Exhasution and Exhilaration

The past couple of days have been mostly exhausting...which is why no one has heard from me.

But exhilarating also in the sense of feeling confidence in the many varied segments of my life. God is good and doesn't put up with any you know what. So, it is exhilarating.

Wednesday was my dad's memorial service. It was a beautiful evening of sharing and stories. There were so many people there who told stories with laughter and tears. It was an evening to honor him and there were people from an amazing cross section of his life: students, neighbors, family, colleagues, fellow teachers and it was a packed room with standing room only. We said our final goodbyes by letting go of a collection of white balloons, which soared heavenward and caught the light of the late afternoon sky reflecting the brightness that was his heart and soul towards those he loved and trusted.

Then Howie and I came down to VA yesterday as he is competing in the Smith Mountain Lake Triathlon tomorrow, and then Sunday is his birthday. So my wireless is at Bojangles, (not Dunkin Donuts) where I must say, they have great sweet tea.

I was able to tuck away the nonsense of my life for the moment and just have a fabulous time with Howie. We watched the movie, "There's Something About Mary" (not to be watched with your kids) and howled. It was hilarious. It felt so good to laugh. I mean really, really laugh.

I also had a long catch up with Jean Ann Duckworth, The Extreme Diva herself for more details to launch the speaking Connie and I will be doing with the Diva Celebration, so it is great to have a plan moving forward with that. All I can say is it is going to be FUN!

May peace and truth prevail in your life. And remember, if you are facing a Goliath, trust as David did. And go for it.

Sadness About My Dad

I have had a couple of really sad days missing my dad.

I have been receiving some wonderful recollections about him, three which are really special since they are from family members who I haven't heard from in years. My dad had a first cousin Vivian, who I remember with tremendous joy. She lived in the DC area and my dad and she were always close.

Vivian had two kids, a son, Robert, and a daughter Susan. Susan is no longer living, but her two children, Marna and Ethan, who I still have old Christmas photos of are. And I received really special emails from all three of them (Now I am going to cry again...) Apparently my dad made quite an impression on them and influenced them all in the area of art. What a gift.

Well, Marna sent along some fabulous photos, one of my dad kicking up his heels in the air while dancing back in 1951. He loved to dance. It is a marvelous photo. When I can get it saved separately I will post it. I sent it along to the people planning his memorial service. It just captures him so well.

There are other issues relating to my dad that also bring me much sadness. The individuals managing my dad's website have not contacted the family for information related to a tribute to him, yet have written information that reads as if they are the family spokespeople.

There is information which is incorrect, including the date of my dad's death.
There will be a memorial service at FIT on the 29th of April, and a scholarship fund is being established in his memory.

There is more, but that is for another day.

Please be sure to share your love with those you love who are still living. It is so important.

Peace.

For people interested in remembering my dad with a charitable donation, there is a scholarship fund being set up at Fashion Institute of Technology.

Lotus Club Dinner for Ralph Rucci

I had another lovely evening at the Lotus Club this past Tuesday evening. There was a state dinner in honor of American fashion designer Ralph Rucci.

The following was written by the curator of a show of his work at Kent State University, a place where my dad had also been invited to lecture and draw in the recent past.

"Steadfastly, Ralph Rucci develops his techniques and pushes his own boundaries. He is an idealist who aims for perfection. With intellectual rigor and a boundless love of his craft, he has risen quietly in the ranks of designers who matter. Since the inception of his label, Chado, in 1994, he has drawn a sophisticated international clientele that was expanded in 2002 when he began presenting Haute Couture in Paris. As the world begins to pay attention, Ralph Rucci continues to follow the core principles behind Chado, a Japanese tea ceremony that involves life-long learning, respect, grace and tranquility.
Impervious to fads and to the increased theatricality of the couture world, Mr. Rucci's work mirrors his peaceful and introspective ways and draws inspiration from a wide range of sources. Creative construction is at the center of his design philosophy, but he also pays close attention to the properties of fabrics and to the ideas of the talented individuals who surround him. His roots run deep. He stands on the shoulders of great designers such as Balenciaga, Vionnet and Grès, as well as numerous creators and artists. Whether he draws from his own art work or that of Renaissance masters, he has the ability to synthesize and actualize his sources to create understated yet intricate and highly individualistic collections.
The quality of Ralph Rucci's work is exceptional in both his ready-to-wear and couture garments. His trademark meandering seams and gussets allow for better fit and ease of movement and, like most of the hand processes he and his staff develop, are a great source of pride. While Mr. Rucci is well-known and admired throughout the international fashion community for his impeccable garments, the Kent State University Museum exhibition represents the first major public display of his work. Join us and see what happens when technique, impeccable fit and quality unite with originality, clarity and joy. Look beyond the ordinary and experience the majestic, the serene, the subtle universe of Ralph Rucci."

