Plans

I recently had dinner plans with a dear friend of mine- we were long overdue for some serious Girl Time catch-up and we planned it several weeks beforehand.  On the day we were supposed to go out, I got an e-mail from her saying that she was exhausted and would be possible to reschedule for the following evening.  This was certainly understandable, as she had been traveling a lot and was dealing with a lot at the time.  It was the way she phrased it, however, that struck me as gracious and made me appreciate our friendship even more.  Instead of just saying that she was tired and didn't feel like going out, she wrote that she wanted to be as "fresh and attentive as possible" for our get-together, so that she could fully participate in sharing the evening. 

While this highlights the generous and giving nature of my friend, it also made me appreciate the difference in her attitude.  She needed to take care of herself first, so that she would be better able to give and share.  She wanted to address her own needs, so that she could be more attentive to mine.  It wasn't that she would enjoy the evening more if she was rested, it was that our interaction would be stronger and we both would benefit more.  Such a beautiful and refreshing sentiment and outlook to have. 

I'm often told that you can't take care of others until you take care of yourself first.  I'm learning this comes in many forms of giving- to family, friends, neighbors, the community.  When you're rested and healthy, it comes through in your smile, actions, and words.  Challenges are more manageable, and opportunities are more appealing. It's easier to give to others when your own needs are met.  Putting yourself first isn't always easy, but in the end it's more beneficial to everyone.
My friend and I did go out the next evening, when we were both feeling better and able to connect.  To quote one of my favorite movies, it was "practically perfect in every way."

Care-Giver

I was speaking with a casual acquaintance the other day, and somehow the subject of our parents came up.  Without giving her too many details, I mentioned Mom and Dad's health concerns.  She looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Oh, well my mom has cancer, so I have it much worse."  I was more than slightly taken aback, and didn't know how to respond.  Finally I gave her an encouraging smile said, "I wish your mother the best, and am sorry you have to deal with that, but I really don't think we can pass judgement on other people's situations."  I didn't know what her intentions were with that comment.  Was she looking for sympathy?  Attention?  Pity?  And why did she feel she could compare our experiences with no background whatsoever? 

I was perplexed for a while, but then let it go, presuming that she meant no harm and acknowledging that she was under a great deal of stress.  This afternoon, I overheard her say to someone that she was with her mother for several hours the day before and was happy her brother was filling in today because she couldn't handle it again.  She then rolled her eyes and exclaimed, "It takes so LONG to die!"

This statement both saddened and infuriated me.  On one level, I thought of all the people who lost a loved one instantaneously, and had no chance to say goodbye.  But my first thought was that while her mom will eventually die, right now she is alive and probably in need of her daughter's love and support, and craving positive interactions with her.  Now I'm the first to acknowledge that being a caregiver is hard work- exhausting, stressful, often thankless, and full of unanswered questions.  And there can be stark reminders of the end- every time I sign a DNR statement for Dad or have to do something like pick out his urn, the grief is overwhelming.  But I have to see every moment as another moment that he's alive, I have a father, and I am fortunate to be able to visit and spend this time with him.

Ideally, we won't wait until a loved one is diagnosed with a terminal illness to spend time with them or tell them we love them.  As hard as it is to stay in the present moment, in this moment there is life and a chance to connect and share.  It's hard for me to remember sometimes when I'm frustrated or tired or angry or sad, but when I do stop to appreciate this moment there is a great sense of peace.  I hope that this woman is able to find some as well. 

Strawberries

One of my favorite taste sensations is biting into a juicy, delectable piece of fruit.  The natural sweetness, fresh aroma, and lingering essence is singularly refreshing.  This addiction was instilled at an early age- for as long as I can remember Dad would make individual fresh fruit plates for the rest of us to nibble on as we got ready in the morning.  A palate cleanser, and invigorating start to the day.  These plates paled in comparison, however, to the appetizer he would make for himself- a huge bowl of chopped melon, apple, pear, grapefruit, and berries, topped with a scoop of cottage cheese- Breakstone's small curd.  He savored it while perusing the Wall Street Journal and laughing at Mike Royko, and only after he had his fruit fix could he enjoy his English muffin or waffles.  He started this ritual years before I was born and kept it up as long as he was able to prepare his own food. 

