Remembering September 11

September 11th always reminds me of my brother.  After realizing what was happening, after calling my mother as I drove home from work to get my TV to bring back to work, after watching the towers fall with my co-workers, I called my brother.  I explained to him how I felt like life was changing in a dramatic way and everything was going to be different.  I told him how nervous I was about that.  He told me that my reaction was normal, but things weren't going to change as much as I thought.  And he was right.  I was envisioning nuclear war and loss of family due to breakdown of communications systems and radiation zones.  I was envisioning a police state.

Even with all the TV and media hype, the revoking of some of our civil rights, the added security at airports and having to learn a new way of traveling, September 11, 2001 has not effected me in any way as much as losing my brother to cancer.

September 11 always brings the beginning of a cycle of remembrance for me.  My Sneetch (feline companion for 12 years) died on September 19, 2005.  Hurricane Wilma, the most intense tropical cyclone to ever be recorded in the Atlantic Basin, rolled through on October24, 2005. (Incidentally, my Father's birthday.) My brother Mike finally went to the doctor for abdominal pain he'd been having for weeks at the beginning of November.  He was in the hospital on November 11, 2005, his 43rd birthday.  He was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma on November 21, 2005.  That was the day that changed my life in a most dramatic way.

While I feel a little guilty not buying into the hype the media has poured onto us for the last week, I do feel compassion for those who lost loved ones on September 11, 2001.  Their loss is no different than mine.  It still leaves a cavity in their hearts as I have in mine.We will all fill the holes with memories and for a while that will make it better.  Then the holes will appear again, we will remember and feel the pain.  Then we will fill the cavities again with love.  My hope is that all of that love will spill over and fill the hearts of those who find it hard to be open minded, and accepting of people's differences.  My hope is that LOVE, a Divine Truth, will win.

 
            Mike with The Sneetch: Two friends in Heaven

Dear Universe, I'm Ready.

Don't let my smiling pictures on facebook fool you, if you are my friend there. I having been chasing my fickle friend Joy for a few months now. I admit there are days when I really feel the Joy bubbling up. But then she just creeps away and hides in the corner, leaving me feeling misused and down in the dumps.

One day in late winter I looked up and noticed someone looking at me. A guy. He was pretty handsome, and was looking at me with interest and curiosity. I can't say how long it's been since I noticed that from anyone. Wow, I thought. That's pretty cool. Maybe it's time I gave myself the opportunity to open up again. I have been so wrapped up in the goings on of taking care of my family and starting this new career that I couldn't really see me meeting anyone, let alone dating. So now, with my nursing practice off the ground, my life in more order than it's been in for years, I think, OK, let's give it a whirl.

The new energy this gave me was great. Joy was abundant, even though there was no dating, and not even a conversation about dating. But I thought there could be. Even with that possibility, I felt better about life and yes, even a little more Joyous.

In other aspects of my life, I felt lighter and more Joyful. The garden was being planned and going in. I had a new dog. The weather was changing and getting warmer. I had lost my nursing school weight and was losing more. I genuinely felt emotionally lighter and happier than I had in years.

Conversation with the guy had begun, sort of. Then all of those things I had forgotten about regarding new found interests and sexual tension came back into my consciousness. Self doubt being rampant, I focused more on other things that were making me happy. I found real meaning in my work and that was very good for me. I had hope for new beginnings.

I quickly became disappointed by the lack of any forward movement with this guy (who incidentally was dating someone), so I turned inward and again to my nursing to find more happiness than I had had in years. I thought I had come to the conclusion that I really didn't need that energy from a potential partner to add to my happiness and Joy. However, I had also realized that after hiding for so long from meeting someone I might be able to share my life with, I now felt I was ready and told the Universe in a prayer that I was ready.

That very next week, I met someone. Now, I thought, "Ask and you shall receive. All right!" Very easy and cool conversations began. I was comfortable and yes, a little more full of my friend Joy. But, of course, when I told the universe I was ready, I never mentioned anything about proximity. Foolish girl, you're supposed to think these things out. Yeah, right. So now I think, here's a really nice guy, similar interests, easy to be around. However, he lives a long way away from Cackalack, which is where I presently live. What the hell is the Universe trying to tell me here?

