My Big Sister - So Much Like Mother.

I feel as though I'm walking through darkness, and yet, every step is all too familiar.
I want to go someplace where it's safe to scream at the top of my lungs, as if when my voice is finally silenced it will all be better - just a bad dream.
I want to know why. How is this God's plan?
I told her tonight that I wish I could shoulder at least half of her pain and discomfort, and she thanked me and we cried together.
I meant it.
I want the earth to stop revolving and let us get off for a while; let us have some quiet time together without any talk about collapsing health, or mean and uncaring assistants at doctors offices, or the inadequacies of the so-called advantage healthcare plans, or side effects of medications ...
I know we can't hide from her fate, but I want to.
I want to hold on to my big sister and squeeze her. Of the four siblings, she's not the strongest.
I want to protect her.
I need her.
I want her to know how much I love her. I've told her over and over for many years, but I want her to really know what her life has meant to mine.
I want her to know that I feel as though someone has sucked out everything I have - my guts, my heart, my oxygen, my faith, my whole being.
Again.
That's how much I love my big sister.
I want her to know what a beautiful human being she is.
She is selfless. No one else I know is as concerned more with the needs of others than my big sister.
She doesn't deserve this - not at all.
God's plan?
I want to relive the night she flew in from Illinois to Miami to visit with Mom, Dad, my younger sister and me. I was about seven or eight years old and Mom knew how excited I was to have my big sister coming for a visit. So, she woke me in the middle of the night so I could give her hugs and kisses.
I want to thank her for buying me my first pair of pantyhose and teaching me how to put them on. Unfortunately, she had to buy four more pairs, because I kept putting my thumb through them.
I want to play racquet ball with her one more time, and tease her for getting so sweaty.
I want to go to a parade with her so we can hide our tears together behind our sunglasses as the American flag passes.
I want her to know how appreciative I am for her giving me a home when I needed one. She and her husband and four children shared their three-bedroom apartment with me when I needed a place to live.
I want her to know what a good Auntie and babysitter she was to my son. To this day, he enjoys being with her.
I want to look at old photos with her, talking and laughing about those times; the big holiday celebrations where we'd spend hours at the dining room table.
I love laughing with her. Everything we've ever done together has been filled with high octane laughter.
I cherish those memories.
I want her to cook one more Thanksgiving dinner, so we can chuckle together about her lack of culinary expertise.
I want her to know that she's the only person I've ever shared so many secrets with, and I know they are safe.
I wish I knew more about the man she gave her heart to years after her husband passed away.
I love talking to her everyday on my way to work and on my way home. I already miss those conversations.
Together we bitch about our jobs.
I concede - hers is far worse.
I'm hoping she's not fearful, but how can she not be?
I don't want to be angry, but I am.
My big sister lies in bed at night, while the world is asleep, including the physicians that failed her. She knows there is nothing that can be done for her. Cancer is killing her, yet it's not taking her soon enough.
I am angry.
Forget about that eclipse trip we had planned together; her one and only "bucket list" item she's ever asked for in her entire life.
She wanted so little. So much like Mother.

Her Knight in Shining Armor

Daddy and Mom had been married for more than 63-years when he passed away from complications caused by Alzheimer's disease. He was 24 and she was exactly one-month away from her 19th birthday when they married on July 11, 1937 - only days after his brother's funeral.

In fact, it's that funeral that brought on the sudden marriage. Daddy was working in New Mexico and Mother had just finished high school when my dad's brother passed away and he needed to make the trip back home for the funeral.

As they say, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," so they took advantage of the timing of the unfortunate situation and married. No pomp and circumstance, no wedding dress, no honeymoon.

Only days later Daddy returned to New Mexico, but this time with his beaming bride in his arms.

How romantic!

Mom's Knight in Shining Armor!

At some point in all our lives, haven't we wished someone would come and whisk us away? Our own knight in shining armor, so to speak?

It's funny, when I think about my dad, I don't really see him as a romantic; I see him as a hard-working, no-frills, get-down-to-business kind of guy. Yet, when I actually dissect those memories, I truly see a man who wanted the best for his family, who loved his wife with great passion, who worked hard to provide the best he could for that wife, and who wanted nothing more than her love and appreciation in return.

I see a man whom, upon returning home from work each day, would go straight to the kitchen where he knew he would find Mom making dinner and he would "sneak" up behind her, put his arms around her waist, and kiss her on the cheek. I can still hear Mom say, "Oh, Gail!"

Despite their hard times, as faced by any marriage, I still today see their's as a love story of great proportion.

For their 55th anniversary, I made this wreath as a kind of symbol of their commitment to each other and to their family. Through thick and thin, they had remained together. That's not easy - in any marriage!

Mother would hang it on their front door during the month of July.
After Daddy passed and she then lived with us, she'd hang it on her bedroom door.

Today, in keeping with  Mom's tradition, I also hang it from what used to be her bedroom door during the month of July.
Next Tuesday, July 11, my parents would have celebrated their 80th anniversary.

Happy anniversary, Daddy and Mom!
Thank you for your commitment to each other and to your family, for making my life as comfortable as possible, for loving me and making it so easy for me to love back.

It's true - absence does make the heart grow fonder.

I love and miss you, both.

Lost

I know that the space between now and then allows for some semblance of healing.
I know that tomorrow and the next day and the day after that will likely be a tiny bit better than today.
I also know that  no amount of time heals the wound; the scar left behind by the agony.

