Tag Archives: Life lessons

A Letter to My Daughter

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Dear Emilie~
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I love the book you gave me for my birthday. I wonder what made you choose it? And how you knew how close to home it would be for me. The cover photo could have been taken in my own childhood home. The place-setting, the dress…it’s all so familiar. She was in Massachusetts. I was only a couple of hours away in Connecticut. We’re the same age now, and lived through such a similar story.
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I get up from reading and I’m shaking, and trying to get the tears out or hold them in. Sometimes I can only read a few pages at a time. It’s too upsetting. I understand how you feel about injustice, and why it makes you cry. I feel the same. And I think on some level I always have. But like many other people, I’ve avoided admitting to or standing up against injustice. Even injustice done to myself.  Like the author, Debby Irving, I grew up with admonitions that kept me from speaking up, or out: ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all,’ was a big one in our house, just like it was in hers. That message certainly didn’t encourage authentic communication.
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We didn’t know how to voice outrage even when it should have been voiced. I’m still struggling with this very thing. I was very uncomfortable to voice my discomfort about J’s behavior when it first raised red flags early on. I was uncomfortable to confront my feelings toward your Dad when we were first matched. I felt guilty and selfish to feel so unsatisfied, or to want something different. Now, with our building board members, I’m very uncomfortable to speak up about unethical practices when I see them. There’s a deep rooted education at work here that tells me I will not be listened to or taken seriously, or worse – I’ll be ridiculed and ostracized for being a complainer. There’s a shame attached to having needs, or being seen as ‘needy.’
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I’ve been one of those good people who do nothing. And it’s only recently that I’ve been seeing the shift in my life from passive and silent majority to being more of an activist. My CPE experience inadvertently opened my eyes to the similar stories that people of color share with women –  being invisible, unheard, and looked down on by white male authority. That reality was never addressed in our training, and I had no words for what I felt during the residency as the only woman alongside male peers, a male director and a male supervisor. It was only afterwards, in the safety of hindsight, that I began to connect my feelings and experiences with a greater systemic imbalance that gives less power and ‘voice’ to women and people of color.
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Working as a tutor at the Mercy Learning Center put me in touch for the first time with refugees and asylum seeking women and I began to hear their stories and realize what a different world they come from, and continue to live in, even once here in the US. Living in the South End, the most crime-ridden part of Bridgeport, has put me face to face on a daily basis with the decrepit streets and run-down homes of people living just one block away from my little apartment on the edge of campus. My spirit sinks as I look across the street from where I live to realize that I live in an alternate reality, and always have.
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The situation in my building is also an eye-opener. A few investors are trying to profit on housing that was and still is meant for people who don’t want to or can’t buy anything bigger or more expensive. They are bypassing the rules meant to protect and keep our housing affordable, and concerning themselves only with what will line their pockets, regardless of how it will affect the people who live here.  I’m grateful to have had the cash to buy one of these places, and I love it dearly. At the same time I realize that few people who need or would love a place like this have that opportunity, or the finances, to do the same.
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Posting something about my struggle with my whiteness on FB a few months ago drew an unexpected response of unfriendly and surprisingly rude comments from white male church members who profess colorblindness and wondered what my problem is. I can’t respond to them yet. I have too much work to do inside myself. But I understood with a shock the extent of white blindness surrounding the issue of race in our country’s history, just as there is blindness about gender inequality, and that it often comes from the very same people.
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I’m so glad to have found ACA, the Adult Children of Alcoholics 12-Step group, as it’s a safe place I go weekly to express my feelings and acknowledge the growing pains, knowing I will be received and embraced regardless of whether my opinion matches those of the other people in the room. I can cry, express weakness or confusion, and generally explore what I’m going through without having to necessarily know the answer, nor does anyone try to give it to me. We all acknowledge that we’re on a journey to rediscover and reclaim ourselves, and that no one can do that work for us. It’s my haven in the storm of life. It’s where I feel most whole, and most like myself.
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I’m glad you’ve found someone you can share your joys and sorrows with. And I hope you keep developing friendships and support groups where you can speak your truth and work through your fears and disappointments, as they surely will keep on showing up. People and institutions can only carry us part of the way. “In the end, the only steps that matter are the ones we take all by ourselves.” (The Weepies)
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Thanks for thinking of me with a book. A life-changing one is the best kind 🙂
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Your Mom