I like to think both of us felt the same way. Interested, but not interested in the long distance thing, but interested enough to continue the conversation over the miles, for a couple of weeks, that is. But that shit doesn't work for most people. I don't know how my niece and her husband did it. Actually I do, since I lived with Jenna while they were courting. I know they were both very dedicated and determined. And I know it was very hard. But it isn't in the cards for me right now. The timing is fucked up, the distance too great. Again and repeatedly I ask why was this person even brought into my life like this if I can't even give it a try? Who the hell needs that torment? It's not his fault and I still really like him and hope to remain friends with him. It's just a sucky situation.

While that bitch Joy is milling about in other people's hearts, I am trying again to find solace and peace in mine. Work has been a little more stressful lately, so it's been more difficult to find Joy there. I do find glimpses of her and smile when she winks at me.

I deeply believe things happen for a reason. If I didn't, I would have checked myself into the Looney Bin a while ago. I have found meaning in my losses. Now I just have to find meaning in this. For now it eludes me. Joy better get her butt back here. I like her too much. And Universe? I am ready. Really. Just none of that bullshit, ok? Is that asking too much? :)

Am I home?

It's been a long time since I had a sense of being at home. Actually I am not sure have ever felt it absolutely. I am content with where I am, however I seldom feel like I am where I should ultimately be. This leaves me with an almost constant feeling of unease and a longing for that place where I will be HOME.

In 2002 after fulfilling my career goals as a sound designer I openly discussed my leaving Philadelphia with a friend of mine. I had no idea where I was to be going, but I knew I had to leave. As I told my friend my initial plans, I had a inner sense of peace come over me in regards to that decision. This led me to believe that I was on the right track. Since then, each major decision I have made that stirred up my life and made it change course has given me a similar sensation. A knowing. A feeling of rightness, even if the decision was painful or leading to great stress.

Moving back to my home town was a stressful endeavor, however, there was a rightness to it. My mother was going to be needing help, there was a school I could attend, and there were job opportunities when I finished school. I never imagined I would be living in my mother's house after her death. It was an idea that I avoided, that repulsed me to an extent, but here I am in her house, now mine. However, I do not feel at home.

I ran into a former teacher the other night. After telling him I had bought my mother's house he said to me, "Now you are rooted here." That idea scared me. My roots are here. I was born here, and have lived here on and off for many years, but I am bothered by the idea that I may have to stay here. It is not an impossible idea, just not ideal. But then again, I have no idea what is ideal. I just have a strong sense that I will know my next step when I find it.

I know that I have to accomplish many things in this house before I can really begin to search for where I am supposed to be next, but I am eager to find out where my next "place" will be. I know that it is important to have good friends nearby and a secure job. The culture of the city is important too. There are many aspects of my hometown I love, but I do not feel like it is my last town. However, I could have it all wrong. The Universe has a way of showing me that I don't have the plan, that I am just following the map as it unfolds.


http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/astropix.html

Jewels of Light

Many people have asked me over the last six years how I could keep going on with all the pain and loss I have experienced. I could only tell them that there is no other choice but to keep on keeping on. I do what I can, swimming against the relentless tide. As things have settled down, and I have found a place of balance and peace, I look back. I try to see how I did it. How did I manage to get through day after day? It wasn't without tears, frustration, anger or overwhelming sadness. But it was also with many moments of joy, love and light.

When my brother Mike got sick, I knew he was going to be taken from us. I just knew it inside. I cried in the shower so no one would see me. I put on a calm face outwardly and did what needed to be done, what Mike asked me to do. Mike gave me a job, the job of making things happen and bearing witness to his illness. I was the messenger of goings on, and the bearer of bad news. I was the supplicant asking for prayers. I did not think of how I could do it. I just did it. I kept breathing and tried to remain focused on my only prayer which was that he would beat his cancer.

I saw jewels of light within the dark corners of that experience. The friends that Mike didn't know he had rallied by his side. They brought us food, money, cards, and laughter. When Mike finally understood how many friends he had he was overwhelmed. We both saw the sparkle of light in these friendships. Mike had a great view from his hospital room. We watched many sunrises over the Atlantic Ocean and the intra-coastal waterway, holding coffee from Starbucks and french crullers from Dunkin Donuts. Quietly we sang praises for another day.