I am in more pain tonight than I have ever felt in my life.
I thought losing my father was one of the hardest things I would ever have to face ...
Until the loss of my mother, which I just have no words for.
Then came today.

I never expected it.
I wasn't prepared for it.
And I can't do anything at all about it.

I hurt.
My heart actually bleeds.
I cry for my son, his wife, my husband and myself.
My son.

You can be the most self-centered, self-absorbed person in the world, and parenthood will likely change that in a flash. You are the reason for your child's existence, but your child, instantly upon his birth, becomes the reason for yours.

When shit happens, why do people feel the need to say, "Well, I know it's hard to see right now, but God has a plan"?

What kind of God plans this kind of tragedy? What kind of God allows for this kind of pain? What kind of God would let this happen to my daughter-in-law? What kind of God would let this happen to my son? My son?

I don't go to church, but why does that single action determine whether or not someone is a "good Christian?"
I am a good person.
My son is an even better person with incredibly strong work ethics.

I no longer have any faith. Today I was stripped of any hope.
To deny me is one thing, but to deny my son is another.

Fuck you!
He deserves way better and so does she.

The Joy of Living

It's been a while since I journaled on this blog, but today I was captured by two books, causing me to take pause and temporarily let go of the "overwhelmingness" that has become my life. Although I'm not an avid reader, I have made a pledge to myself to read both of these books.

The first book was gifted to me by a friend. The title is "Strangers Tend to Tell me Things - A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Coming Home" by Amy Dickinson. She is the voice behind the popular advice column, "Ask Amy." Part of her book is about the caring of her mother at the end of her life. Although I haven't yet read it, the book appears to contain stories about her own way of handling love, the loss of a loved one, and grief - as well as many humorous stories about menopause, blind dating, and stepping in to her own middle ages.

Taped to the outside cover of the book is a note from Ms. Dickinson and from my friend that reads:
"Grief isn't something that can be hurried. You can't move through it faster than it moves through you." -- Amy Dickinson
"Sydney, I thought of you at least a dozen times while reading this. I hope you'll enjoy it, too, especially the sections about mothers and daughters." -- Love, Wendy

The second book is one that actually came out today entitled "Option B" by Sheryl Sandberg. She's been on the talk show circuit these past few days, and I watched her interview on two of the morning shows.

The last chapter of her book is about how she learned to find joy after the sudden death of her husband. In that chapter she speaks about a self-imposed challenge to -- at the end of each day -- remember three things that brought her joy.

After hearing that, I decided that I must do the same thing.

This morning I was looking back at one of my earliest posts on this blog. I wrote it on a day when I recognized that the passing of my mother had put me in a vacuum and had even slowed my ability to respond and react. I wanted to share that post with a friend who just last week lost her wife (which I did), but as I re-read the post, I realized that I've not actually moved from that place of stagnation myself.

Of course, there are many things that fill my heart with joy and love, and there are many people in my life that comfort and feed me. I know I am blessed. But I am also extremely busy, and I now find that I have become overpowered by that business - the distress factors in my work life - which spill over into my personal life.

So when I heard Sheryl Sandberg speak about her challenge, I decided that beginning tonight and every night going forward, I will also find three things that have brought me joy during that day.

Tonight I will begin with a few things that I will consider a given from this point forward -- the fact that I awoke this morning, that I am married to one of the greatest guys on this earth, and that - together with my husband - we laid the perfect foundation for our son who is a wonderful, hard-working and ethical man today. I will never take those three things for granted, but for the purposes of this challenge, I also will not include them in my daily list.

So, what three things brought me joy today?

1. First thing this morning I saw a post on Facebook that announced a new hair dresser would be working at my daughter's salon, which means that her new business is really doing well. For those of you who don't already know, at the age of 17, I gave my baby daughter up for adoption, so she is was not raised by me. Years back we were united and I'm ecstatically happy for her. I love her so much. Joy!

2. A friend called me tonight to check in and see how I was doing after the loss of our mutual friend this past week. Between that and her husband's 55th high school reunion, she felt as though she was definitely facing her own mortality, but we ended up sharing jokes, laughter and fun. Joy!

3. There is a phenom here where people are painting rocks and hiding them for others to find. Tonight on my walk along the trails in the back of our community, I found two and one is painted to look like a pink ladybug. Joy!

Those are my three I choose to write about tonight. I'm sure there were other moments of joyousness, but those are the three that seem to stand out. I'll continue to find joy in what others may see as mundane, small things, and I will smile at those moments in a friendship that might otherwise pass by unnoticed.

Joy - the ability to appreciate the gift of life in a way I never did before.

And now on to conquer those books!

I MAY NOT BE MY BROTHER'S KEEPER, BUT I AM MY BROTHER'S BROTHER

"A brother is a friend given by Nature."

I saw this quote today and thought of my own brother, of course. Although we are 10-years apart in age, and we really didn't share childhood times with each other, we did grow into adulthood together. I love my brother and I love our friendship and that we share the constant "I would do anything within my power for you" mantra.

But, as my husband braces for the call we all dread, I'm also thinking about his brother and their relationship.

There's also a bit of an age difference between my husband and his brother - about seven-years. Much like myself, by the time my husband was old enough to begin to appreciate that he had one, his brother was about to graduate from high school. So, their defining childhood years were not really spent together as kids -- boys being boys.