END of LIFE Doula Training- Boston, MA

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Boston Beauty

I attended an end of life doula training in Boston, June 23-25, 2017. We were led by Henry Fersko-Weiss, LCSW, executive director of INELDA (International End of Life Doula Association, www.inelda.org) and author of Caring for the Dying – The Doula Approach to a Meaningful Death. These are my notes looking back:

I didn’t think much before signing up for this conference. It was nearby, it was affordable, and it was electrifyingly interesting to me. I wanted to make connections; I wanted to tell my story; and I wanted to listen to other people’s stories. I was and am searching for moments of clarity that can inform and move me to meaningful action.

All but 2 of the 67 participants were women. We sat at round tables in groups of 6 or 7. I would have preferred smaller tables, and fewer people at each, but that’s the teacher in me. I always want closer, more intimate, and more talk time per person.

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The women represented diverse backgrounds and ages: predominantly nursing and middle aged, but there were yoga instructors, energy healers, and a post-graduate student Emilie’s age doing research. We got to meet one on one at meal times, when we were free to wander around outside. I found my best connections when I walked into the market area a few blocks away to grab a bite and sit out in the sun and fresh air.

I was familiar from my recent CPE training with much of the content – addressing grief and loss, the need for active listening, and the reality of how death is generally viewed and dealt with by our culture and most of the medical profession. Avoidance is the key word here. The new parts were fascinating and rich, and provided a sought after complement to chaplaincy. Here is a snapshot of some of the exercises we did:

1. Visualize your own death: How would I like to be remembered? Am I living my life so that I will be remembered that way? We were encouraged to talk to our loved ones, and ask such questions as, ‘How did you know that I loved you?’

I want people to know ME, not who I  often pretend to be. It’s not easy to show my Self to others. So many important and precious parts have been hidden for so long.  My younger brother died 6 weeks before the training, and death was a fresh experience I was still struggling to understand. I felt a sadness that I had not really ‘known’ him better. What was missing? Why had I hardly noticed him as a boy growing up, or thought about him as a person, not just ‘my brother.’ Now that he was dying, it was hard for either of us to be open, vulnerable, or fearless. The hospice nurse told me privately that 90% of Pete’s pain was emotional. I was shocked. He had always acted so strong- a big bluffer like me. Why did he seem to be holding onto and hiding his feelings? When I asked him to elaborate when he said that he was feeling despair, he said, ‘No, I’m not going there.’ Then he turned and looked at me and said, ‘Rob, you know sometimes you can really be annoying.’  I had to let go of my certainty that talking things out would help him.We were dancing around the fact of his dying, never really willing to look at it directly or talk about what it meant. However, the appearance of strength began to crumble.

The instructor reminded us that this class is about how we live our life, not just about how we serve the dying.  Although we are not in charge of how people remember us, I want to be remembered as open, vulnerable, and fearless, and Pete reminded me that I still have a lot of work to do.

2. Role play listening to and communicating with a dying person:

Who do you want to be with you when you take your last breaths? Children, animals? What kind of touch if any do you want from those persons? Do you want to be held, and if so by whom? Do you have any special music you want playing? Sounds (a thunderstorm or an ocean wave, etc)? Any special fragrances? Where do you want to be – bedroom, porch, under the open sky? Are there any special rituals that have meaning for you? One woman with a native American background shared that she wants a ‘smudging’ at the beginning and end of each day, and she wants her bed moved to the living room where she can be surrounded by all of her native American art. She said she plans on having a native pow-wow. Other participants said things like:

– ‘Don’t be afraid to be authentic when you’re with me. I don’t want to hear platitudes. And keep your judgments to yourself.’

– ‘I want my death to be joyful. Bring out the drums and the flute.’

– ‘I want my dog to be with me.’

– ‘I want help writing a letter to my daughter.