When my mom was diagnosed with liver cancer three months after Mike died, I was numb. How could this be happening again, I thought. But with a great sigh, I steadied myself for another roll in the surf. My mother's illness was not as acute as Mike's, so there was not the urgency to gather and cling to what we had together. I stayed in Florida while she stayed in Winston-Salem. I asked for more prayers for her and continued to breathe daily and focus on the jewels of light in this situation.

My mother and I grew closer when Mike died. She saw how I took care of him. She saw and felt the unconditional love I found for them both. She once told me she marveled at how she had seen me transform from a selfish young woman to a giving helper and healer. This recognition by my mother was another jewel of light. Even though I did not expect or want praise for taking care of matters, my childish need for a parent's approval was sated. And with this approval and affirmation I began to see the changes within myself.

Continued contact with my niece Jenna kept me going. That she managed to get through school, get married and move on was joyful. I loved watching her find her way to womanhood. She was a jewel of light in my life, and seeing her dance with her new husband was seeing her right where she belonged. My mother's illness had become untreatable by the time my niece was to be married. Mom set a goal to be present at her wedding. She made that goal for sure and was beautiful, another jewel of light.

When I moved to Winston-Salem, under great stress, to continue school, I found opportunities to be with my Mom regularly. We shared stories, mostly hers. I took time to take in her presence, which no doubt was formidable even as she got weaker. Friends gathered to help when she was very sick and on her way. That I could only ask and have people willing to help was beautiful. Dear friends of mine as well as Mom's friends all pitched in to make sure I could stay in school. My class mates helped me even though they barely knew me. These were blessings I did not fully understand until a year later.

Somehow I managed to get through school and pass my boards. Each day I looked for the positive moments that I could carry with me. At home alone, I would sometimes weep for my lost ones and sometimes I would laugh at the absurd memories.

Now, a year after finishing school and becoming a nurse, each day at work is challenging. I learn something new all the time. That is very special. I have found opportunities to share my experiences with my patients and their families. It is a comfort to them that they are not alone. I have found words to help them look for the jewels of light in the dark corners of their experience. When I connect with them I know that all the pain and suffering I have experienced has not been in vain: another jewel of light that fills me with joy. This keeps me going.


A jewel: Some of the cyclists that gathered to raise money for Mike January 29, 2006.

Room to breathe

I have a lot of stuff I have collected through the years. I also have a lot of stuff that has been collected by members of my family through the years. I often complain how I have three people's worth of stuff, yet it seems it is more than that.

I have this collection of maps. Some of the maps are of places I have been to, and will probably go again. Others are those that my mother collected, of far off places she never saw that I will most likely never get to. In this day of electronic mapping, I wonder if I even need to keep these maps. Maps are comfortable, intriguing items to unfold and to look at and imagine the journeys I could embark on. Otherwise they just take up space. Space I need. But I am reluctant to recycle them, to get rid of them. I like that they are there. And I am tortured by them taking up space.

I don't want to take up the space opened up by one thing being thrown out with another thing. I just want the space. I want the breathing room. A long time ago I moved into an apartment by myself with just a few pieces of furniture, my kitchen stuff, my sound studio stuff and my cat. I had room to dance in my apartment and space to look into and to meditate on. I slowly collected things to fill in those spaces along the walls, on the bookshelves, in the closet. I added weight to my life with every addition.

Now I live in the house that was once my mother's house. I am slowly blending her things with mine. My brother's things, being mine now, are also in the mix. And then there are those items that had belonged to my sister. All of us, Mom, Mike and myself, held on to those things that were Kate's. So now I have four people's worth of stuff. All of these items have very little value to me other than they once belonged to someone who was once here and now is gone. They attach little emotional weights on my heart that make it so very hard to look at them as just objects. They seem to say to me, "Keep me. I will remind you of her," as if I am not always reminded of my lost ones.

There is a simple round red tin can with a funny lid that has an attached pry lever to open it. This was brought back from Missouri by my sister Kate. She only willingly showed me what was inside it once. She had collected a bunch of downy feathers from some fowl living on the farm where my Aunt Clare had lived, and put them in the can. I suppose the can was only there to protect the fragile feathers. That trip to Missouri was over 30 years ago. I have that can with its feathers and have brought it with me from place to place. It sits on a shelf with some other stuff. I am hesitant to let go of it. It tells a story of the kind of thing that enticed Kate's imagination and interest. And though Kate has been gone for so long now, 29 years this May, when I open the can there is a fresh memory of her.