Anne Bissonnette, Curator

My parent's neighbor, former Joffrey ballet dancer and international choreographer, Margo Sappington came with me and helped me appreciate a snippet of my father's world.

My other guest was a former student of my dad's, Inge Poslitur, who had come directly from an award ceremony in Albany. I know my dad would be so pleased at her accomplishments.

As the chairman of the Art Committee of the Lotus Club, Audrey Amdersky introduced Mr. Rucci, she paid a wonderful tribute to my dad. It was very moving, and I did cry. At the last Lotus Club event, my dad and I had planned to attend these functions together, which I would have so enjoyed.

I continue to meet his amazing friends. One couple, the Thompsons, were familiar in name to me. My mom and dad had been invited to attend a Christmas afternoon tea with them, which I am so thankful they opted out of to be able to join us in PA. I know my dad wanted to go since he had made the commitment, but I assured him they would understand his desire to join family for Christmas (which they did). It was another gift...to meet them and tell them how much my dad had wanted to join them and was honored by their invitation.

I look forward to stepping into my dad's world and getting to know and love him more.

Peace.

Honoring My Dad Continued...

I love that I am stepping into my dad's world. I hate that it is because of his death. Let there be a lesson in this. How much more meaningful would it have been to share the experiences of his life and world together? But then again, that was what the dinner at the Lotus Club was the end of January, and what so many of our experiences together were when I was a child.

I have complained over the years (now living comfortably in a small, rural town) that my childhood was so not what kids enjoy...play dates, activities (I remember begging to take ballet, a classmate from elementary school danced in The Nutcracker with American Ballet Theater every year, hardly your typical dance lesson scenario) and typical kid activities. Yet only now I am I truly recognizing and honoring the rich elements of my childhood and unique experiences that have helped the master potter shape me into a unique and beautiful piece.

Often, in telling of my upbringing my adult friends have only heard about the negatives...but there are so many positives, and as I have been sharing some of them, that albeit may have made me more adult-ish at a young age, people are truly surprised (with smiles) at what I share.

I grew up the daughter of an artist. As such I was raised in an environment where beauty and creative magnificence were noticed and honored. Travel was emphasized (my love of travel dates way back) and I have had the privilege of visiting art museums...and those became my playground. Museums and opera. Hardly typical haunts of kids, at least suburbia or country kids, but not all that unusual for city kids. Those experiences have enriched me in incredible ways.

At any rate, Friday night I was able to go to the show opening at The Society of Illustrators where I really did get to enter and honor my dad's world. The art was beautiful, the people self assured and creative. I even got compliments on how I was attired, and from a group of fashion aficionados, well, let's say it was an honor. (Chicos pink jacket to the rescue...).

And the evening with Matt is a memory I will cherish when we hit bumps in our relationship that are an inevitable part of mother-son interactions. After the opening, we walked uptown along Lexington Avenue and stopped at a restaurant where he had gone with Carolyn for her birthday to have some beyond fabulous Tiramisu. Imagine, I was just in a part of the world that specializes in this, and didn't have any, but now back stateside finally did. And it was delicious.

As was the evening. Delicious. Live your life in gourmet fashion.

Peace.

My Pink Hair...

For as difficult and sad as yesterday was, today was fun. Busy, but fun.
I had a hair appointment, and I know Crystal just loves to do my hair because I go in with a "whatever" attitude. I let her basically do whatever she wants, with very little guidance. Today I told her I didn't feel like being blond anymore and wanted her color, which is more of an auburn. But I also wanted pink, and I knew she had it. Carolyn recently had purple strands (they are real hair and clip in) put in, and I just loved it. My dad would have too. So I told Crystal I wanted pink.

