Yes

“Always say 'yes' to the present moment... Surrender to what is. Say 'yes' to life - and see how life starts suddenly to start working for you rather than against you.” - Eckhart Tolle

A couple of years ago, my friend Ellen's husband passed away suddenly, far too young and unexpectedly.  I was concerned about how Ellen would do without her beloved Michael.  They were as close as any couple could be.   Ellen has done amazingly well.  She misses Michael terribly but her life is busy and she is full of joy.  I asked her the secret to thriving in such difficult circumstances.  She told me that she adopted a new life policy.  Her default answer to most things is to just say "yes". "Yes" to time with friends. "Yes" to trips and adventures in exotic lands.  "Yes" to opportunities to learn something new or try something new.  

Inspired by Ellen, I have decided to also adopt "Yes" as my default position.  When my friend Colleen asked me to attend a chocolate making class with her, I said "Yes".  It was fun.  When my friend Geraldine asked me to attend a holiday cooking class with her, I said "Yes".  We left well fed with a few new ideas for holiday entertaining.  "Yes", I will go with the girls to the spa.  "Yes", we will happily accompany our friends on a Cuban vacation this winter.  "Yes", I will try a new craft with Joanna.  "Yes", I will learn a new area of law to help my friend David as he expands his practice.  Unless there is a good reason why I can't say "Yes", I am going to keep saying it.  So far, I'm having the time of my life.

Jangled

"Set up another case bartender! The best thing for a case of nerves is a case of Scotch." - W. C. Fields

It has been a couple of months since I've written an entry in this blog.  Since I started writing it in July of 2009, I have never gone so long without an entry but life has rather gotten away from me lately.

The death of my mother in July has left me in a state of grief far greater than I would have imagined.  She was old and had been sick for a very long time.  I knew the day was coming that I would lose her but when I did, I was overwhelmed by a sense of profound loss.  She was my mother.  No one has ever loved me the way my mother loved me.  No one ever will again.  Though she hadn't spoken for years and gave no indication that she could understand anything I told her, I still told her everything.  I talked to her about my hopes and fears, victories and defeats.  I told her all my troubles.  It made me feel better.  But now she is gone.  There is no one to tell.  No one who will not judge me.  No one who just listen and love me the way my mom did.  I just want a few more hours.  Just to look at her beautiful face and run my fingers over her smooth, soft skin.  Just a few more hours to sing to her and speak to her, to see her smile one more time.

There is so much to do after someone dies.  It is not just about funeral arrangements or writing and giving her eulogy - the hardest speech I've ever had to make.  It's also about settling her estate, about banking and taxes and notifying what seems like a thousand people and sending out a thousand copies of her death certificate. 

Tucked into the chaos of these difficult days, there has been a trip to Vienna with my husband, the annual charity work I do with my son, assistance for a young friend in preparing for her wedding, a two week visit from my husband's niece and a series of stressed and emotional clients.  I have a lot to say about Vienna but I will save it for another time.  I am too tired tonight.

I've noticed the smallest of things are jangling my nerves - a teenage boy bouncing a basketball for two blocks along the Queen's Quay this afternoon, badly behaved children at the airport last evening, crying babies, old ladies driving the wrong way in the Loblaw's parking lot - it doesn't take much.  

I've been cleaning and organizing like a madwoman for the last couple of weeks, trying to prepare for the arrival of Merv's niece.  Instead of just plowing through it with some sense of satisfaction, I plowed through it while berating myself at every turn for letting things get so disorganized and out of control in the first place.  It wasn't until yesterday that I stepped back and asked myself what the reality of that was.  The truth is, I have dealt with constant physical challenges for the past four years - three herniated lumbar discs and two rounds of heart failure.  It's a miracle things were in as good a condition as they were.  The house was clean, though disorganized. It's not disorganized now.  When I felt better, I did better.  It's time to stop berating myself for not having supernatural powers.  Old habits die hard.  I'm going to have to work on that one.  

And sometime in the weeks ahead, when our company is gone and I've finished the business of my mom's estate, when the wedding is over and all my closets have been cleaned, I'm going to take a few days, just for myself.  I'm going to read and binge watch all the old episodes of This Is Us.  I'm going to eat chocolate in bed and take long leisurely baths using all the bath bombs in the basket by the tub.  And I'm going to soothe my nerves at least enough to not feel I'm coming unglued because a teenager is bouncing a basketball as he walks on the road ahead of me.