There is also the regular stuff people hang on to. A record collection for that day when I get a record player hooked up to my stereo, dishes, books, (oh my, there are a lot of books!), and photographs of four generations of the Connors and Tague families. It is a huge challenge to cull through all of this stuff. To pare it down to bare essentials is a colossal feat that when I begin to think about doing it my brain just stops. I get distracted by the smallest thing, and I try to think of how to just rearrange everything so it fits. But so that it fits with room to breathe.

Ultimately I have to let go of a lot of these things. And though I wish to have more things that once belonged to my father's family, such as his mother's oriental carpets that were once in the house I grew up in and the china cabinet that my Dad moved from Boston to Homestead so that I could have it, I long for a time when I can put all of my stuff in a small storage space and bolt off to some far off place I have only seen on a map in my mother's collection.

Metamorphosis

It is the end of the year again. I should be writing about all that I have experienced in the last year. I have done this a few times in the past and while it is a cleansing of sorts, I am finding it harder to do this year.

The last five years have been filled with such huge changes in focus and energy. It has been easy to put it out there and let them go. This year has been a transformation more than a change for me. Change is often brought about by outside forces, while transformation seems more personal and deliberate.

My symbol for the year, or possibly my spirit guide, has been the Butterfly. The butterfly is a transformational being, having been through metamorphosis from a larva, stuck on the ground and in the weeds to forage and eat, to a freer, flying being, showing off its colors and stretching its wings. I have felt much the same this year. When I started my new job there was a sign up on the unit welcoming me. It had a Butterfly picture on it. My badge holder, which I bought over five years ago has a Butterfly on it. There is a Butterfly mobile hanging in the nurses station. These symbols surround me and seem to remind me that I have been in transformation, but now I may just be learning to really fly.

Events that occurred in 2010:
Graduated from nursing school, with honors, despite the challenges I faced in the previous year.
Studied for and passed the NCLEX.
Took a week off in the Dominican Republic with my family and friend Donna.
Was hired to be a staff nurse at Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center in the Surgical Oncology unit.
Started my training for real.
Had a big party welcoming spring and celebrating our graduation.
Went to Kerrville Folk Festival and realized I really needed to focus on my work for a while. (This made me choose to miss Philadelphia Folk Fest.)
Had the trim and doors on the exterior of the house painted. This gave the house a more vibrant look.
Had the crawlspace under the house lined with vapor barrier, and I re-painted the living room.
Bought the house from Dianne and Jenna, allowing Jenna and her husband to buy a house of their own.
Lost my beautiful big boy Pi to a car on Robinhood Road. Had him cremated.
Celebrated Thanksgiving with the Tribe in Arkansas.
Worked through the Christmas holidays.
Learned more than ever.
Remained calm when patients were having a rough time.
Felt my spirit shine.
Showed off my colors a bit.

Dear Universe: What's the deal?

I am one of those people who will do anything for you. I wasn't always like that, but the universe has changed my ways. I figure I can let go of my old selfish self and embrace the newer healer and helper. That's a magnificent idea. Except today I feel selfish again, and I kind of think the universe owes me a little. I have lost my family, and a few friends. I have given up one career to take up another. I have given up relationships so I can have a career. So now that I am settling into this new life the universe has given me, I feel like I deserve a little personal attention.
I have put my heart on my sleeve in the past, just to have the universe swipe it off like a fly. And today feels no different. Just when I thought the universe was telling me it was safe to get back out there and be vulnerable, a big stop sign shot up in my face. What kind of karma does a girl need to cultivate to have love in her life?

Transition

I took out a dying Rose of Sharon and replaced it with a lovely young "Dura-Heat" Birch. I will be adding flowers to the surrounding soil and to a stretch of soil to the right of the tree. The whole thing amounts to an oval or tear drop shaped island in the front yard.

The Rose of Sharon, with beautiful white double blooms, had been nursed along by my mother for years. Every year more branches would die and have to be cut off. Last year I swore I would cut it down, but did not. I cannot decide if it was because I was too busy to take the time to do it, or if I just did not want to destroy something my mother took great pains to nurture. It bloomed well in spite of the continual rotting of the tree.

