper columns. (Funny thought just struck me, here I am typing this in the wee hours of the morning...) (although the soft tapping of a laptop keyboard sounds nothing like the sound of the clickety-clack of an electric typewriter!) I remember laying on the floor in front of the large stereo cabinet with the red light at the bottom. I'd stare into that light while listening to vinyl recordings of Charles Aznavour, Sarah Vaughn, Judy Garland, Barbra Streisand, Mitch Miller, Burl Ives, Pat Boone, soundtracks from The Sound of Music, The King and I, and imagining scenes from movies or making up elaborate ones of my own. Chores were always accompanied by "turn up the stereo" music! Of course, now when I hear Dean Martin, I have this Pavlovian need to vacuum, although as you know, I am good at not answering that call! Many of the things I love to do stem from the gifts Mom gave all of us.
I received the gift of a strong work ethic from my dad. Did you know I've worked since I was 12 and never had time off? When you left us, it was the first summer I had not worked. Dad showed me how important it is to love what you do, do what you love and take pride in your talents and accomplishments! Dave and Roma McCoy gave me the gift of seeing what a good and decent employer can be when they put their trust in Dad. Amazing people!
Pam gave me the gift of what growing up gracefully should look like and living life to the fullest. She gave me the gift of having Dad around still today because she changed the course of his life, and ours. She and Dad gave me a most precious gift that they don't even know they did when they opened their home to you as refuge from the storm, when they held your hand when I couldn't, and when they loved and admired and respected you every minute of your life. I treasure that gift beyond words.
My Grandma and Grandpa Rake gave me the gift of acceptance. I know my Grandpa loved me more that anything in the world and would have taken a bullet for any of us. My Grandma was the one I called when I wanted to fix my lavender colored gravy or make tapioca or talk to when I had to leave your father. They gave us the gift of wonderful summers on Lake Isabella. Before that, we always looked forward to staying with them in Inglewood and getting out the change jar under the kitchen sink, rolling the coins in wrappers and going to the bank together.
My Grandma and Grandpa Cook showed me that even after tragedy, people can move ahead and love again. (But that was, of course, before you. Now I know what it really took for them to do so.) And they showed me what grandparents are really all about! One time I was playing on the sidewalk with my little wind-up dog Grandpa had given me. It would take a few steps, jump over backwards and land on its feet! When an older kid in their neighborhood ran over it with his bike, on purpose, I was as crushed as that little metal and fake fur toy dog. Well, you do not want to mess with a grandchild of Eddie and Naomi Cook because they both went after that boy, hauled him back, made him apologize and sent him to the store to buy me a new dog! Take that, bullies of the world!
My brothers gave me the gift of learning to be tough by kicking with my feet when they would try to punch me in the arm. They taught me that being the only girl was the best thing ever! Mike taught me how to drive my little Bug in in one afternoon! He also taught me how to be fearless when you just really want to learn to dance and sing and not worry about what anyone else thinks, although he really did care, but he was brave that night at the local dance in Kernwood. Like you, my big brother has always been my hero. And when people point out my shortcomings, even with good intentions, he always has my back! (And, come to think of it, he always had yours, didn't he?)
My little brother Patrick gave me the gift of knowing how humor and the absurd can be important in our lives. When he was 9 or 10, he started with the "Which would you rather have happen, fall out of an airplane without a parachute, or get cut in half by a speedboat?" bit! (To which we would always say, "Neither!" and he would insist we had to pick!) He was the original Dennis the Menace and stills lives every moment like that kid! He also taught me to be fearless! He passed that on to our little brother Andy, as well.
My baby brother Andy taught me what would be the most important lessons for my journey into motherhood. He was the sweetest, most affable, adorable and talented little boy. Kenton reminds me of him in so many ways. Andy was a joy from the minute he joined our family. Grandpa Rake told me that when he saw him through the little window in the Bishop hospital (where Kameron was later born. Oh, wow, I just made that connection!), "his heart just skipped a beat and he had to take a deep breath". I can still hear his words and see that big smile on his face. I was fourteen when Andy was born and took care of him often. (It was also a good reason to skip school because Mom needed a babysitter, but don't tell anybody, please!) I learned about diapers and bottles and hugs and kisses and even how to stop a bloody nose with Jello! And I learned what unconditional love from someone younger than you means. I got to be someone's hero, if only for a short time!
But, bar none, the greatest gift I ever received, or ever will, was the gift of being a mother to three amazing human beings. You came and changed everything in a heartbeat and then I realized why I was here. I don't know who is in charge of pairing up babies and mommies, but I got in the right line every time! I loved everything about it, being pregnant, the births (even Kameron's 36 hours, your 18 hours and Kenton's 18 hours of those apparently traditional two-minute apart contractions!) Worth every second! All my "greatest hits" are the amazing soundtracks with my little family playing happily in my head.
