A Grateful Good-bye

When John Kennedy was elected President, I was only ten years old – my most vivid memory is of his picture on the front page of the newspaper the day after the election, and at that point I didn’t really have an interest in anything more important than my own daily concerns. I do remember his commanding speech during the Cuban missile crisis, and I shed many tears in the days following his assassination; the drum rolls as the funeral cortege made its way through Washington are a particularly poignant memory. The tragic assassination of Robert Kennedy when I was seventeen troubled me deeply. I cried as I watched this brave family once again bury a beloved son, father and uncle. But I still did not comprehend the impact this family would have on the quality of life for those of us born with less opportunity in this country.

It wasn’t until I was an adult that I truly realized and honored the Kennedy family tradition and belief that those who have been given much owe much in return. This is a family that has been blessed with intelligence, a strong work ethic, a deep faith and a resulting wealth. Obviously, they have struggled with staggering personal tragedies and the quirks and flaws of their own personalities. But, they have all attempted to uphold the family tradition of giving the best of themselves to their family and their country, and especially to those less fortunate.

Tonight, I would like to bid a loving farewell and offer my blessings to Senator Ted Kennedy. My tears flow as I write this. I feel we average citizens have lost our most loyal and dedicated champion. This man has worked unceasingly to make life better for those with the least power and voice in our society. I pray that the next generation of his family will continue the good works they have already begun in the Kennedy name, and take care of each other as he cared for them all. I pray that Congress will work together to craft legislation for a universal health care program that will honor his years of effort in this issue so important to the well-being of us all.

Most of all, I would like to say a loving thank you and good-bye to this youngest son who ended up carrying the torch for this remarkable family who sacrificed so much for the good of society.

August Ponderings

The quiet of this warm August evening fills my soul. Soon the heavy blanket of darkness that is August will fall abruptly, so unlike the long twilight of earlier summer nights.

This summer has been a difficult one for me and for my extended family. It seems that these precious few weeks of Northeast summer have been filled with stress, worries and sorrow. It will not be a summer we look back on with any degree of pleasure.

Tonight, though, I sit on my porch and ponder the moments of serenity I have enjoyed today. My mug of coffee on the porch in the early morning fog, with just a touch of chill in the air -- a delicious lunch of fried oysters at a quiet riverside restaurant with my husband, watching the boats float past soundlessly from our table on the shore -- a bit of time at the end of the work day to tend my flowers, feed the birds, and sip white wine as I read a few pages from a much-loved book, while a supper of cold chicken and potato salad awaited us in the fridge.

The weekend ahead of me will be busy and tiring, and a worrisome medical test is scheduled for Monday morning, but for now, I sit on my beloved porch, listening to the gentle cooing of the sparrows as they settle into the ivy for the night, and I wait for that moment when the August darkness envelops us with its soothing reminder that life does go on -- seasons change -- our troubles and worries are transient. The sparrows roosting contentedly in the ivy tonight are not worried about tomorrow -- they are safely tucked away for a night of rest, thankful for full stomachs and a peaceful place to sleep.

I will try to carry this thought in my heart as I face the responsibilities and worries of the next few days. I will try to worry less about what MAY happen and spend more time enjoying the multitude of pleasures that greet us each day. I will hold close to my heart the long-remembered phrase, "This too shall pass."

And, for tonight, I will soak in the peace of this gentle August evening.

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning. Can there possibly be a more lovely feeling than the peace and anticipation of an unscheduled Sunday? I am desperately in need of a day devoted solely to puttering and leisure.

My sister’s struggle with cancer these past months finally ended a couple of weeks ago. For this I am grateful – now she is free from her suffering, and those of us who loved her and cared for her in her final days felt a profound sense of relief as we passed her into the hands of God. Her funeral on a sunny Friday morning and the luncheon afterwards gave her family and friends much-needed hours to lovingly recall memories and say a final goodbye to a complicated woman who seems to have been many things to many different people. I will mourn my only sister and try to find comfort in the closeness we shared in the past few years.

The days since her death, when I longed for some quiet time, have instead been filled with health problems of my own, a totally unexpected household renovation, and a struggle to catch up on office work which was set aside as I cared for my sister.