Pete had his faithful dog, Dempsey, checking in on him whenever his breathing changed, and nuzzling his hand whenever it dangled off the edge of the bed. I know animals give me a certain kind of courage. Looking at them reminds me of a natural world where death is as much a part of life as life is. After the sound of that last labored breath had faded into the stale air, Dempsey sniffed the familiar hand, walked to his cushion at the foot of the hospital bed and lay down to sleep. It had been a long morning. He seemed to know that Pete was gone.

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3. Creating a Legacy: What would it look like?

We looked at samples of what constitutes meaning in a person’s life, and ways that meaning can be represented in a concrete artifact left behind to inspire and help family members to reconnect with the loved one’s life after death has occurred.

The focus is on ‘life lived’ rather than life lost. This exercise helps dying people feel purposeful about their final days, and gives them a sense of completion. Examples of legacy projects include memory books, letters, videos, audios, pilgrimages, and collections of art, poems, recipes, etc. Doulas can coach the dying to share life stories about successes and failures, lessons learned, acts of forgiveness, values and beliefs, addressing unfinished business, and strengths and resilience, which can be shared with family, and bring joy and dignity to an otherwise confused and uncertain space.

We were given a list of 29 questions and asked to choose 2 or 3 of them that spoke most to us. Here are the ones I chose:

1.What did you love to do in your spare time?

2.What work or aspect of work did you consider the most important to you?

3.How did you spend time in nature and what made that important to you?

4.What did you collect and why?

I notice now that I chose the questions that have to do with reveling in the beauty of nature and creating things. It’s such a big part of who I am, and what I have done in my life. More than relationships, which have been so much more troubling. The women at my table asked me to elaborate on what those questions meant to me, and watched my face and body light up as I spoke about my art and music, and the beach, the birds and the rocks near my home. As the volunteer ‘dying person,’ I understood how important it is to be asked questions that stir us to share our loves and enthusiasms about life. The ‘practicing doulas’ listened to me, and we all felt the energy and we all wanted to stay connected. I felt both shy and happy – a part of me had come out of hiding; I felt empowered to have shared it, and more alive.

The following story is about my brother and the shift that happened in his mind and helped him embrace the inevitable, which none of us knew was only 11 days away: My daughter and I were visiting. She was sitting on his bed holding his hands, and started to tell him what he had meant to her and how his words of wisdom had helped her through her current life upheavals. “You told me a story, Uncle Pete, when I asked you how it felt to be dying. You said it’s like coming to the edge of a cliff and knowing that there was nothing else to do but to jump. And when I asked if you were afraid, you said, ‘No! Because I know I’m gonna fly.'” That story came to me when I felt afraid and thought I couldn’t go forward, and I told myself what you said, and found the strength to fly inside me. Thank you, Uncle Pete. I love you!’

Pete began to cry. He reached to pull her close to him and let his head drop to her shoulder. The room was quiet as we listened to the sound of his heart, full to breaking.

Pete’s wisdom was a big part of his legacy. That his closest niece, his ‘Emmylou,’  had taken some of it inside herself gave him the strength to let go and jump, and know that he could fly. What we give comes back to us. Now Emilie has taken him as a spirit guide, along with her Grandma Coco, to protect and encourage and inspire her life. Yes, Pete, you made a difference.

Pete and Emilie

4. Vigil Planning: What is your vision of a Good Death?

Each person’s wishes are unique. The vigil is a plan for when the person enters the active dying phase. It includes what was already mentioned above in step 2, and also outlines what the person would like done after he/she dies. I was struck particularly by our speaker Henry’s vigil plan:

“As people visit, conduct vigil, or take care of me I want them to do so in a way that honors my Buddhist beliefs and the central place of family in my life. So, please sit on one of the cushions or chairs at the entrance to my room and meditate for some time in whatever way helps you connect to the oneness of all being. By going inward and opening to the sacred you will bring a different mind state to my bedside – a mind state we will share while you are there (with me)~

This moment…only moment.”

“Please lie in bed with me, hold my hand, caress my arms, legs, face, and head. Whenever possible, wheel my bed outside onto the deck, so I can see the open sky, the trees, the stars, hear the birds, and feel the fresh air on my skin.”

You can say whatever comes straight from your heart.”