My husband's brother has always been more serious than my husband; never seeming to let go and let loose. We often tease him about it. It seems as though the older he has gotten, the more ridged he has become. He's never said this to us, but I've always felt as though he wished he could be a little more like my husband and me -- a little more off-the-cuff, flexible, able to let go of his fears and just have fun.

That being said, one of my first memories of my husband's brother happened while my husband and I were engaged and his brother's job required a bit of traveling. He would allow us to "use" his apartment while he was away. ha ha ha

They don't have a lot in common, but they share a mutual respect for their ancestry, their way of life as children, and for their parents.

He's not really been an obvious driving force in my husband's life, but he is a symbolic force.

This is his Big Brother, and he is very ill - not expected to recover.

If you follow me on Facebook, you know that I'm praying for a miracle - in fact, I'm expecting one. (Pish-tosh to the doctor's expectations)

But the situation is bringing many thoughts that we've never really talked about to the forefront.  My husband has asked and said:

"Did I do enough to see to his well-being?"

"Did I stay close enough to him?"

"Could I have done more?"

"I really feel for his son."

"If things go as we're being told, I'll be the patriarch of the family!"

"Do I know all the stories about him that I should know?"

"Wow, am I old!"

"I wish I had more say in his care."

Since learning about his brother's illness, my husband has, at times, been wrought with guilt, sadness, and regret - both for the closeness they had and for what they didn't have. Of  course, we all know that's normal, but what I think makes this more difficult is the realization that they have had even fewer common experiences as adults then they did as children.

It seems to me the possible loss of a sibling is kind of neglected in our adult life. What I mean by that is we know that our grandparents and parents won't be with us on this earth forever. (Even though I'll admit that thought never entered my own head.)  But we don't ever talk about the possibility of losing a sibling.

I've read that there is a sort of social expectation that the death of a brother or sister in adulthood will have very little disruptive effect on us -- almost like there's a failure to appreciate the significance of siblings in adult life.

Well, that's just rubbish!

My husband and his brother may not share a lot of experiences, but they do share the bond that only a big and little brother can fully understand.

I can't imagine not having my brother and sisters to talk to, to play with, to reminisce with, to poke fun at, to disagree with, to learn from.

Just as important to me is my husband's relationship with his brother, because what my husband feels and goes through - I, too, feel and go through with him.

My thoughts tonight are with my brother-in-law and while I want nothing but comfort for him, I'm praying for a miracle!

I'm praying for my husband as he makes this journey.

I'm praying for my own siblings, and may they continue to be a strong force in my life.

I will always be your baby-girl, and you will always be my Daddy.

15-years ago, almost to this very minute, I lost my daddy. After a long, arduous and losing battle with Alzheimer's disease, what I consider to be the most horrible of all diseases, he succumbed to its tangles. 

Strong.

Hard working.

Good-natured.

These are the words I first think of when remembering my father. Even though I have two sisters and one brother, I was daddy’s little girl and I knew it. I had him wrapped around my little stubby fingers. Of course, my younger sister had him wrapped around her finger, too, but I ignored that. ha ha. He never, ever admitted that I could possibly be his favorite - up until his final days when I tried to trick him into saying he loved me best - he said, "I love you, too. I love all my children."


Daddy was born on Oct. 20, 1912 and I was born on Oct. 19. He always said that I was his birthday present, and I always thought that made me special.

My dad wasn’t given any breaks in his life. He was a hard-working man, making the best living he could in order to give his family a comfortable life. From working in the mines in New Mexico, to the ship yards in Indiana during World War II, to delivering gasoline to filling stations in Southern Illinois, to supervising several stations in South Florida, Daddy worked hard all his life. And never one to rest on his laurels, he continued to work long into his retirement years – repairing lawn mowers, pumping gas, mowing lawns, bagging groceries and making deliveries for local businesses.

The best legacy he could have left us is the legacy of integrity and strength. For me, he did that by instilling that sense of pride I get when doing the right thing; speaking up against injustice; speaking for those who cannot speak for themselves; doing everything in my power to make things right.
My dad wasn't a community advocate, but he understood the important role one plays when helping those who can't help themselves. I made him proud, which still today gives me great pride.

A day doesn’t pass without a thought of my dad. I look to him for strength, I look to him for pride, I look to him for a sense of humor, but mostly I look to him for love. In the same way I thought of my mother, I never imagined life without Daddy.


In looking back – my family realizes that my father showed signs of Alzheimer’s disease a good 10-15 years before he passed away. But relatives called it hardening of the arteries back then.


My father was a proud man – unable to accept that anything was wrong with him. So, eventually when things became too difficult for my mother to care for him, we made the family-decision to place my father in nursing home care. 


Not too long ago, I read with interest a story about whether or not jokes or funny stories about Alzheimer’s disease were in bad taste or were they funny. The response was overwhelming. 92% of those polled said that they were necessary in order to keep sanity, while caring for a family member stricken with Alzheimer’s disease.


My dad had a fabulous sense of humor – teasing and playing tricks on friends and family all the time, so I will share one story that might be considered humorous. 


While in nursing home care, my father kind of deemed himself the leader. Whenever the residents from his wing were gathered to be taken to the main dining hall for afternoon entertainment, it was my father who lined everyone up before and after the show.


One afternoon following the presentation, my father lined everyone up for their return to their wing and asked, “Are we all here?” To which the woman at the end of the line responded, “Well, we’re all here, but I don’t think we’re all there!”