But you, my sweet baby girl, you were a special gift. On my 28th birthday, you started your journey to join us. But, like the Kenna you were, you had different plans even then and maybe didn't want to share a birthday. (I never liked that idea for babies, either!) So, early the next morning, February 11, 1980, you arrived. And that was quite a story in itself. But I think I'll save that until our birthdays.
I love you, little Snoozie girl, I miss everything about you, but I am on-my-knees-thankful every minute for every laugh, every tear, every hug, every kiss, every note, every smile, every hair color, every sly look, every "everything"...
Goodnight my love,
Mama
One of my first memories was the playhouse that Dad built for us when we lived in Palos Verdes. It was a magical place where we played, cooked, and built anything our hearts desired. I was always a little jealous of Mike's real tools but didn't realize I could ask for my own. When I was 55, (Yes, really!) I did ask for tools so Dad got me a tool belt and tools for Christmas! (I wonder if Mike ever asked for a Betsy Wetsy doll?) This "playhouse" was like a miniature home. In fact, future owners turned it into a guest house! When we moved to the mountains and had to say goodbye, I remember missing that house. In Mammoth, Dad built us our own little A-frame houses next to the little stream on our property. I loved mine and have such wonderful memories of playing in them, having my friends for sleepovers outdoors and trying to scare each other, Luau celebrations in the pines, and drawing and painting to my heart's content.
I received the lifelong gifts of loving music, writing and art from my mom. I can still hear her typing away late into the night and early morning hours as she wrote her weekly newspaper columns. (Funny thought just struck me, here I am typing this in the wee hours of the morning...) (although the soft tapping of a laptop keyboard sounds nothing like the sound of the clickety-clack of an electric typewriter!) I remember laying on the floor in front of the large stereo cabinet with the red light at the bottom. I'd stare into that light while listening to vinyl recordings of Charles Aznavour, Sarah Vaughn, Judy Garland, Barbra Streisand, Mitch Miller, Burl Ives, Pat Boone, soundtracks from The Sound of Music, The King and I, and imagining scenes from movies or making up elaborate ones of my own. Chores were always accompanied by "turn up the stereo" music! Of course, now when I hear Dean Martin, I have this Pavlovian need to vacuum, although as you know, I am good at not answering that call! Many of the things I love to do stem from the gifts Mom gave all of us.
I received the gift of a strong work ethic from my dad. Did you know I've worked since I was 12 and never had time off? When you left us, it was the first summer I had not worked. Dad showed me how important it is to love what you do, do what you love and take pride in your talents and accomplishments! Dave and Roma McCoy gave me the gift of seeing what a good and decent employer can be when they put their trust in Dad. Amazing people!
Pam gave me the gift of what growing up gracefully should look like and living life to the fullest. She gave me the gift of having Dad around still today because she changed the course of his life, and ours. She and Dad gave me a most precious gift that they don't even know they did when they opened their home to you as refuge from the storm, when they held your hand when I couldn't, and when they loved and admired and respected you every minute of your life. I treasure that gift beyond words.
My Grandma and Grandpa Rake gave me the gift of acceptance. I know my Grandpa loved me more that anything in the world and would have taken a bullet for any of us. My Grandma was the one I called when I wanted to fix my lavender colored gravy or make tapioca or talk to when I had to leave your father. They gave us the gift of wonderful summers on Lake Isabella. Before that, we always looked forward to staying with them in Inglewood and getting out the change jar under the kitchen sink, rolling the coins in wrappers and going to the bank together.
My Grandma and Grandpa Cook showed me that even after tragedy, people can move ahead and love again. (But that was, of course, before you. Now I know what it really took for them to do so.) And they showed me what grandparents are really all about! One time I was playing on the sidewalk with my little wind-up dog Grandpa had given me. It would take a few steps, jump over backwards and land on its feet! When an older kid in their neighborhood ran over it with his bike, on purpose, I was as crushed as that little metal and fake fur toy dog. Well, you do not want to mess with a grandchild of Eddie and Naomi Cook because they both went after that boy, hauled him back, made him apologize and sent him to the store to buy me a new dog! Take that, bullies of the world!
My brothers gave me the gift of learning to be tough by kicking with my feet when they would try to punch me in the arm. They taught me that being the only girl was the best thing ever! Mike taught me how to drive my little Bug in in one afternoon! He also taught me how to be fearless when you just really want to learn to dance and sing and not worry about what anyone else thinks, although he really did care, but he was brave that night at the local dance in Kernwood. Like you, my big brother has always been my hero. And when people point out my shortcomings, even with good intentions, he always has my back! (And, come to think of it, he always had yours, didn't he?)
My little brother Patrick gave me the gift of knowing how humor and the absurd can be important in our lives. When he was 9 or 10, he started with the "Which would you rather have happen, fall out of an airplane without a parachute, or get cut in half by a speedboat?" bit! (To which we would always say, "Neither!" and he would insist we had to pick!) He was the original Dennis the Menace and stills lives every moment like that kid! He also taught me to be fearless! He passed that on to our little brother Andy, as well.