When asked to think about my death, I wrote right away that I want to die outside if possible! With the sounds of breezes in leafy motion, birds in friendly chatter and ecstatic song, a car honking somewhere, children shouting in play, their bicycle wheels rolling across the pavement; a guitar strumming – maybe Joe Walsh singing about how life’s been good or Tom Petty learning to fly…

I hope it’s in the summer when the doors can all be flung wide open! I want to see green palm fronds, and have a view of the blue or starlit sky. I want my cozy comforter and soft sheets, and the light of the sun warming me. I want to be surrounded by vibrant colors, and hear the delicate sound of wind chimes as people come and go. I like the idea of asking people to take off their shoes or any covering on their heads; to wash their hands in a bowl of scented water by the door, and sprinkle themselves and anyone they’re with, saying: ‘Peace be unto you!’ ‘And with your Spirit!’

Thinking about these things is inspiring and comforting. And why not now, when we still have time to think and share?

My retreat space at home

5. Signs and Symptoms of Imminent Death: This part was new and entirely interesting to me. In CPE we never talked about cyanosis or mottling, although I saw it in my brother’s hands, feet, and legs. Vital signs such as blood pressure and oxygen saturation can predict with 95% accuracy death within 48 hours. We talked about the patterns of breathing, and the slowing down of the breath, and how to recognize that death will take place within minutes to 2 hours. We discussed pain management, the use of morphine, and the current movement to educate people with terminal end-stage disease that they can voluntarily stop eating and drinking. I was surprised that there is no legal requirement to report a death immediately, and to hear that it is advisable and healing to take time with the body before calling the funeral home. My sister was very protective of that kind of time with my mother. She’s a wise end-of-life doula. Hospitals tell families to take as much time as they want, but in fact expect them to leave after a couple of hours. At home, there is so much more space to share with the dead, and to process their transition. The facts of death and what it looks, sounds and smells like was always fearful to me, and I remember I was uncomfortable when I saw my first dead body at Bridgeport Hospital. Now, I have come to see death differently.  Of course, I wonder how I will feel as I take the hand of death and begin that part of my journey.

I was surprised how comfortable I felt listening to the ‘science’ of the dying process. Talking about my emotions in the previous exercises had been so challenging. I hadn’t identified the anxiety I was feeling until I felt the relief of focusing outward again on facts. That was a big takeaway for me: my difficulty feeling and sharing emotion. I shared that with the trainer as I left, and he smiled. “You’re working on it, I can see that!” Yes, I am. Step by step.

6. Reprocessing and Grief Work: working with the family after the death. What to talk about, how to be of assistance.

This part included a section about washing the person’s body as a ritual that can be very healing and beautiful. When a person dies at home rather than in a hospital there are so many more possibilities for creative leave-taking. Unfortunately, a growing percentage of the population in our country die in hospital rooms without having made any preparations. Making a living will, having a plan, and being prepared is a blessing and a comfort that we all are encouraged to make time for.

Pete’s partner and life companion didn’t respond to our emails, calls, or texts for several weeks. She had told us she would need to sleep for a month, but we finally decided to go regardless of whether she was ready to see us or not, and drove the 5 hours to spend the weekend with her. She needed to pour out so we sat and listened over lunch at their favorite spot on the river. She had hardly touched her food. Then over a beer outside in their garden we heard the stories of his last few days, and we laughed and cried together.

People don’t always know how to grieve. It can get the best of us, and take away all desire to keep on living. She needed us, just as we needed her.  “You’re Pete’s family. When I look at you, I see him. You’re the only ones I can really talk to. I know you’ll understand.” When we rolled up our sleeves to clean up the house, there was a lightness in the air that was palpable. Each shake of a carpet, each load of stuff to recycle, and each trip to the dump made the air cleaner and brighter. It was her place now, and we were shaking the memories out of hiding, into the light.

In conclusion:

At the conference I heard for the first time about Death Cafes and the Death Positive Movement.We talked about Irish wakes and ‘homegoing celebrations’ and were introduced to NODA (no one dies alone) and the Conversation Project which encourages people to talk about death in advance with their loved ones. Doulas provide a needed complement to hospice and chaplain work. I felt the training was both broader and more specific at the same time, and definitely more family-centered.  We need a shift in our cultural consciousness about the very natural process of dying. And that’s a process too.