My take-away from that statement that afternoon is that those stricken with Alzheimer’s disease know something is wrong, but they are trapped inside their thoughts without a way to express them.


Only research can learn the truth and only research can find a cure.
I believe we are closing in on answers that could affect those of us that are next in line.
I believe there is an end in sight and it will enable our children and grandchildren to live in a world free of this mind-stealing disease.


And the next time someone says, “You’ll always have your memories,” it will actually be true.


Growing up, I never had my own birthday party, because we’d celebrate my birthday and my dad’s at the same time. As a child, I’d often wish I didn’t have to share the “spotlight.” I just wanted my own party with my own friends. Today, I’d give anything to be able to share it with him, again.

In memory of Maurice Gail Jackson - son, husband, father, grandfather and friend

Where is Everyone? Peace Amid the Chaos.

I know I've written about tonight's topic in the past, but it's at the top of my mind, so I thought I'd sit down and journal it. Since Mother passed and I don't have her to bounce things off of, putting my thoughts to "paper" always helps me sort things out. The problem is I don't know where to begin.

Do I open with how much I miss our family holiday gatherings? Or do I start with how much I add to my plate year after year?

Everyone, meaning my sisters and their children and me and my family, always went to Mom and Dad's for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Occasionally Mother would bow to pressure and we'd have the holiday celebration either at my older sister's house or at mine. But no matter where we were, it was fun and we were together. The family is disconnected now. Miles, past arguments, and hurt feelings separate us. However, regardless of what it is that keeps us from being able to come together for the holidays, never more than this time of year do I long for "the old days." Obviously, my parents were the glue that binds, so to speak.

Beginning with the week before Thanksgiving through New Year's Day, I fill all of my time with baking, event planning, going to parties, crafting, attending fundraising events, fulfilling other's dreams, etc. I will do anything to keep from thinking about those "good old days." Anything other than accepting that life brings with it many changes.

Maybe an outsider could have told me this before my own epiphany tonight, but I've realized that the likely reason my calendar, head and heart are so full this time of year is because I'm trying to make up for what's missing -- my parents, my siblings, their children and grandchildren, etc.

Just last weekend, I hosted a dinner party on Friday night, Saturday morning I helped wrap Christmas presents for a local children's agency, Saturday night I went to dinner and the annual Christmas Boat Parade, Sunday morning I helped set up for the annual Toy Run and helped sell event pins to more than 500 bikers, and on Sunday night I went to our office holiday party. In between, I baked cookies for the two cookie exchange parties being held this week. Today I put together our office cookie and gift exchange, and tonight I finished up baking my eighth cookie recipe. While they were baking, I was wrapping gifts for the seniors being served by the Council on Aging. Thursday night I will host our monthly craft night with 18 of us attending. I'll have dinner, two crafts ready to go, gifts for everyone and other fun stuff. Saturday is my husband's civic club's holiday party, and Sunday it's off to Orlando for a late brunch with my younger sister.

In my quest to fill the gap with pleasing others, I've missed some special quiet times with my husband -- something of which I should have been acutely aware, but instead was totally oblivious to.

It's while the cookies were baking and I was wrapping the blankets and jewelry for the senior citizens tonight that I had my mini-breakdown, crying to my husband and saying that I just want the world to stop and let me get off. "Pick me up later," I said. "Much later."

I spread myself so thin that I don't sleep, I don't eat properly, I don't get any exercise, and I don't really care about much of anything; all for the sake of sanity? I don't think so. I think it's actually weighing very heavy on me and taking a toll.

We shared in a wonderful Thanksgiving this year, traveling with our son and his wife to Virginia to spend time with my husband's sister and her family. For me, there's just nothing better than being with our son and daughter-in-law. But there I go again, expecting other's to feel the same way I do, expecting them to place the same importance in being with me that I have placed in being with them.

Life doesn't work that way. Along with still mourning the loss of my mother, I also mourn the loss of what I always considered to be what the holidays were all about -- family togetherness.

I have to find another way to cope with the losses I've encountered as life throws her punches (some of which I will never mention in this journal). I can't continue to spread myself this thin and continue to "be there" for everyone else; ignoring what's really going on inside of me. I have to find balance.

It's too late for this year, but I hope that by this time next year, I've mastered the art of saying no to a few others and the art of saying yes to my husband.  Perhaps I can find peace amid the chaos.

I love and miss you Mom and Dad. Merry Christmas!

A Charmed Life

I've lived what I consider to be a charmed life.
Rich? Absolutely not, but financially secure.
Growing up and still today, we were and remain so very blessed not to have ever worried about where our next meal would come from, where we would sleep, and most important to me - who would share their love with me and help protect me when I'm in need.

In fact, my earliest memory is of someone I love protecting me.
I wasn't even three, yet, when I was walking up the sidewalk of what I remember to be my grandmother's house (but it may have actually been my aunt's), when she came running out with a rolled up newspaper and just as I heard the screen door slam behind her, she smacked me over the head with the paper.

That's all I remember, and, like me, I'm sure you're thinking, "How is that loving, kind and protective?" 

Later in life, I shared that memory with my mom, who couldn't believe I actually remembered that incident. Mom said, "Sydney Lea!," and I thought I was in trouble for bringing up some kind of story that had become taboo. But after she stopped laughing, Mom told me that my grandmother wasn't smacking me, she was striking a bee that had landed on my head. She had been standing at the door, watching me waddle my way up the sidewalk and saw the bee land on my head. 