Then, I have to admit I got a bit carried away. I knew Nicole had her eyes and heart set on the blue strands, and has actually tried to dye her hair blue numerous times, without much success. After all, what can you do with red hair? It just ends up looking like mud...so I asked if there were any appointments this afternoon for a trim and lo and behold there was one for 2:30 and I retrieved her from school.Poor thing. She thought the appointment I had scheduled for her was either for a shot or with the counselor. When I told her it was for a trim and a strand of blue hair you might have thought the kid won the equivalent of the lottery. Yes, perhaps I have lost my mind. I want to get a little diamond stud in my nose too. Of course Tianna is mortified and her friends think I'm pretty cool. But here's the thing; it's not about them, it's about finally being really true to the free spirit that I am. I embrace my creative, fun loving, encouraging, people oriented self and recognize that those are gifts I received from my dad. Did you know we have the same birthday? So rather than repress the desires and tendencies, I am allowing them to be expressed. And today it looked like pink hair. (Please go visit Extreme Diva Media...she is my hero!)

Later this spring sometime it will look like a diamond stud in my nose. It may look like not caring how many dust balls are wafting around my house and missing Tino's fur all over the place. It may look like issuing an unabashed challenge to either one of my sons in areas in which they struggle.

And it will always acknowledge that without my faith I would be deep in sinking sand.

Peace for your journey, may you express yourself in the way that God has created and gifted you.

Natasha Richardson

Another loss. Another grieving family. More questions. Why? How? How could someone be lucid and conscious and then sink into unresponsiveness and die? We asked those same questions...

As I read Natasha Richardson's story, too much of it rang true to me. I extend my heart to this family, who has the further complication of being celebrities, which means they will be nagged, followed and not able to grieve privately. At least my grief can come and go in waves and the only person writing about it is me, not the hound dog press...that is another one of those invasions that just seems, well, so wrong. And believe me, death invites vulchers.

Reading between the lines it sounds like she had the same kind of head injury as my dad; so pointless, so senseless, and a freak accident. But hers is even more freakish than my dad's...how can one fall on a beginner slope and get up and be fine and then be dead just a few days later? I can't tell you how many people have said to me, "But I just say your dad, spoke to him, laughed with him the day before (or any variation thereof up to about three weeks before)." Both people so talented and full of life, leaving family behind. Such loss, such tragedy.

Yet through it all light can still shine.

Continue to love and live passionately. These are choices. Let us choose the way of life.

God and Bedlington Terriers

This is one of my favorite grace note stories of the past two weeks.

My dad was an artist. A great one. His artwork is easily identified according to which decade of the 60's to the early 2000's he did it in. For many, many years he worked as a fashion illustrator, drawing the ads for stores like Lord and Taylor and Woodword and Lothrop (Woodies). In fact, as a kid, since his studio was in the apartment, I would model for him if he needed additional shots of what the merchandise looked like.

At any rate, when I was about ten he had an ad to to for Lord and Taylor in which he was to include Bedlington Terriers. Now these are pretty unusual dogs; they look almost like sheep in their faces especially. I had never seen one before, but became intrigued by them, and soon I was also drawing Bedlington Terriers. In fact, recently when I was going through our storage room (readers who have been with me a while saw those photos...yikes! soon to be what my garage looks like once again...)I found a drawing I had done at the same time, complete with Bedlington Terrier.

At any rate, my dad always wanted to make sure he portrayed things accurately and had researched the Bedlington Terrier, and had done such a good job that someone from the Westminster Dog Show contacted him lauding him on his wonderful rendition of Bedlingtons, which not only seemed to portray their appearance but also their temperament. Just a few weeks later my dad and I were guests at the Westminster Dog Show courtesy of the club to hang out with these dogs ourselves. It was great. I remember really being taken by the pooches and begging, as most ten year olds do anyway, to please, please have a dog. No go. But I did love the dogs, and they held a very special place in my heart, and a special bond that had formed between me and my dad. I haven't seen one since. As I said, they aren't exactly your garden variety mutt.

The day after my dad died, I had a number of details to attend to and places to go, so I walked. I walked cross town, past my elementary school, and down to walk by the building where my dad had fallen. I wanted, yet didn't want to see the stairs.