Yesterday was a welcome break in the stress of the past few weeks. I attended a party to celebrate my grandson’s 15th and my granddaughter’s 2nd birthdays. There is no better panacea for stress and sorrow than to gather with family and friends on a summer afternoon, with sunshine, good food and good wine, and savor the laughter and joy of precious little children.

Throughout this past month, as I have been comforted by my children, grandchildren, cousins, friends, and the caring words of so many loved ones from afar, I have once again been reminded that our true wealth in this life is the people we hold dear. We must be sure to hold them close to our hearts, to take time from our busy schedules to be with them, or call, or write – to savor the bonds of family and friendship. Ultimately, these bonds are our lifeline in times of trouble and the greatest of our treasures.

I will ponder these thoughts as I savor the quiet day ahead. I will feed my birds before the impending rain arrives, bake a chocolate cake for my daughter’s friend, and maybe enjoy a nice lunch somewhere with my husband. There is a world of possibilities for a leisurely Sunday –

Bonds of the Heart

Dusk is falling slowly. Storms have blown through; the June air is cooler and lighter, and a symphony of birdsong surrounds me.

I have neglected my blog recently – the days and weeks have been busy and stressful, and I have not had the energy to write through it all.

My sister is dying – a slow and debilitating decline from cancer. Although my days are filled with tending grandbabies and keeping our family business running smoothly, my sister is constantly a sad presence in my soul. I have discovered there is an emotional bond between sisters that I wasn’t aware of until now. She is always on my mind and in my heart.

She is much younger than me, and we weren’t close at all until our mother died a few years ago. Now, I am thankful for the good years we have shared, but I am astonished at the strength of this bond I am feeling. My joy in life right now is shadowed by the knowledge that she is confined to bed, unable to move her legs, and in pain.

As I sit here tonight and listen to the tiny sparrows chattering in the ivy – a moment that fills my soul with pleasure – I think of her in her bed and feel anguish.

I loved both of my parents and cared for them as they slowly died of debilitating diseases, but my sister’s decline has been much more traumatic for me. My faith in a God who loves us and my years of gardening and enjoying the cycles of nature have led me to the acceptance of death, but, somehow, my sister’s dying is breaking my heart.

So, tonight I sit in my comfortable wicker chair –the sparrows have settled quietly into the ivy for the night, a mourning dove is cooing nearby, and thunder is once again rumbling in the distance – sounds of nature that are my delight and bring peace to my soul. I try to concentrate on the serenity of this moment in this beloved haven of mine. But, I still somehow feel my sister’s pain and anxiety as she lies in her bed across town, waiting to die --

And Lucas Walked

Lucas walked today. He has been trying to walk for a few weeks, gaining balance and confidence bit by bit. For the past week or so, he has grabbed onto our fingers at every opportunity so he could walk back and forth, back and forth, wherever he wanted to go. Suddenly this morning I was standing in the kitchen cleaning up from breakfast and Luke came walking slowly across the dining room, a huge grin of pride on his face, and collapsed into my arms in laughter.

What a shining moment in his little life – and I am so glad that he was here with me, to be applauded with love and pride for his accomplishment.

Caring for two babies is no small chore for an almost-sixty grandmother. Often by the end of the day I am bone-tired and frazzled. My hair is tangled, my make-up long worn off, and my clothing spotted with the remnants of breakfast and lunch. There are days when both babies are cheerful and contented, eating well, napping on “schedule” and playing together peacefully. But there are also the other days – the days of whining and tears, interrupted naps, pushing and hair-pulling, and the constant need for Grandma’s loving arms and lap.

But, I share a bond with Luke and Alivia that is more valuable than anything else I could be doing at this point in my life. I am providing love, affection, security, and guidance, and I am receiving the most precious hugs and kisses in return. Today we shared an incredibly beautiful April afternoon – picking flowers, watching the birds, taking a walk. It was idyllic. They bask in the unconditional love of their grandmother, and I hold their chubby little hands, kiss their precious faces, and marvel at the perfection of these children of my children.

Lucas walked today, and I was there to share in his exuberant joy. He wasn’t in day care – one of many other little ones whose milestones are noted by strangers. He was here with his grandmother – and he felt like his accomplishment was the most important thing in the world – which it was to me!