Watermelon birthday "cake", 1982

I always loved that he took time to enjoy this.  Such a simple pleasure, and nourishing in every way.  Breakfast has always been his favorite meal, and I think this fruit bowl had a lot to do with it.  It saddens me he can't enjoy this now- these days, he's lucky to get a canned fruit medley cup with lunch or a slice of wilted tomato garnishing his macaroni salad.  The nursing home practically considers coconut cream pie a serving of fruit.  On a whim one day, I stopped at the store on my way out there and picked up some strawberries.  When he saw them, his eyes widened and his hand extended.  He ate half a pound of strawberries that night, and I could see the pleasure on his face with every bite.  Now I try to bring an apple or peach or whatever's in season.  It's such a simple gesture, yet it brings him so much joy. 

It's sometimes the smallest things that gives us the most fulfillment.  Sleeping in an extra 20 minutes, going for a walk as the sun sets, buying yourself flowers at the farmer's market, getting a hug from a cherished friend- or buying that special Someone flowers and giving a cherished friend a hug.  The rewards and gratification of giving and receiving simple pleasures are plentiful, whether we do it for ourselves or someone else.  It doesn't take much to create a smile. 

Liebe

Half-sister...the phrase has been going through my head ever since Dede left yesterday.  It makes no sense to me- I understand from a rational perspective that we only share one parent, but in the two days I got to spend with her last week I had never felt more whole.  She is more of a sister to me than my "real" sister, who has been estranged from me for the past four years and never was close growing up.
 
Dede is Dad's daughter from his first marriage- he was married 25 years and had four children.  He then was married to my mother for another 25 years (his limit, I guess), and had two more daughters.  Needless to say, I did not grow up with my siblings from his first family and they are almost a full generation older than I am.  I remember visiting Dede in Atlanta when I was 9, and not knowing if I fit in playing in the basement with my 6 years old niece or upstairs in the kitchen with the "adults".  Years later, after her family had moved to Vienna and I was studying abroad, I stayed at their house twice during my backpacking travels around Europe.  It was incredibly comforting to have a place to call Home after living in hostels and sleeping on trains for weeks.  As a college student, I was able to relate better- we visited vineyards, toured the Austrian countryside, and even took a side trip to Prague and Budapest.  I was in awe of her- she was cooler than a "cool Aunt" because she was my sister and so full of life.  I've seen her twice since then, but there was always something small in the way- perhaps that she was traveling with her two delightful daughters, or that Dad was ambulatory and still living alone, or the aforementioned self-doubt- suffice it to say we had plenty of distractions.

This visit I fully experienced the connection and love that my friends who are close to their siblings talk about- like the other person is a part of them, their brains works in similar ways, they can laugh and cry and nothing is off-limits to talk about.  Granted, the most important part of her trip was to see Dad, who may or may not be around on her next visit.  We spent one afternoon all together at the nursing home, and the next day I let them have several hours alone before joining them.  As emotional and draining as this must have been on her, and despite being jet-lagged and still on Austrian time, afterwards Dede was up for meeting my friends, joining a wine tasting, lingering at dinner, talking until we literally got kicked out of the restaurant because it was closing.

I am fortunate to have a network of incredibly supportive and validating friends, and I know they love me despite my quirks.  In those two days with Dede, however, I discovered a new connection- one that runs through your blood lines and is comforting and familiar.  They say you can't choose your family; you do, however, have the choice of how to respond to them.  Receiving the full love of my half-sister is one of the best choices I've ever made. 

The Reunion

And to think I was worried.  To think I was nervous, anxious,  even skeptical.  For two weeks I had been pointing to her picture and saying, "This is Dede.  Your daughter.  She is coming to visit."  And even though he was doubtful and confused, I should have known he would pull through.  I wasn't expecting the tears, though.