My baby brother Andy taught me what would be the most important lessons for my journey into motherhood. He was the sweetest, most affable, adorable and talented little boy. Kenton reminds me of him in so many ways. Andy was a joy from the minute he joined our family. Grandpa Rake told me that when he saw him through the little window in the Bishop hospital (where Kameron was later born. Oh, wow, I just made that connection!), "his heart just skipped a beat and he had to take a deep breath". I can still hear his words and see that big smile on his face. I was fourteen when Andy was born and took care of him often. (It was also a good reason to skip school because Mom needed a babysitter, but don't tell anybody, please!) I learned about diapers and bottles and hugs and kisses and even how to stop a bloody nose with Jello! And I learned what unconditional love from someone younger than you means. I got to be someone's hero, if only for a short time!
But you, my sweet baby girl, you were a special gift. On my 28th birthday, you started your journey to join us. But, like the Kenna you were, you had different plans even then and maybe didn't want to share a birthday. (I never liked that idea for babies, either!) So, early the next morning, February 11, 1980, you arrived. And that was quite a story in itself. But I think I'll save that until our birthdays.
I love you, little Snoozie girl, I miss everything about you, but I am on-my-knees-thankful every minute for every laugh, every tear, every hug, every kiss, every note, every smile, every hair color, every sly look, every "everything"...
Goodnight my love,
Mama
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Understanding Love
I pulled into my driveway and her car was there. For that split second
of twilight, between hope and stark reality, I let out my breath; knowing she
was home and it had all been a cruel dream.
My mother once said she was willing to give up having her most wonderful
dreams come true in order for the terrible ones not to come to fruition.
Would I trade this pain to have never experienced one moment with my
daughter? Never. If someone said it could have been me to go and not her, would
I trade? In a heartbeat. Anything to spare her brothers’ from this unspeakable
pain. My loss to them would be sad but would fit more in the natural course of
life. My passing would not be as unbearable as the loss of their sister in such
a devastating way.
Her younger brother said he would have to live with her loss the
longest. Her older brother felt the joy in life was now out of his reach. How
could I argue any of that at this time? What hope was there to soften this
blow? Every thing else in our lives, no matter how difficult, had been what we
knew to be surmountable, but not this. I had nothing to give, just words that
felt so hollow.
She considered it for many years, but we all thought it was a cry for
help and tried to offer her that. Hospital stays, treatments, counselors and
still the memories of that brutal attack on a naive seventeen-year-old girl
persisted to haunt her waking and sleeping moments. “I wish I could be one of
those made-for-television movie women who turn it around and save the world,
but I just can’t”, she’d cry when she knew that was what others thought she
would do.
She seemed happy toward the end and everyone thought she was doing
better. She was doing better, for us.
But underneath that beautiful gapped-tooth smile and sarcastic, sardonic humor
we all loved, lived a broken young women.
The saddest words I ever heard were when I said “A penny for your
thoughts?” and she didn’t add her usual, “Inflation, Mama!” but simply spoke volumes
as she whispered, “It used to be so easy to be me.”
When she decided leaving this earth was the answer she needed, she took
time to explain it to each of us in handwritten letters.
We sat together to read her last words, right out in the hot summer sun
in front of the coroner’s office on a busy street downtown, a place no mother
or brother should ever have to visit.
We opened the envelopes addressed to each of us.
In my letter, she explained why this world had no more to offer her. She
was sorry to cause us such pain and that I, of all people, knew how much she
was hurting, but that I didn’t know what she saw when she closed her eyes at
night and what was waiting there when she awoke every day. She asked to have her ashes spread near her
favorite lake in the mountains when the leaves changed color in the fall. A
poem by Longfellow was included in the envelope that she wished to have read
aloud. When I read her carefully chosen words, I suddenly knew what courage it
had taken to do what she had done. Many would say suicide is an act of
selfishness, a cowardly way out of a temporary problem. I may have thought so
until it happened to my only daughter. She put it in words that no mother
should have to hear, but she did so bravely, and with what I knew at that
moment to be love.
As we finished reading our own letters, no one spoke. There was only the
sound of soft crying that seemed to drown out the city traffic noise. Without
talking, we all just passed our letter to the one next to us, and silently read
on.
I opened her younger brother’s letter and the first line was “You were
always my favorite.” Through the thick fog of grief so fresh, my first priority
was now on shielding my boys from more pain, and I immediately thought, how will
her older brother feel when he reads this? Her big brother, her protector, not
her favorite? How could he not be crushed on top of being broken-hearted?
It was when I read the next one, the letter to him, that I felt pure
love rush through me with such intensity, I knew she had gotten it right while
she was here, even for such a short time.
She had carefully thought all of this through, and knew that her
openness would help us deal with her loss. Alone and at her worst moment, she
still thought of her family and the unique relationship she had with each of
us. She wanted to leave us with this unconditional love. I should have had more
faith in her. I almost smiled through my tears as I read her first line to him “You
were always my hero.”
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