My grandmother passed away only a few months later, on my third birthday - as she and I were having a pretend tea party with my new plastic toy tea set. I'm so glad I told my mom about the memory and she cleared things up for me, because my only two memories of this hard-working, single-mother of seven are those two - her hitting me on the head and her passing.

My mother's entire life was dedicated to her family - serving and protecting. She once said to me, "You should have big dreams, but know how to be happy with the simple things, too."
Those simple things included laying on a blanket in the front yard and looking at the clouds as my younger sister and I told her what we saw, building a tent under a folding table and sipping Kool-Aid, naps on the cool terrazzo floor, and coming home from school to find Mother belting out church hymns while ironing.

What brought me to this place today? Writing this particular post?
My memory was jogged last night as I heard the jingle of someone's charm bracelet.

Mom's life of love is reflected in her charm bracelet; among them, a charm for every child and grandchild, a charm showing her faith in Christ, and a family tree. Each charm is a not-so-secret key that unlocks a part of my mother's dreams for each of us. While the charms are simple, their symbolism is grand.

Mother gifted me my charm bracelet when I was 13, and one of the first charms she gave me was of a sewing machine, to help instill a love of sewing. Mom used to talk of how her mother made clothes from gunny sacks. For my sixteenth birthday she gave me a charm of hands folded, telling me that God answers prayer. When I got married, she gave me a charm of our wedding invitation in miniature and then did the same with our son's birth certificate when he was born. Like Mom, the story of what's most important to me still today can be told through the simple charms on a bracelet.

I've accomplished many of the big dreams my mother had for me, including (the best) being a mother, myself. My hope is that I've also passed on to my son an appreciation for the simple things in life; that the jingle of someone's jewelry reminds him of my own charm bracelet of memories from simpler times.


Everyday I love and miss you, Mom -- Thank you for instilling in me an appreciation for the simple things.

Who Do You Go To To Make Things Better?

I used to talk to my mom about everything.
I've never relied on my husband for that type of relationship; only Mom.
I didn't recognize it until she was gone, but she was definitely my BFF - long before that became trendy to say.
I miss her every day, but most of all when I need her to fix things. Moms always fix things, right?
I'm having one of those Alexander's Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day months.
I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin, with an incredibly distressful job, pressures that I can't openly discuss, thyroid levels out of whack, realizing my son doesn't need me anymore, and losing friends whom I thought were lasting - it's beginning to be more than I can bear. I find myself crying all the time.
Mom always made me see things a little more clearly; making me stop and think. Period.
And she always put a different twist to whatever it was I was talking to her about.
I wish I could put my finger on what it was that she was able to do, then I'd be handling this heavy load, instead of whining about it.
Truth is, I've made a decision about something and that decision is definitely going to affect my  reputation, which is something I've taken great pride in for many years. I know there are people who will not stand with me.
Then comes the other voice in my head telling me that I'm a whiny bitch and that so many other people out there have it much worse. "Buck UP!"
Well, screw that -- I need my mommy!! Right now!!

Grief and the Burden of Guilt

Four-years ago tonight, I gave Hospice permission to relieve my mother's pain.
That is guilt I live with every single day.

Mother had severe coronary artery spasms, so severe that nitroglycerin was not effective. The heart muscle would basically cramp; twisting and turning - causing extreme pain. In the early weeks of these episodes, the spasms came every couple of days, and nitroglycerin would alleviate the pain. Then they began coming daily, then several times a day.  In her finals days, the spasms were nearly hourly. And although my mother was the strongest woman I've known, the pain was too much for her to bear. In all honesty, it was unbearable thing for me and my siblings to watch her go through, as well.

Mom knew she had Hospice nurses caring for her. She also knew she had the last word. Absolutely nothing would be done without her permission. She even explained her fear of becoming addicted to morphine to the doctor. Mother was in charge.

So, you'd think that would be enough to aid in the decision-making process.

Well, I can tell you that - for me - it didn't help.

That night four-years ago, Mom had been very restless for several hours. I sat in the rocking chair next to her bed, holding her hand. She'd sleep for a little while, then wake up in pain. She tried to cope with it, but after several hours, and late into the night, she cried out, "Sydney, please do something. Sydney, please!" over and over. I held her hand, crying - hoping she would change her mind. But she didn't. She began crying and repeated, "Sydney, please."

I turned to the nurse and asked her to take away my mother's pain.

All of the people in the world can tell me that I did the 'right thing,' but it won't take away the guilt I feel. I don't know what will take that pain away for me -- perhaps nothing ever will.

I try to keep in mind that guilt is a normal emotion that goes hand-in-hand with grief.
I also try to always remember that guilt is also an indicator of a person who is loving, caring and compassionate - otherwise why would it bother me so much that I was unable to keep mom out of pain?
I try to remember that if it had not been that night, it would have been another. I was so focused on Mother's crisis, that I didn't see how close to the end she was. And although I was sitting right there next to her, I didn't see it coming.
I try to keep in mind that despite the hole left in my heart and the hearts of my entire family, my mother's end time is not how her life should be defined.

But, of course, I wish I could talk to her one more time to tell her how much I love her, what an honor it was to have her live with us for so many years, and what a wonderful mother and friend she was to me. Face-to-face.

Guilt is a burden.
Caring for Mother was not!