I can count on one hand the times I've seen my father cry.  There was my college graduation and....probably something else?  I saw sadness in his eyes when I moved him out of his apartment, and when he was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer's, but don't recall any moisture.  I've heard that the eyes are the gateway to the soul, and I can usually read Henry's emotions more accurately through them, as he can be reluctant to say what he's feeling.  I've seen fear, terror, confusion, anger, rage, contentment, and joy.  These days, more often than not they are sullen, and on a good day I can get them to light up a bit. 

Dad and Dede, Aug 2008

It's been two years since Dad has seen Dede, his oldest daughter.  She lives in Austria and it's difficult to make the trip to Chicago.  To me, it seems they've always had a beautiful connection, and so I was greatly saddened when I couldn't get him to recognize her in the pictures.  When she stood in front of him yesterday, however, something clicked.  It took a moment, but then there they were- tears of joy, recognition, jubilation.  It was the most beautiful reunion I have ever seen, and I got teary-eyed myself.  For two and a half hours we sat, sang, talked, laughed.  Dad laughed like a child- free and giggly.  Like an embarrassed chuckle for no reason- he would say, "Frank Sinatra" just out of the blue, then start to crack up.  Seeing her again meant everything to him, and in those tears he expressed nothing but love for the daughter who had been away but not forgotten. 

NIMBY

It's days like these that I appreciate my ability to sleep through a rainstorm...and apparently a bomb explosion.  While much of south Evanston was startled at 3:50a this morning by a blast that shook buildings, I was deeply involved in a dream about bowling alleys (which I have since forgotten).  I woke up, turned on the radio, and heard that Nichols School was closed for the day while police investigated a body found on the premises.  It took me a few seconds to comprehend that Nichols was the middle school a block away, and something was seriously wrong.  As I went to my computer to look up more information, I glanced out the window and what I saw was nothing short of mayhem.  Streets and sidewalks were blocked off, the FBI and police were patrolling the scene, traffic cops were diverting cars, and the media was swarming around looking for information.  It seemed that two hours after the blast, a man walking his dog found a decapitated body on the tennis courts a block away and another bomb.  I took a deep breath and started to process everything.

As the morning went on and people gossiped and whispered, the initial report was that it was a suicide.  Even though this didn't seem to mesh with the evidence, it quickly became all too real and within an hour I had broken down sobbing.  The horrific nature of the events, the mystery surrounding them, the CSI aura out the window, the stares from passersby...and then these rumors.  I've had handfuls of friends affected by suicide, and had my stomach settled with charcoal in high school.  The trauma, the terror, the uncertainty, the unease in the neighborhood.  It was too much and I was rendered useless most of the morning as I grieved.

I live in Evanston, Illinois.  It's not too shabby.  We have two zip codes, six Starbucks, two Whole Foods, a prestigious university, and million-dollar mansions overlooking the lake.  Yes, we have problems- the crime rates are similar to some city neighborhoods and our schools, libraries, and community resources are in trouble.  But it's home, and you like to think it's safe.  Until it's not, and you wake up to bomb threats and beheaded bodies and choppers overhead and news cameras flashing.  Then you remember to lock your door, tell your friends you love them, mail those cards you wrote last week, and light a candle just because it's Tuesday dinner.  Because you never know. But you don't stop living. 

You can read the Tribune's story here.

Here and Now

In the past two weeks, I've had the opportunity to catch up with three friends I have literally known since I was six years old but haven't seen since high school.  Two of them quickly became my best friends when I first moved to Evanston in first grade, and we were inseparable through elementary school.  The other one was a friend of my sister's, but I knew him through the grapevine.  I lost touch with all of them after high school, but thanks to the power of Facebook and mutual friends, I've been able to get to know them again. 

Obviously you're going to relate to somebody differently when you're sharing wine and gelato at 31years old than sharing chocolate milk and grilled cheese at six, but I honestly did feel like something was different and I was picking up on basic connections for the first time.  I noticed I was fully alive and excited in these interactions, and was slightly saddened when I realized what the difference was.  I essentially hated myself growing up and I now see that it masked so many things for me.  I wasn't able to fully give or receive, because I wasn't convinced I deserved the friendships, and was always plagued with doubt.  And so, on some level, I was missing out. 