Garden Blessings

I sit on the back porch in my comfortable old wicker chair, my mug of freshly brewed coffee at hand, and listen to the early morning concert of birdsong. The past few weeks have gone by in a blur -- too much work and too little time for these quiet moments of introspection which are so essential to my emotional well-being. April has passed quickly, and my lovely garden has gone from tiny sprouts dotting the brown soil to a landscape of tender green plants, with colorful patches of spring flowers. The trees are a froth of tiny leaves, which will soon provide a soothing canopy of shade.

I feel closest to God in my garden. This miracle of rebirth each April is a tremendous reassurance of our own immortality. There are numerous lessons to be learned in the garden. Patience was never one of my virtues. However, years of tending tiny new perennials and waiting for them to reach maturity -- holding my breath each spring to see if the purple lilac bush will finally flower, or if the roses will cover the new fence with profuse blooms -- have demanded a patience that now serves me well. There are also lessons of loss. Gardens evolve over time -- a sunny plot becomes shaded by growing trees. Much-loved plants die off, and are often replaced with new surprises carried into the garden on gentle breezes, or by our feathered friends. Yesterday I discovered three rosebushes along the fence that didn't make it through our long winter. I had planted several roses there three years ago, fed them, watered them, pruned them, loved them -- and now these three are gone. Today I will transplant some from another area which has become too shady. But, it will be sad to pull the withered brown stems from the earth -- their lushness now only a memory.

Our gardens are continually at the mercy of the forces of nature. A lovely summer day can suddenly erupt into a hailstorm which destroys acres of crops. A gust of wind can topple the tallest tree, and the landscape is forever altered. A gentle summer rain can nourish a drought-parched garden and save its precious bounty for the season.

The lessons of a garden are often hard-earned, but they are a metaphor of life. We gardeners quickly become aware of how little control we have over our own destiny. Our lives are in God's hands as surely as the flowers in the garden. We are free to dream our dreams and make our choices, and yet God's plan for us is often very different, and our lives can sometimes abruptly take an unwelcome path. We must have faith that we will survive the losses, disappointments and darkness in our lives and know that ultimately the sun will shine on us again and our hearts will lighten. After the cold dark winter, God blesses us with sunshine, flowers, gentle spring breezes and the sweet songs of the birds. There is always hope in the garden.

Happy Birthday Kristin Jennifer

My first baby was born thirty-five years ago today -- she never breathed her first gulp of air or emptied her lungs with a gusty cry. She was stillborn two months early. In those days, there were no ultrasounds to warn us that something was terribly wrong. By the time we realized there were serious issues, I had already begun my labor, and she was born quickly in the middle of the night. I was given anesthesia, and never allowed to see her or hold her -- in those days they didn't know how much a mother needed those final moments to touch and love the baby she had carried in her body and heart for all those months.

From the perspective of years and wisdom, I realize that with the severe mental and physical disabilities she had, it was probably a blessing that she didn't live. The doctor told me she was "imcompatible with life", and I have assured myself over the years that she is better off with God. On her birthday, though, I can't help but mourn what she could have been -- wondering what color her hair was, and her eyes, and thinking that if she had been healthy, she would probably have been a mother herself by now.

I will close with deep love, and wishes for a wonderful birthday in Heaven today, and with a poem that has touched my heart and perfectly describes the anguish of all mothers who hold these precious lost babies in our hearts forever.

The Lost Children

the ones we never speak of --
miscarried, unborn,
removed by decree,
taken too soon, crossed over.
They slip red mittens in our hands,
smell of warm wet wool,
are always out of sight.
We glimpse them on escalators,
over the shoulders of dark-haired women,
they return to us in dreams.
We hold them, as they evanesce;
we never speak their names.
How many children do you have?
Two, we answer, thinking three,
or three, we answer, thinking four;
they are always with us.
The lost children
come to us
at night
and whisper
in the shells
of our ears.
They are waving goodbye
on schoolbuses,
they are separated from us
in stadiums,
they are lost in shopping malls
with unspeakable pools,
they disappear on beaches,
they shine at night in the stars.

By Barbara Crooker, from Motherhood: Journey Into Love