I  know I've included this photo in several posts, but one more time won't hurt a thing. This is our last photo taken together, only two weeks before she passed.

I love and miss you, mom.

From Wedding Afghan to Baby Blanket, With Love From Gramma

My mother was so talented, although she never thought so. She would always find fault with the things she made or knitted; sometimes to the point that I would find it so frustrating. Her knitting was beyond compare -- simply beautiful. She even won a blue ribbon at our local county fair one year for one of her afghans and for a sweater she had knitted.

Only weeks before my niece's bridal shower in July of 2012, Mom finished knitting a beautiful afghan that she was so proud of and couldn't wait for her granddaughter to see. Most of our family has afghans knitted by Mom; it was her traditional wedding gift.

How gorgeous is this?

And my niece was so excited to receive this beautiful gift made from the heart.

It's so wonderful to have family members who understand the importance of heirlooms.

The timing of the rest of this story is what's important, and it's a difficult story for me to tell, but wonderful things have happened and now it's time to talk about it.

About a week after the bridal shower, which was held in mid-July, Mother asked me to take her shopping for some yarn. We spent the afternoon in and out of craft stores, had lunch together, and just had a good time - as we normally did on Saturdays. Before beginning to knit the bridal shower afghan to give to my niece, she had knitted a baby blanket, booties and a cap and then packed them away to be given to a very special couple whom she hoped would have children in the near future. Then came the bridal afghan, and now she wanted to knit another baby blanket- this one for my niece, her granddaughter.

I asked Mother, "Why now?" My niece wouldn't be marrying her love for another seven-weeks, "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I just am," she responded.

So, she decided upon a pattern and some yarn, and we headed home where she immediately began knitting.

Mother had lived with us since my father passed away. For most of those years, I usually came home from work to dinner on the table and a very clean house. She made my life so easy that my husband and I often just couldn't thank her enough. She always joked about 'earning her keep,' but we both knew she wasn't really joking; she felt a desire and obligation to carry her own weight.

After her illness in 2010, she slowed down and was no longer able to stand in the kitchen for any length of time, or to clean up the house, or do any laundry. She hated it, mentioning more than once that she felt as though she had become a burden to us. Needless to say, she was never, ever that, but those were her feelings.

In the coming weeks, I would come home from work and Mom would be in her recliner, sound asleep and her knitting in her lap. I would gently wake her to let her know I was home and she would look down and say, "I don't think I'm going to finish this in time."

I didn't get it. I didn't understand what her hurry was. I wish I knew then what I know now. For now I realize she knew her time on this earth was coming to an end. She knew and she wanted to get the baby blanket finished. She knew -- not me. The funny thing is, though, I didn't realize all of this until only a month ago.

Those are the weeks I wish I could have back. If I knew then what I know now, I would take a leave of absence from work and I would spend all of my time with her. We would laugh, we would love. I would learn more, I would write everything down, and I would hold on and never let go. I would make sure she knew how loved she was, how admired she was, how needed she was. I would take lots and lots of pictures. Absolutely nothing negative would be allowed in. An hour would not go by without me telling her how lucky I was that God gave me her as my mother.

She was tired and could only knit a few rows at a time before giving in to the fatigue. It took her much longer to complete the baby blanket than it had ever taken her to knit anything. But she did finish it; on Sept. 16.

Then on the morning of Sept. 17, she called me at work and asked me to come home, saying she was having chest pain and difficulty breathing. Without going into detail, Mother came home from the hospital emergency room that evening under Hospice care and passed away on Sept. 26 - three days before her granddaughter's wedding.

The finished baby blanket, which Mother folded and wrapped up in a white pillowcase, stayed on the top shelf of her closet - until this past July 9 - when my niece and her husband came to visit only two weeks before the birth of their firstborn. Two years to the date that Mother completed the bridal gift afghan, I was now presenting my niece with the baby blanket especially knitted just for them. It was so wonderful to see how ecstatic she was, how appreciative she was of having something knitted for her firstborn by her grandmother who had been gone for almost four years, and to see her eyes fill with tears of joy.

My niece and her love display the baby blanket knitted by "Grammy."

My great-nephew was born on July 20, and came home from the hospital wrapped up in the blanket his great-grandmother had knitted just for him; her final wish made to me.

Yesterday was my great-nephew's one-month birthday, and I went to Orlando to meet this little bundle of joy for the first time. It's been many years since there's been a birth in my immediate family. He's so tiny and fragile looking. I see my father in his face, and I also see baby boy's own  grandfather in his eyes, but most importantly I see love in his life.

Happy birthday, baby boy!

I'm going to have a lot of fun being your great-auntie.

I love you Mom and Daddy. I hope everyone still has their afghans and holds them in high regard.

Slàinte! - American Scottish Proud

On my mother’s side of the family – namely her father’s side – I am English, Irish and Scottish. I am a Steele.
On my father’s side of the family – namely his mother’s side – I am Scottish. I am a Buchanan.

My husband and I had the fortune to visit Scotland for a few days while on a whirlwind cruise of 12 days with 10 ports of call. I was able to learn a bit about the Buchanan name and what it means to be Scottish.

So…

The Scottish clans of the Highlands were gatherings of families, relatives, allies and neighbors for mutual protection against rivals or invaders. And there were plenty of invaders – Vikings, Romans, the English, etc. Who knew about the Romans? I didn’t until this trip. We even visited a wall built by the Romans in the year AD 142 with the intent of keeping the native Highland Scots out. To see the “wall” today, you can’t help but wonder whatever made them think a nine-foot wall with a five-foot ditch would keep anyone out; especially the big Scottish Highlanders. Visit http://www.antoninewall.org/ to learn more.