When we're distracted or preoccupied in any situation, we are not able to be fully present.  It can take any form- we have a preconceived notion or prejudice; we're thinking about something else and not focused; we're worried or caught up in another emotion; or for some reason we're not able to connect.  I think this is a fairly common situation- who hasn't been in a meeting and their mind wanders to weekend plans, that pesky hangnail, or what to make for dinner?  But when we are able to get rid of the distractions and be fully present, it's a very powerful and liberating experience.  For me, I feel fully alive and like I'm really a participant in the world.  It makes me want to share, to give, to appreciate, and to contribute.  And those friends?  I am finally understanding that maybe they didn't come to my sleepovers just because my mom made awesome oatmeal cookies.  And that's a monumental feeling. 

To Yoke

I know I said in my last post that this wouldn't be all about yoga, and yet here we go.  I came home tonight hungry and tired after an especially emotionally draining day.  As I cooked dinner I thought all I wanted to do was have a large glass of wine and disconnect from the world for a while.  It seemed like an easy way out.  However, when I sat down to eat I opened up the October Yoga Journal and started flipping through.  My curious nature drew me to the article "Legendary Poses"- why is it called Fish Pose, anyway?  I never found out, because I stopped reading after the third paragraph.  "The meaning of the Sanskrirt word yoga is 'yoking', or 'connecting.'  One way of describing the state of yoga is as a feeling of interconnectedness, in which we experience that a part of us exists in everything, and vice versa."  It was an "Aha Moment" for me, to borrow a phrase from a certain daytime talk show queen. 

I've been doing yoga on and off since high school, but I've kept it up pretty regularly for the past three years.  I admit at first it was for the physical release and relaxation, but I gradually began to experience a deeper calm, and grounding benefits.  As I fell into a routine, my body and mind started to crave a practice and miss it when I skipped a session.   It became my chance not only to check in with my body and psyche, but share an hour of restoration with others who had similar needs.  Even though we were on our own mats, and focused on our own practices, there was always some feeling of connection and we would share a smile or nod afterwards.

I knew yoga meant "to yoke", and I threw the phrase around- "I am going to yoke tonight", "I had a good yoking session today."  It was a cute word, and I had a vague idea of what it meant, but I honestly had never looked for a thorough explanation.  Reading the definition tonight finally seemed like a validation of what I had been experiencing in my own practice.  Interconnectedness- connecting with my thoughts, emotions, body, and community.  Expressing gratitude to the teacher for leading and the other participants for joining.  Searching inwardly so that we can make a bigger impact externally. 

Whether it's yoga, soccer, choir, community service, music lessons, theater, or dance, we all need an outlet to express ourselves through something that gives us joy and provides a sense of interconnectedness.  What do you do? 

February 2009, after one of Jarrett's Giordano shows

Everybody's Doing It...

Oh, hey, look, I'm blogging!  I'm kind of excited- I've always been a writer and the idea that people might want to read what I write is pretty cool.  People have been telling me for a while that I should start a blog, but I didn't know what to write about.  I wanted it to be something hip, trendy, cutting-edge...but that's just not me.  Then I thought it should be something about my father, since I'm so involved in his life...but that seemed boring and depressing.  I wondered what I'm good at, and what I like doing, but nothing seemed appropriate.  A blog about my yoga practice or my ability to recognize when people get their hair cut?  Meh. 

In the past month, however, I've discovered a new rush of satisfaction that comes from initiating something myself and going through with it (more on that later).  I guess a simple way to explain it is that I felt stuck, with everyday things sucking my energy, and I realized I could do something positive with that energy.  If somebody can gleam a bit of truth or perspective from my writing, then it will be well worth it.  If not, and this only serves as an outlet for me, it will still be worth it.  So what is this blog about?  I still don't know, exactly.  You can read a little more on the "Caring" page on the side.  Here are some of my thoughts, put into words.   I think of myself as creative, but not necessarily crafty, and a blog seems like a satisfying way to express that.  So enjoy.  Or don't.  Thanks for reading!