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.

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.

Losing a Parent

As you know, recently I joined the club of those who have lost a parent. It is not a club any of us wants to join, but all of us will sooner or later. And many have preceded us.

Specifically I have been reflecting on those of us in the Sandwich Generation, the generation of boomers who are sandwiched between aging parents and growing children. Most of the thoughts out there on the SG deal with caring for both groups, but another layer in the sandwich (which you may recall I recently commented on wanting to be Gourmet, if you please, rather than bologna slapped between two slices of white bread...) is those of us who have lost a parent.

I am now so much more sensitive in a way I could never have been before to my friends and peers who have already established membership in this club. Until you cross that threshold you have no idea.

No idea how to respond. How to care. How to listen. How to affirm. What to say. And the cool thing is, it is OK, because those who went before didn't know either until they joined the club.

The best we can do is then be there for the next as we weren't for the ones who preceded us. I find myself asking my friends if they have lost a parent. If they have I acknowledge their pain and apologize for not being there for them. If they haven't I encourage them to love passionately and make sure they have no regrets.

Have no regrets. Love passionately. Take time.

Peace.

Goodbye Tino

Today we had to say goodbye to Tino. It was hard. So hard.

Tino was a great dog. And he had an incredibly long life. Sixteen years. Unheard of...He came home to us from the SPCA in 1995, before we had Tianna or Nicole. We named him after Tino Martinez, the baseball player when he played for Seattle. We threatened to change the dog's name when Martinez was traded to the Yankees... I took him to the vet this morning. I was so blessed that one of the vets, who is also a friend, heck, I taught their prenatal class come to think of it...came out of surgery to take care of Tino, and us today.

He took one look at him and said, "It's time. It's hard. But he is tired and ready to go." But I had promised Nicole I wouldn't let him go without her, so Tino stayed at the vet until we came back after school. It was too hard for him to get in and out of the car.

How could I be saying goodbye again? Deciding to let go? Deciding what to do with ashes...the tears came, and came. Nicole, Matt and Carolyn were with me and Tino. It was Marley revisited. But it was swift and I was assured painless. I hope so. How do they know?

My mom enjoyed Tino's company and it gave her something to do. Now he is gone too...they did an ultrasound and told us he was riddled with tumors. He also is in a better place. It sounds so cliche. We miss him, but I think my dad is waiting for him.

Jesus is carrying me. There is no other way.

Peace. Love much. It is most important that you do.

Footprints in the Sand and A Wise Old Owl

I am very sad...but Jesus is carrying me at the moment.

I am sure most of you are familiar with the "Footprints" story. It has made its way on to numerous plaques, chachki's (I am certain that spelling is wrong; a little gift store gizmo item...) and postcards. If you are not familiar with it, it is basically a story of two sets of footprints in the sand. One for a man who dreamed this story, and one for the Lord. The story unfolds, but at the end there is only one set of footprints. When the man questioned why, the Lord answered, "During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."

My dad gave me this postcard on January 28th when I went to the fabulous dinner with him.

I am being carried.


There are several other touches of grace (of course, with every drop of grace comes a kick in the you know what, but then that means the kicker is behind me as it should be. You know, get behind me Satan...)

Another touch of grace I received was from a childhood friend, the same friend who joined me in CA when I went to visit my other childhood friend with cancer. She *happened* to be in NYC this weekend...and we met, totally unplanned, a spontaneous spirit driven event...way too long a story to write here, but amazing. Amazing grace.

At any rate, she reminded me of a childhood saying that our teacher had often presented us with:

"A wise old owl sat in an oak; the more he heard, the less he spoke. The more he spoke, the less he heard. Why can't we be like this wise old bird."

May I be granted much wisdom in the days ahead.

If there is someone you need to let them know you love them, please go do it now. They are the last words I spoke with my dad.

Peace.