This is the Antonine Wall at Falkirk, just outside of South Queensferry.

See what I mean? How could this keep anyone out? I don't know, but it was 40-miles long!

Anyway, back to the clans. They were formed around tribal lands in the glens (valleys) and other areas. Scotland became divided into the Highlands, where they spoke Gaelic, and the Lowlands, where they spoke Scots and English. The Highland culture was very different, but highly respected for its rich story-telling, poetry, piping, and more.

The story of Clan Buchanan goes something like this:

“Clarinch,” the battle cry of the Buchanans, comes from the name of the small island in Loch Lomond, along whose eastern shore is where the clan’s lands originally clustered, which is about 60-miles northwest of Edinbrough. Although we were docked in South Queensferry, just outside of Edinbrough, we didn’t go to Loch Lomond – ‘though I do wish we had had the opportunity.

Buchanan, or The House of Canon, was first led by Absalom and then Morris Buchanan was named chief by the Earl of Lennox. The power and wealth of the Buchanans increased and soon their land included Stirlingshire. The Buchanans actively fought to make Scotland an independent country, siding with King Robert the Bruce. As one of Scotland’s most important nobles, Sir Alexander Buchanan traveled to France  in 1421 to lend support to the French in the Auld Alliance and the fight against the English. Sir Alexander killed the English Duke of Clarence.

Sounds like the Buchanans are some great people, doesn’t it?

Well, don’t get ahead of yourself, because the successor to Alexander was one Sir William Buchanan, who had a reputation of misconduct and lawlessness. So much so that he was beheaded in 1425, and at that point, all of the heirs lost all rights and became disinherited – losing their royal connections.

Such a shame, too, because they all had a great future in front of them. Luckily, though, there was only one bad fish and the family was able to continue to carry a very positive influence over their Stirlingshire territories – so much so that they earned the title of Kings of Kippen, a town at the Lake of Menteith just southeast of Loch Lomond. They even enjoyed a royal visit from King James V.

In the mid-16^th century, George Buchanan became an advisor to Mary, Queen of Scots, and later became tutor to her only son, James, the future King James VI. (You can visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Buchanan to read much more about the very interesting George.)

In 1682, the 22^nd laird of Buchanan died without heirs and the estates had to be sold to repay debts. The mansion house of Buchanan is now owned by their nemesis the Graham Dukes of Montrose.
From this point, the Buchanans began to spread their wings and relocated to other parts of the country and to other countries. James Buchanan, Sr., father of James Buchanan, the 15th president of the United States, emigrated from Donegal, Ireland after his family left Scotland.

So, what does all of this mean?

It means I found a tiny piece of me that I didn’t know much about. It means I belong to a country filled with pride; a country of natural beauty and geological interest; a country that is quite small in area yet diverse in its landscapes and lengthy in its coastline.

It means belonging to a nation that has been broken and injured in various ways throughout the centuries - divided between Highlanders and Lowlanders, and between political and religious factions (much like the US); deprived of many of its fittest and most enterprising people by the clearances of the 18th and 19th centuries when it was decided to “clean house” and destroy the Gaelic culture.

But it's the pride and compassion that got to me; that left a lasting impression. It's pride that goes far deeper than what you see in those supporting their country's soccer team; passion that goes hand-in-hand with satisfaction and happiness. That's what I saw in the people of Scotland. They know their history and they talk about it with complete knowledge, clarity and dignity. Do we? Here in America, do we  speak with confidence about our history? I don't. It's not because I'm ashamed or anything like that. I just don't talk about American history.

In this sense, part of being Scottish for me is that I am not only Scottish by heritage, but it also makes me a sort of citizen of the world – concerned for global justice and the good of humankind as a whole.  Being true to this aspect of Scottishness means renouncing narrow-mindedness and prejudice and embracing universality. But that's who I've always been.

And in loving my own country, the United States of America, and the particularities of its culture, I do not deny the value of others' countries and cultures, but rather affirm it, as I recognize that their countries are to them what the United States of America and now Scotland are to me.

Here's a short video of our sendoff from Invergordon, Scotland.

I love you Daddy and Mom. I know you were with me in spirit, but I sure wish you had been with me physically. My honey took me on the #tripofalifetime

Just Walk Beside Me and Be My Friend

My husband and I just spent a most incredible four days in Key West being pampered at a luxury resort, dining at its five-star restaurant, flying to an island that most others access through a 2 1/2-hour very rough boat ride, and enjoying pure and simple, much-needed down time.

Our morning view from our front porch.

We were with two people who afforded us this fabulous opportunity. But they aren't just people. They are two of the kindest and most generous friends I have. (As those of you who read my blog know, I never use names in my posts, and tonight's post will be no different.)

I am a very blessed woman to have the close friends I have.

I don't actually have a best friend. In fact, the last time I can say I had a best friend was in high school and then she shunned me because of my teen pregnancy. I just never had the inclination to have or work towards another best friend -- other than my husband.