White Flowers

"Motherhood: All love begins and ends there." - Robert Browning

My house is filled with white flowers, orchids, freesia, roses, lilies and carnations, six arrangements in all.  Two of them also have a few pale pink flowers that I cannot name.  My mom passed away last week and my friends have rallied around me to comfort me in my grief.

It has been a long goodbye.  Mom was in a nursing home for nearly fourteen years before her death last Monday.  It seems like I have been grieving forever.  So perhaps it is appropriate that we are having what are essentially, two funerals for her.  The first and largest was held in Toronto on Friday.  So many of our friends came to celebrate her life with us.  It was at that service that I delivered Mom's eulogy, probably the hardest speech I have ever made.  I remained composed until the very end when I felt myself crumble on the last line.  Still, I think Mom would be proud of me for holding myself together until that point.

On Wednesday we will travel to Windsor to give us time to arrange the final details of her second funeral on Thursday.  We will have mass conducted by our old parish priest and then take Mom's ashes to the cemetery to be buried next to my dad.  I have declined to do my eulogy a second time, opting instead to send the text of it to those few family members and friends who will join us that day. 

I am sad and I am tired.  Yesterday morning I caught myself wondering what time would work best in my day to go to visit my mom at the nursing home.  For just one moment, I forgot that the long goodbye is done. 

Bittersweet

“When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home.” - Tecumseh

My friend Lisa passed away this morning in the way, place and time she chose.  She is the first person I have known and loved to make use of a legal, medically assisted death procedure.  Several days ago, Lisa and her family sent a note to a select group of people to let us know she had chosen today as her last.  She has been very ill and we were all aware her time was growing critically short.  She wanted to leave this world with dignity and comfort and she wanted to be in control.  While I knew this day was coming, seeing the announcement in that way sent me spiraling down into a place of confusion and pain.  Suicide, even in this form is hard for me to process.  Apparently, all these years later, the little Catholic girl still dwells somewhere deep within me. But I love Lisa and I respect her right to make her own decisions.  What is right for her may not be right for me.  Who am I to judge?  My immediate challenge became figuring out how to be fully supportive of her and her loved ones and get myself through the next days.  I wrote a letter to Lisa to tell her how much she means to me and to say goodbye.  I made frequent contact with the others who make up a small piece of the collection of people she gathered around her and surrounded with her wisdom and love.  And I laid out a strategy for today that included time on the deck overlooking the ravine behind my home, some quiet, creative projects to distract me, prayer, meditation and reflection to send her spirit on its way and a small split of prosecco to enjoy in gratitude for her friendship and love.  Most of that didn't happen.

I did go outside to sit on the deck for an hour surrounding the time of her death.  The heat in the city is oppressive today, the air thick with humidity and smog.  At times there was a breeze but instead of carrying the gentle sounds of nature, it carried the sounds of the highway a kilometer from my home.  The birds stopped singing amid the cacophony of lawnmowers that seemed to be running all throughout the neighbourhood.  Still, I sat and read a book about love and said my prayers of gratitude.  When I could no longer endure the weight of the air I sat long in a tepid bath, trying to unknot the kinks in my too tight muscles.  I received a message from a dear young friend who was convocating from her masters program today.  She asked me to join her and her husband, mother and three small children for lunch.  As hard as I knew it would be to pull myself together, I knew that I must.  Lisa would have told me to go and celebrate.  I accepted the gracious invitation, dressed and headed to the restaurant.  It was a good tonic.  After lunch I drove my friend to a mani-pedi appointment she had at nearby salon.  I took a chance and went in with her and left a couple of hours later with a fresh pedicure, a bit of overdue self-care.  Lisa would have approved.

Tomorrow I will attend Lisa's funeral and the shiva in her family home.  I will cling tightly to the other women whose circle I have joined through my connection with Lisa.  They are the gift that she has left me, wonderful, beautiful people to know and to love, a place to belong.  A couple of days ago, I received a response to the letter I sent to Lisa to say goodbye,  She left me with these words, "I send you love and .. more love and hopes that you will be safe, strong and free and always feel like you belong." She was extraordinary, in life and in death.  Godspeed, my dear friend.