This removal and replanting is part of an ongoing project of getting the house in order and preparing it for sale. I am still not sure if I want to stay in it or leave. The original plan with Mom was to sell it right away. But since she died at an inopportune time, now is when I have the time to sort out the details. The house has grown on me, so I don't mind staying for a while. The market is down, so we will not get as much as it is worth if we sell now. But, I would like to live closer to town, closer to places I like to shop and things I like to do.

Whether I stay in the house or not does not really matter in terms of fixing it up now. Things still need to be gone through, given away, thrown away. The weather is getting nicer, so soon I will be sorting out the garage. There are a lot of things in there I do not know what to do with. I am tempted to rent a dumpster.

I am at a time of transition, which is really the only reason I have time to do all of this. I am finished with school, have my nursing license, and am waiting to get hired. My contract with Baptist Hospital requires that the hospital has a certain length of time in which to place me. I have to be patient.

In the meantime, I am taking advantage of the extra time I have. I am cleaning out closets, planting trees and flowers, knitting and reading books that aren't text books. I am also taking the time to grieve the loss of my family, a long overdue process, which is yet another transition.

2009 was a hard year

What a hard year it has been. It seems that the last few years have been full of difficulties and hardships. But on the other hand, I know I am lucky.

I started the year with my entrance to nursing school. Orientation did little to orient us, but we came to class anyway with eyes like a deer stuck in headlights. We had so much work to do with the first test the following week. Slowly we became accustomed to having tests weekly.

Five weeks into the nursing program, and at the end of one course, Mom became ill. One day we went to a Winton Marsalis concert, with her driving, then the next week she had trouble getting around and carrying things.

I started the process of getting Hospice on board. This takes some time, as all kinds of details have to line up. Mom got very sick. Her abdomen had swollen as if she was six months pregnant, and she couldn’t stay focused on everyday things. She knew there was something wrong. After a run around at the VA clinic I took her to the Emergency Room and they admitted her to the palliative care unit at Forsyth Hospital. She was very sick and only getting sicker. After a couple of days they determined she had only weeks to live, probably. Hospice was brought in and I made arrangements for people to stay with Mom at her home while I was in school. Her friends from her AA group were a huge help. Other friends were in and out and my dear, long time friend Meg was there daily.

We continued to monitor her pain level and cognitive function. It was so hard because she didn’t want to sleep, and she would stay in the same position, standing or sitting, for hours, though I suppose for her it seemed only moments. She would say long strings of words that made no sense as a sentence, however they rhymed. I would learn later that this is known as “Clang Association.” She would try to say a full meaningful sentence but she would end with a word that rhymed with the word she meant to use. When we tried to ask if she was ok or wanted to move or needed anything, she would customarily snap at us as if we had just asked. It usually had been an hour or so since last checking on her.

Her pain worsened. It got more difficult for her to get around. We had a wheel chair that made it easy to move her from room to room, but she still wanted to try to walk. And she still wanted to do what she wanted to do, dammit. It was hard for her to grasp that other people needed to be with her and that their needs had to be considered. I suppose I am mostly speaking of myself. I spent all day in school, and all evening wrangling her. I was stuck between needing to study for the next impending test, and wanting desperately to spend every moment I could with my mother. Every once in a while she would say something with such clarity and conviction. As she said these things I knew I should pay attention and remember them. But they would run fleeting through my tired mind. It was enough just to be with her.

After four weeks of family and friends coming in and out of the house, after another four weeks of school where I wasn’t sure, on a daily basis, if I could continue, after essentially moving into Mom’s house, but leaving a lot of my things behind at my apartment, Mom’s condition worsened. It was the end approaching. It was the end of Mom’s life, and the end of the term at school. I had lab check offs and final exams at school, and Mom’s pain increasing and breathing patterns changing at home. I called the family to come. I wouldn’t have made it to or through that week without my new made school friends helping me with study guides and support, or without my oldest friends staying with me by my dying mother’s bedside and helping her transition out of this world and into the next.

Many other things happened along the way. There were the cigarette wars. Mom was going to smoke, dammit. It was her house. I didn’t want her to smoke alone, because she was prone to dropping the lit cigarettes. So, we made sure to keep her cigarettes out of her reach if no one was actively with her. This controlling behavior pissed her off, but was necessary.