Most of us have several circles of friends, right? Here's how I make up my circles:
My inner circle - those I consider to be the closest to me - are the ones I confide in, I trust with my inner most thoughts, I respect, I support and they show support in return (no matter what), we share loyalty, I have know them for a long time, and we have fun together. We have a lot in common, but we don't let our differences cloud up our friendship. We can be each other's shoulder, but we know when space should be allowed. We understand that tag line, "What happens in Vegas STAYS in Vegas."
My middle circle is where most of my friends live. It's made up of people with whom I enjoy spending time, We share some commonalities. I feel a certain level of trust, we laugh and have fun together, and they listen when I need to talk and vice verse.
My outer circle is primarily folks with whom I am getting to know. We haven't had that special opportunity to learn if they can really be trusted, but I enjoy hanging around with them and having fun. More than likely, we have several things in common.

I have an incredible inner circle of friends, yet they are all very different. Some are thin, some not so much. Some are educated, some are not. We are of varying backgrounds when it comes to how we were raised. We don't all agree on political or even religious views. Some have grandchildren and some don't. Some are retired and others are not, while some are financially set for life and others will work forever.

When it comes to my dear friends with whom my husband and I just shared an incredible weekend, what joins us together far outweighs what could divide us. While our political views are at opposite ends of the spectrum,  we each respect that living in this great nation gives us the freedom to agree to disagree. None of the four of us are religious, but we are - all four - very spiritual. We raised our children with love and the hope that their lives would be better than ours, but we wonder if we went too far in providing them with their every want - each in our own way. We are nowhere near each other on the financial ladder, but we all share a deep respect for each hard-earned dollar in our pockets. We've shared the responsibility of caring for our parents, and we've each had to let go of loved ones. We laugh about our differing opinions of what the definition of camping is, and we tease about the things we each consider to be fun activities.

This past weekend, I realized (again) that as life gets shorter, it becomes more and more important  to surround yourself with those you love, respect, trust and just simply enjoy being around. There's almost nothing more rewarding in life than close relationships, be it with a spouse, children, family members, or friends. One of the things that all of the most cherished and satisfying relationships have in common is memories. The four of us created new and lasting memories these past four days, and my husband and I are forever grateful.

I thought about you a lot this weekend while in the Keys, Daddy. I'm sure I even crossed some of your ocean paths. I love and miss you.

Entangled, trapped and saved

Since Mother's passing in 2012, I seem to prepare for the onslaught of emotions as Mother's Day approaches; missing her and wishing she could have made it to her 100th birthday -- as she often said she hoped to do.  (She looked forward to the recognition our local County Commission gives to centenarians. lol)

Mother lived with us for so long and she passed here at home, so I'm grateful to my son and his wife for understanding I prefer not to be home over Mother's Day weekend. This year, they planned a kayaking trip on the Weeki Wachee River on the west coast of Florida.

What an absolutely beautiful day with perfect weather, loving companionship and silly fun.

The current was so strong for most of the 5.5-mile trip that we barely had to paddle. And even though it was a busy day on the water, the experience was relaxing and serene -- until -- somehow I got caught up in a very fast current on my left and suddenly I was entangled in a tree and grapevine. Seriously snared, and with each passing moment it was as if the tree and it's grapevines were entrapping me like a boa grabs its prey. My son and husband made their way back to help me, as I floundered, sort of 'hanging' by my left arm as it was woven into the branches. What a mess! After a while, they were able to maneuver around and get me out of that jumbled weave of branches and grapevine. Thank goodness no photos!

Then it was on to the next adventure in kayaking. We came around a bend and people were jumping into the cold, spring-fed river from tree tops and other, lower platforms. We had to join the fun.

My son jumped in from the tree tops, but I played it safe and jumped from a much lower platform.

What fun!!  (If you look closely, you can see the guy in the kayak on the right laughing at this old lady, but I never saw him take the plunge. Just sayin'.)

I love spending time and being adventurous with my son and his wife. They bring out the energy in me and push me to do more. And, as I've said in previous posts, my daughter-in-law knows all the fun things to do. We're looking forward to more kayaking, and hopefully, some camping with them.

For those of you who have never gone through the loss of a beloved loved one; for those of you who have said to me that you think life just goes on; for those of you who didn't have the type of loving relationship I was blessed to enjoy; and for those of you who need validation as you journey through your own loss, know this: Simply put, missing Mother just sucks.

Just like being sucked in by the tree and its grapevines, it's entangling!
My guess is that if I had just relaxed, my arm would have probably slipped right out of the grip of the tree branches, and I wouldn't have the soreness, scratches and bruises I have today. 
Much like that, I find that when I am feeling the emptiness of that gaping hole left behind by the loss of my mother, if I - instead - allow the memories of our time together to flood through my mind, I then begin to feel happiness, contentment, loved, comforted, lifted, blessed, honored, inspired, hopeful, strong, brave, encouraged, empowered, purpose-driven -- I begin to feel like me, again.

When we returned home from our weekend away, I walked into what used to be Mother's bedroom and I immediately was hit with her scent. Whew! It caught me by surprise, but it was wonderful and just what I needed.

So, when you think of your mother, remember that she is constantly guiding you and sending you love when you need it the most. You will feel her hug, you will feel her heart and that is when you will feel brand new. And each and everyday you will realize that you have all of these feelings, because you were lucky enough to call her your mother.

Someone 'accused' me of staying in a state of mourning. To that I say:
Yes, I mourn my loss, but I also celebrate Mother's life, her influence, her strength, her steadfastness, and all things that made her who she was. I love her.

Mother's Day, 1965

Missing you, Mom.