When I got home to my little place in Bridgeport, I got many inspirations about my death. I never liked the idea of burial – not just because I don’t like small, dark, confined spaces! – but because we all tend to move so much. I don’t want to be buried somewhere that no one can get to easily, and often ignored. On the other hand, cremation was not encouraged by my faith group, and I never liked the idea of my ashes being sprinkled over the ocean for example. Where would people go to find me?  I don’t mind to go back to the earth in the form of ashes, but I want to be buried beneath one of my favorite trees here in Seaside Park. My daughter will know which one it is, and she will be able to come sit under those lovely branches and listen to me talking to her about this and that, as I like to do. She’ll be able to look out at the sea and remember how much of my heart is invested there along the shore, among the rocks we climbed, and with each gleaming gull that glides past overhead. “Maybe Mom spoke to that one!”

I’ll be leaving one life, and coming home to another.

Robin Debacker

August, 2017

Adult Children

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ACA is a 12-Step program for Adult Children of Alcoholic/Dysfunctional Families. I joined a local group in January 2016. We meet once a week for about 75 minutes, and we’re all women.  When I first walked in, I felt I was home. Part of it was the warmth of the room’s furnishings: sofas, big comfy chairs, big windows and a lot of light. Part of it was that the women there had been meeting for 25 years, and there was a peaceful practice of acceptance in place that I could feel immediately. But really, the biggest part was that I knew on some level before even opening my mouth or hearing anyone open theirs, that this was a safe space- a place to explore and discover my Self.

The first thing that struck me about the meeting was that no one said a word while someone else was talking. There was absolutely NO CROSSTALK. I was a little uncomfortable about it. I’m used to nodding my head, saying ‘Uh-huh!’ or ‘Really?’ and making eye contact with the speaker, at the very minimum. More often, I like to give my feedback, my Two Cents. In this room, the speaker takes her turn when she’s ready, breaking the silence to say her name and be greeted. After that, no one offers any comment. We just sit and listen. And we Thank her when she’s done. That’s all. Then we return to silence.

The term ‘crosstalk’ means interrupting, referring to, commenting on, or using the contents of what another person has said during the meeting. Many ACA members come from family backgrounds where feelings and perceptions were judged as wrong or defective.  When we were growing up, no one listened to us; or they told us that our feelings were wrong. As adults, we are accustomed to taking care of other people and not taking responsibility for our own lives. In ACA we speak about our own experiences and feelings, and accept without comment what others say because it is True for Them. We work toward taking more responsibility in our lives rather than giving advice to others.

In ACA, we do not touch, hug, or attempt to comfort others when they become emotional during a meeting. If someone begins to cry or weep, we allow them to feel their feelings. We support them by refraining from touching them or interrupting their tears with something we might say. To touch or hug the person is known as ‘fixing.’ We learn to listen, which is often the greatest support of all.

I’ve come to cherish the ‘no crosstalk’ rule. It’s still a challenge for me to remain silent but I’m getting more comfortable with sitting in silence. And I have experienced first-hand how effectively freeing and validating that silence is. There is nowhere else in my experience where I can share what’s on my heart without being interrupted, interpreted, advised, judged, or in some other way verbally responded to, even positively, with questioning or other kinds of feedback. The silence of the group around me is a reward in itself, and I know I have been heard.

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The Girls with the Grandmother Faces

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I found this book in a box in Belgium when I went home to sort through the things I’d left behind three years ago. I don’t remember where I got it, but I hadn’t read it yet, and the cover looked intriguing and right up my current alley, so I took it with me on the plane back to the US. I’d like to introduce it to my over 55 friends, men included. Although it’s written especially for women, any one of us older folks can benefit from the ideas Frances Weaver writes about.

 

Right off the bat, I’d like to say something that has seriously stuck with me ever since reading it last week: We older women are no longer the center of our grown children’s lives! That was a bombshell. What? How could that be?? Frances tells the story of how after her husband died, she sold the big house and moved closer to her children, expecting them to gravitate around granny for all the holidays and vacation times. Wrong.  She waited and waited, and when all she got was excuses, she decided that it was time for her to live her own life, not theirs.