I arrived at the building, a brownstone on East 74th street, and God in His mercy and omniscience knew I wasn't ready to see those stairs quite yet. The doors were locked and the shades drawn, and I left after pausing briefly to sit on the outside steps.

I crossed the street and continued to walk when I noticed a man walking his dog. The distinctive look of the Bedlington Terrier made me catch my breath, and I asked the guy, even though he was talking on his cell phone, just to be sure. He nodded that indeed it was a Bedlington and I proceeded on my way, but not without bursting into tears.

I paused, wiping my eyes, and turned around to look at the man and the dog one more time, but they were nowhere in sight. But they had been there just at the moment I needed them. A grace note sent from above.

May your day be filled with grace as well.

Meeting Roman

My dad taught art at FIT (Fashion Institute of Technology). He taught there since 1985. That's a long time.

He spoke to me about his students a lot. One in particular. His name is Roman. But there were others, and I had the privilege to meet three others, Lisa, Jonathan, and Orlando while my dad was in the hospital. As a matter of fact, Jonathan called tonight; I must return his call tomorrow...

But I could tell Roman was special. My dad spoke of his talent, and the fact that he had grown to love him like a son. The son he never had, the brother I never had. But I told my dad he was better than a son because he is an artist, and artists share a special bond.

I wish we had met under other circumstances...but if I am totally honest, perhaps it wouldn't have been for quite some time, really, if ever, as we continued to lead busy lives.

Roman was one of the first people I called, and he stayed long hours, holding my dad's hand; his left hand; his drawing hand. Talking to him, sharing stories, particularly about recent escapades they had this past summer in Rome together.

My parents were in Rome and as it happened, Roman was on a month long trip with one of my dad's office mates, Sal Catalano who was leading a course in Florence. Roman took a couple of days away and hopped a train and joined my mom and dad in Rome, where he said he had a hard time keeping up with my dad. The twenty something kid lagging behind the guy about to turn 80. Full of life as he always was. He told me a particularly funny story about a visit with a Tailor in which my dad sketched him and presented him with it; a sketch of a tailor whose craft was no longer quite as appreciated as it once was. I know there were times my dad felt the same way about his work. I discovered the photos from that trip in the apartment, and Roman emailed me some as well.

While we were in the hospital, I asked Roman if he had any of my dad's original work. He said he didn't. I replied that would need to change. That is what my dad would want.

It is late and I have another long day tomorrow. My church family is bringing us meals, and the support continues to pour in.

The grace notes to follow will include stories of Bedlington Terriers, Live, Love, Poems, gifts of books, and an opportunity I had to share with one of the neurosurgery residents who has a thing or two to learn about compassion.

Walk slowly, walk softly, speak little, listen much and pray always. And be an ambassador of love and peace. Love always wins. Always.

What Happened...

It is hard to believe that my dad's fall happened almost two weeks ago.

I have invented a new word for the daze I am in...hog. I am in a hog. It is a cross between haze and fog. I am on a sort of auto pilot and have lost two weeks...get words all scrambled up, frequently stare out into space, have crying jags, and am just plain annoyed at some of the developments. Yet try to refocus on the present and love the people I am with.

But through this time there have been so many gifts. And I think of one of my very favorite Scriptures: "This is what God asks of you, only this...To act justly, to love tenderly, and to walk humbly with your God" (Micah 6:8). I usually think of this verse in connection with the poor or marginalized, but find myself contemplating it as it relates to the events of the past two weeks.

There is a huge justice issue at hand...and I have peace that truth will prevail. I have had the opportunity to love tenderly; my dad, my mom, my sons, and many of my dad's friends. And even those I don't know...and most of all God. I continue to love God.

And to walk humbly. I wish I could answer my mother when she asks "why?" But I can't. And I don't want to minimize her pain. But yet I see God's fingerprints everywhere.

OK. So first I will tell the story of what happened, as best I can tell, having had almost two weeks to piece it together. Then will come all the stories...

Thursday, February 12th my dad fell. I didn't get a phone call right away. The person helping with my dad's work was the person who finally reached me.

