Done

Today I wrote the last four story revisions and now have a back log of reading for dear Connie to do when she gets back from her weekend away.

She has been my extra set of eyes, scrutinizing word choice, tone and even punctuation. She is happy to tell anyone that is because of her OCD. But she left early Saturday and I have produced sixteen more stories since then. So until I get them back from her I won't forward them to the editor.

I feel that I eliminated redundant topics and softened the voice and added more of an intimate invitation to spending time with God in my writing, so please pray with me that it meets with the Editorial team's approval. Of course, if it doesn't I will do whatever it takes to fix it, but this was hard work.

Writing is solitary and I am ready to be back home and with my family and friends again.

I fly into Newark Wednesday and will visit my mom briefly before going home. I spoke with her today and she really sounded awful. She does and doesn't want to stay in NY, does and doesn't want to come to PA, and basically doesn't want to live on without my dad.

She tells me she cries every night (I have been too) and night time is always the hardest. I am at a loss as to how to support her, perhaps simply listening and affirming her feelings are what is best for now. I am glad she isn't in the apartment by herself, yet she doesn't really seem satisfied that Matt and Carolyn are there either. It is difficult. Nothing is ever quite right and she is very negative. I can't fix it for her, I can only help her with the choices she has to make, but now apparently she has changed her mind about the apartment in Danville (who would want to live in stupid Danville, she says) that we put a deposit down on and were planning on renting starting in June. Perfect place, but only if she wants to come to PA. Now she says she wants to stay in the city....Yet the apartment makes her sad because all of my dad's stuff is still there. I am confused.

A Slice of Heaven on Earth

One of the places we spent time at today was a slice of heaven on earth. There was an old, old church and we stepped inside the sanctuary. I almost felt like St. Francis was there...

It was beautiful. And peaceful. And my mom said she felt my dad's spirit there. I want to bottle that feeling of peace for her...and somehow let her know that she can have that peaceful feeling with her always wherever she goes through Christ's spirit. But for now, just to know that she has had that touch is a blessing.
The days seem to be getting a bit easier...but the nights are still so difficult. She is ricocheting between the first four stages of grief...but anger laced with blame seems to be the most prominent. She reminds me of a lost, scared puppy. She loved and depended on my dad far more than I realized...and has so many regrets, and regret is so difficult.

Live a life full of passion and devoid of regret. Find your purpose and fulfill it. In this you will achieve peace.

Back in the Saddle...

I love being home. It is a total and complete mess, and for once in my life I don't care. That's one of the gems of crisis, I suppose, it really jolts the behoosies out of you and all the things you say are important really become important.

I took my mom to my wonderful counselor today; I don't think she would have gone if she hadn't come to the retreat with me (the counselor was the retreat speaker) and been able to hear her and meet her and feel her caring. It did her soul good but she doesn't seem to grasp that grief is a long process and that she has so much past bitterness and regret she is holding on to that this isn't a magic potion...one step at a time...it was almost like, "OK, I went, all done, now I will be better..." the concept that grief is an ongoing process and one that is fluid isn't sticking. I hate to ask for patience because nothing calm ever comes about when I do...but I do need lots of it...

OK, enough of that.

One of the things they had us do at the retreat this weekend was have a silent meal. I understand the principal, but let's just say it wasn't my favorite activity...but I did follow the rules...Connie and I are going to plan our Diva Days of Celebrating Friendship and we have already come to the conclusion that if there are any rules at all then they MUST be broken! Fun, fun, fun...and breaking rules...No wonder I have a tendency to get myself into trouble...

The day ahead promises to be full. A trip to NYC to take care of some things while loving those I love passionately.

Peace.

Home to Reality

We arrived home very late last night...really more like the wee hours of the morning. I felt the oppression of everything ahead just closing in on me...sorting, thinking, planning, loving, and grieving amidst logistics that overwhelm. And a mother who is so sad.

She keeps saying she just wants to die. And I just keep wanting to give her a glimmer of hope. I was reading the glimpses of heaven book on our first flight...and left it in the seat pocket of my seat. I felt lost and overtaken by grief...over leaving that book behind. Tianna's heat winner ribbon from championships was the bookmark...it is like the book was the symbol of all the compounded losses of the past month, some of which I can't even speak about...

But the one highlight of our trip home yesterday was that our first flight was oversold and Nicole and I were able to volunteer our seats and still easily make our connecting flight, so now we have flight vouchers to boot. Count it a successful trip...

My mother was waiting up for me but had dozed off and I startled her when I came in. She has been crying every night...I am witnessing a real love and tenderness that was too hidden when my parents were alive together, all too often pursuing separate interests. How can I help her feel hope? Healing? I know she misses my dad; I miss him too.

I so appreciate my friends who recognize the hole that exists in my life. It is never wrong to acknowledge or send a card, give a hug. Those things make all the difference in the world.

Peace for the struggles and the journey.

Jags of Sadness

The past twenty four hours I have been really up and down. I miss my dad a lot. I am in a city where there is so much he would enjoy and where we could really have fun together.

But there are reminders of life's fragility all around, especially in the faces of homelessness that abound in this city. There are many.

Some are young. Some old. Some have animals. I have stopped to talk to a pair with a dog, Buddy, a couple of times. I shared some food with them, and they were truly appreciative. The first time I stopped, there was a third guy with them. We spoke about God and love, and one of them pulled out a Bible and started talking about how he had been to a Bible Study the night before and left feeling a little better, a little more hopeful.

As we were sharing some thoughts a woman walking up the street started to scream at them, calling them ignorant and demanding they get out of her neighborhood. It just made me feel so sad. How human beings can treat each other so badly. But I shouldn't be surprised. I have witnessed it and in fact am living through a situation right now that is the height of selfish greed.
We agreed that this woman knew not of what she spoke, and shared more about Jesus and his love for all.

I imagine it is a bit easier perhaps being alone and on the street with the unconditional love of a dog. I asked about feeding Buddy and they said that they have a ten pound bag of food in their backpack for him and he eats first. I believed them.

Then there are other homeless who reek of alcohol. Does God love them any less? Or are begging for spare change while unable to stand up straight. Or who are huddled under the eave of a building. Or are muttering to themselves, or are like the woman that Nicole and I stopped to talk to who was pushing her two cats around in a stroller and was pretty batty. In fact the more we spoke to her, the more we realized just how out of touch she was.

But don't we really all want the same thing? Connection. Love. Touch. A home. A place to call our own...and it reminds me how quickly we assume we know other's stories and make snap judgments about them. And how those judgments often dissuade us from engaging in meaningful ways with others, because of how uncomfortable it might be for us. But yet, chances are it would be huge for the other person.

I have been thinking about this a lot with the loss of my dad. There are lots of people who haven't acknowledged the loss. They don't know what to say, or don't want to bring it up. But like any loss, (miscarriage, divorce...)it isn't reminding the person of anything they aren't immersed in anyway.

In fact, I think just the opposite is true, that it demonstrates caring. And I for one, appreciate that.

Go let someone know you care.

Peace.