I have to admit this was a shocking and revelatory idea for me. A few days later I was visiting my daughter for the weekend and happened to spy her diary on the floor half under the bed. Against the chiding of my conscience, I picked it up and leafed through it, searching for any mentions of my name. Yes, I wanted to prove to myself how important I am to my daughter. I was expecting to read things like: My mom said this, and I was so inspired; My mom did this, and I was so inspired; My mom my mom, my mom…..you get the picture. I couldn’t find one mention of my frequent presence in her life, and realized that Frances was right. Thinking back to my own journals, how often was I quoting my mother or waxing poetic about her? Unless it was something extremely negative, she wasn’t in there very often. I had other things to write about. I was living my life, not hers.

They say we have to let our children go, spread their wings, fly the coop. I am reminded of Kahlil Gibran’s poem, On Children:

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

The best thing I can do for Emilie at this stage in both of our lives is to be that stable bow, and to encourage her to fly while I do the same! Having come to that realization, I understand her response to my recent FB post about being 66 and feeling so happy about my life. She said, “Mom! I want to be like you when I’m 66!” No sweeter words necessary!

Back to The Girls with the Grandmother Faces, A Celebration of Life’s Potential for Those Over 55: A second big takeaway is that when we are older and find ourselves with more time on our hands, we need to “get back out there among ’em, drop the safety net, and move on our own steam.” Here are a few more quotes along those lines:

“Our world has more for us to do than we have imagined. Until now, we hadn’t the time, but now that’s pretty much all we have….With our eyes and ears open, we can find new and marvelous things to do, then pass the magic along to other women like us.” She’s talking about going back to school, getting involved in community activities, travel during off-seasons, and taking advantage of all the many senior advantages available. One of the things Frances took up (at the age of 55) was kite flying. It became an obsession, and she found others who enjoyed it too, and has a collection of kites and kite-flying friends from all over the world. Who would have thought of that?

She’s speaking directly to where I am at these days- wondering what to do with my time? I’m getting the idea from her that before I go out looking for a ‘regular’ job, I should try my hand at something creative that I’m already doing and loving. The author’s story is just such an example. After she became widowed, she booked a thirty-day cruise. Never having traveled by herself, she felt the need to find out if she could. She had so much fun, and felt so good, that she began helping a travel-agent friend sell group tours in return for an agent’s rate, and created a temporary job for herself as tour director. Then she went back to community college, which included a move clear across the country, and took Creative Writing, Poetry, and Spanish. Finding that she liked to write, and against the admonitions of her less adventurous friends, she self-published the “Grandmother Faces” book. Shortly after putting copies in her local Colorado bookstore, she was invited by a Denver publisher to write a travel book for older single women (like myself), which she did. It’s called, This Year I Plan to Go Elsewhere. It’s on my reading list!

Next, she was interviewed on a nationwide cable channel, and somehow or another, the department of tourism in Malta invited her to spend a week in Malta, all expenses paid! She was subsequently hired by a cruise ship line to be a guest lecturer, and for the next 10 years traveled all over the world. Reading her story has been electrifying. It sounds like the perfect scenario: travel, creativity, writing and speaking, and meeting all sorts of people.

I’m not divorced or widowed, but I’m living alone per an arrangement that is working well for both me and my husband of 35 years. Both of us are having to rethink and recreate our lives, and learn to live what we have left of our lives in a satisfactory and inspiring way. We are each learning to make and trust our own decisions. Having no one else to blame helps. Creative living requires an amount of risk-taking, but what’s to lose? “One risk often leads to greater discoveries of our own capabilities,” Frances writes. That’s been my experience, for sure. I’m thinking of a recent risky behavior I embarked on when I responded to an add on Craig’s List looking for a backup vocalist for a local musician. Thrilled and terrified at the same time, I picked up the phone and made the call. We agreed to meet at the open mic a few miles down the road, and both signed up to perform separately so we could appraise each other’s musical talents before deciding to work together. I had no idea what he would look like, nor did he have a clue that I was 65. That in itself was one of my biggest fears – that he would reject me immediately because of my age. It turned out that his music was deplorable, and his personality not much better, and he left the bar without saying anything, which was a relief. On the other hand, I had a good set, and realized I can do this performance thing still, even at my ripening age, and I met a fantastic bass player in the process.