Apparently my dad had been at an art gallery on East 74th street off of Madison Avenue to discuss the possibility of a show at the Lotus Club, the club where we had such a wonderful evening just a couple of weeks ago...how grateful I am that I went. And the weather conspired against me, but that is a story for another day.

The gallery is in a beautiful old brownstone; a stately old building with steps up to a double glass front door. Apparently when my dad went to leave he glanced back over his shoulder to talk (that's where I get it from...) and lost his balance and fell. He wasn't able to right himself and took the brunt of the fall against his head. I saw the gallery assistant yesterday when I finally went to the building to look at the stairs...she can't shake the image of my dad tumbling. I can only imagine how awful that is. When Matt was about twelve, he almost got hit by a car in Mexico and that image stayed with me for a long time...

My dad didn't lose consciousness immediately; in fact when he arrived in the ER he was still lucid. There was a physician next door who knew what to do immediately while they called 911. My dad was taken to NY Presbytyrian Hospital (Cornell Medical School affiliate) where he identified himself and provided emergency contact information. Apparently they did reach my mom but she went to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital instead. Very confusing. Columbia at 168th street, Cornell Presbyterian at 68th street. She didn't call me right away, and ultimately they reached the alternate emergency contact who eventually contacted me.

Apparently my dad lost consciousness in the ER, was intubated, taken to CT scan and then to the OR for a large subdural hematoma. They accomplished all of this inside of an hour, which is almost unprecedented. He had an incredibly compassionate and gifted neurosurgeon, and there is not one iota of speculation as to the level of care that was provided. It couldn't have gone better for such a terrible situation.

I needed to get my POA out of the safe deposit box and didn't drive to NYC until the next day. I suggested my mom wait until I arrived to go to see him. Surgical Intensive Care Units are very formidable places. My dad was on a ventilator, although he was breathing above it.

Information was sketchy the first night, although I was optimistic. But that didn't last long. He was in a coma, which I had erroneously thought was drug induced, but was not. He had only very basic brain stem reflexes and was in a deep coma.

The next five days were a blur of tears, denial, anger, disbelief and visitors in and out to share their love. People responded very differently, but the basic story was the same over and over again. My dad loved life, and the stories were wonderful. An encouraging word, a challenging statement, a memory shared.

There were many people who visited, but they made up his inner circle. Family; Werner, a friend of 55 years; the Charmian of the illustration department at FIT where my dad had taught for 25 years; other faculty; and students, special students who he had encouraged and supported, sharing enthusiasm for their love of art and intention to create. Dr. Orloff, his opthmologist and confidante, and his very special student Roman with whom he had gallivanted around in Rome with just this past summer. I got to know my dad better through these special people.

And Tuesday we were finally prepared to say goodbye. We knew we would honor his wishes to remove him from the respirator, but that also is a time consuming and complicated matter, complete with notaries, patient advocates and seals of approval. You just don't unplug the machine. But the timing was as it was meant to be with me, my mom, Chris and Roman at his side holding his hand, rubbing his feet, kissing his cheek and acknowledging his fatigue of life. The only difficulty in this process was a phone call about an hour before my dad died in which the person calling shared their opinion about who they thought should be at my dad's side, despite not being family. I told her it was as it should be. The people who were with him were who were supposed to be there and perfect. Period. It was not a phone call I needed to have.

The hospital staff were wonderful, except for one of the neurosurgery residents, but that is also another story. And I gave him some kind advice to become a better physician. They let us break every rule...we had ten people in the room at one point, and I won't say what else...

I know my dad received wonderful care.

The days were long. We didn't eat much. The thought of food made me sick. (I lost ten pounds...)And the nights were long too, aided only by Ambien.

I am strong; and being carried. My mom is a mess. She repeats frequently that she wants to die. I have begged her not to say that, that I need her. I am having an opportunity to love her tenderly. My parents were married for almost 55 years, and despite their differences loved each other very much.

And now the aftermath begins: an apartment to clean out...don't know how long we will keep it. There is the accumulation of life since 1961 in that apartment...and my mom to support. I keep her by my side. And the whole will/probate/death certificate/funeral home/service thing...

One day and one step at a time.

Stories and recollections to follow.

Peace. Go tell the people that you love that you love them. Don't lose that opportunity.