One day when my uncle Paul, my aunts Eileen and Clare and my cousin Sarah were visiting, we were all on the deck enjoying the nice warm early spring weather. Mom was sitting quietly and someone asked her how she was. She replied, “I’m radiating out into the universe.”

While my sister was singing “Amazing Grace” to her at her bedside, Mom said aloud, “Fuck it.” That didn’t stop Dianne from singing, and later we all got a chuckle out of it.

Near the end, one of the last things I heard my mother say was, “We’re going to take it apart, and put it back together again.” That was sort of the story of her life. The people who knew my Mom know she was an auto mechanic for many years, and was always tinkering and pulling things apart and putting them back together. Periodically her life would seemingly be pulled apart, and bit-by-bit she would put it back together.

On Wednesday March 25, 2009 I had my final exam for Pharmacology. When I got home I found my Aunt Eileen was there with my dear friend Donna who had come from Massachusetts to help me. Meg was also there, still there from the day before. After a while Meg said goodnight and farewell to Mom. My Mother had been a second mother to her. At the very end, Eileen, Donna and I were by her side. We had been taking advantage of the gifts of food brought by friends and had just finished desert when Donna put her hands on my mother. Mom’s choppy “Cheyne-Stokes” breaths quieted, she took a few gentle breaths, and was gone, out into the universe. We decided that she had only waited for desert.

A few hours later, Paul and Clare arrived. The next morning we got up and did what our family has always done. We went to breakfast. After breakfast I took my final exam for my Health Assessments class and the following day I took the final for my Introduction to Nursing II class. I did not stop going to school, nor did I ask school to stop for me.

I decided I needed to wait until after my first round of clinical experience before I could handle a memorial service. It may have seemed a little late for some people, but I wanted to give attention to my mother’s life. The people who knew her later in her life never knew her as a mother of young children, as a beautiful race car driver, as a stunningly tall Marine Corps Officer. I had many pictures to scan, music to select, and above all, readings and speakers to arrange to present a memorial to my mother that was not typical. Because of all things my mother was, she was not typical.

So, despite a few snags and snafus we had a lovely memorial service for Mom in May. We laid her ashes to rest next to Mike and kitty corner to Kate. The family left, (Clare stayed on a few days to help organize a few things for me) and I continued school.

In April I had moved completely out of my apartment into Mom’s house. Most of my things went into storage. I continued with school, while periodically moving things into the house and out of the house.

I immersed myself in school. I barely let myself breathe. But I have learned so much. I have witnessed birth, pain, understanding, learning, joy at small things, heartbreak at large things and vice-versa.

Together, my cohorts and I have trudged through this year’s education. From May until now we have been but a blur. We have nursed cancer patients, general surgery patients, neurology patients, mental patients, maternity patients, heart patients, victims of car accidents and many others. We went through the rite of passage of nurses and were “pinned” on December 17, though we don’t finish until February. This has confused a lot of people. I am forever grateful that Dianne, Meg, Mr. B., Paul, Eileen, Allison, and Anita could be there. Clare was there in spirit and I know that my Mother was with me as well.

As school has progressed I have attempted to take care of myself. I am taking advantage of Hospice’s counseling. I am getting massages occasionally. I am going hiking when I can. I am listening to music. I am seeing my tribe when I can. I am grateful for every day and for having the families I have, both of birth and of choice.

Even though this year has been especially hard, I have a roof over my head. I have food to eat. I have education that will allow me employment even in this difficult time. And though I am the last of my original family, the one I was born into, I have my larger family. I am lucky.

long time no write

It's been forever, it seems since I wrote something here. I guess I am doing a bit better, though I have very little time to truly process everything.
Just a few things:
I really have some cool stuff running through my brain that will make it here eventually. Part of the process.
I am almost finished with nursing school. Everything has been put on hold. Most of the things I thought I'd get to do at the beginning of the year have been put aside, but I will get to go to see my tribe in Prairie Grove, for which I am very grateful.
Nursing school has been difficult, but I am learning a lot. I feel that I may have a renewed energy surging up to get me through the next three months and for that I am also grateful.
My life, as complicated as it is, has been is blessed with good friends, new and old.
More later.
Namaste.