“Recycling ourselves means getting rid of whatever serves no useful purpose, whatever our lives no longer depend on. Recycling also means discovering the unused, still-new interests, options, and opportunities that did not fit the younger version of ourselves.” Yes! My parents are both gone, and I was lucky I didn’t end up being saddled with their long-term care as many boomers are finding themselves. My daughter is a grown woman, and has left the nest. She’s making decisions for herself, and I have been learning to trust that she can take care of herself now and doesn’t need me sticking my nose into everything. I’ve got my health, and I’m basically free at this stage of my life. I don’t want to waste the precious time!

I’d like to suggest this book to anyone who has recently found themselves facing a new phase in life, wants to make a new start and needs some direction, or is feeling old and tired and knows there’s more if they could just figure out what.  A final quote that sums it all up for me comes from Jane O’Reilly, New York Times, July, 1986: “The most important mission of a woman’s life is not to hold onto her looks. Our mission is the same as a man’s….to grow up.” Yes. And no one else can do that for us!fullsizeoutput_3938

 

Saying Goodbye to Liege

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I’ve been saying goodbye to Liege today.

I had soup with a good friend, and we talked about the changes going on in our lives; It’s good to be on a parallel journey with someone. She’s leaving for Brussels, I’m leaving for the US, but we’ll be connected wherever we go, fellow travelers and seekers after the life we know we were meant to live.

Telling myself that I don’t want to see the inside of any more department stores, I took the river road home, avoiding the shops, and saw the sun glistening on the Meuse, the tree-lined park, and the bridges crossing the water. From up on the bike, I couldn’t smell the urine on the sidewalk. When I noticed it while we were walking, she said, “It’s the smell of LIege!” I never noticed it before today.

I stopped at the Quick for a coffee and a beignet, and thought, “This might be the last time I sit out here. How strange. How nice!”

At the corner SPAR, I greeted the manager, and told her I’m leaving. She told me she is tired, and wants to get out of the grocery business with her brother, but hasn’t found a way yet. We smiled at each other, and she took my card. “You’ll do well. I have a good feeling.” “You, too. Let’s keep in touch!”

My little village of Angleur. Jean fits here, but I don’t.
Life isn’t always what you expect it will be. I wonder where we’ll be in two years, or five?

Today I’ve been saying goodbye to Liege, and packing up my things. It will have been 2 years, 8 months, and 21 days since I arrived here. It feels longer, and at the same time hard to believe that so much time has passed.

I have to ask myself, “What is the lesson here for me? What have I done, and what have I learned?” It’s better than I think, but longer than I wanted.

I round the corner and ride up our street. The sun is bright and the day is warm. Belgium, showing off it’s best self in honor of my leaving? Maybe. Or trying to entice me to stay? Too late for that.

I take off my scarf, and look at the road in front of me. Our apartment is a good place for Jean. I’m happy that he is near the woods where he loves to run, and near his father’s house, where he often visits. Our windows face the path running up into the trees, and look out over the park. We’re on a street that doesn’t go through, so it’s always quiet~ except for the trains. I love the way they sound at night. They remind me that there are places to go. We can stop treading water, and jump on.

I’m saying goodbye to Liege, and I’m glad I’m still alive, and that I have somewhere I want to go. My mother is counting the days until I arrive. She has cleared out her other closet, and emptied half of her drawers to make space for the things I bring. She is waiting with anticipation. She’s getting old now, and tired. I can hear it in her voice. I am glad to have someone who is longing for my return, and to have the time to be there for her. We have many things to share~ two adult women, getting to know each other again.

What else should I write? I still have people to say goodbye to. To embrace and wish well. I saw another friend last week. We met in her front yard, her two small boys excited about their first day of school. She clasped my hand and sighed. Yes, she understood. Japan is her hometown and she is dreaming, too.

I still have an open suitcase staring at me on the floor, but my heart has already started moving. It’s pulling out of the station. A little rusty from having stood still for so long, but I can feel an engine revving somewhere…

I’m wondering if I can still fly…

Let me arrive, safely, with my body, mind, and heart intact.
Let me be ready to discover my SELF on this journey called LIFE.

Goodbye Liege. Thank you, and I wish you well!
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