Spirit In Gear

Early Chrismas Visitor Brings Joy

This December, as in Christmas seasons past, I decorate our home and tree, purchase and wrap gifts, send out cards, and bake my favorite cookies.

Unlike any Christmas season preceding this one, I face my first holiday celebration without either of my parents.  We lost Mom less than 2 years ago, and Dad passed away 3 months ago.  My siblings and I attempt to put on a brave face, while feeling trepidation at facing Christmas with the empty spaces left by our parents.

This morning, without benefit of my alarm clock's loud buzzzzzzz, I awaken from a dream feeling a sense of happiness.

In this dream that feels "real," I stand outdoors in a meadow with a vista reaching beyond for some distance.  I see my mother standing about 15 yards away.  She is watching two men garden.  That doesn't surprise me to find her in the garden, as she loved to plant flowers.

Oddly, the men don't see Mom (or me, for that matter).  I realize then that Mom is invisible to them, even though she looks solid to me.  With excitement, I call out to Mom several times.  My mouth forms the words, but no sound comes out.  I keep calling out and am rewarded when Mom hears my soundless cry.  She slowly walks over to me and extends her arm at the same time that I do.  We touch fingertip to fingertip, just as "E.T." did in the movie by the same name.  Mom's touch is solid before she fades away.  Still in my dream, I am feeling incredulous joy that I could see Mom and make a physical connection. 

I gradually wake up from the dream, feeling happy and light.  Bittersweet tears roll down my face as I replay the dream in my mind.  I feel profound gratitude that Mom found a way to reach across the Universe to touch me.  Connecting with Mom brings me a sense of comfort, joy, and of course, fresh sadness too.

My dream confirms that our loved ones who pass on before us are alive, albeit in a different form.  They still cherish us and want the best for us.  Death is simply a door to the next life. 

Mom and Dad, we will raise a toast to you on Christmas Day.  We love you always and look forward to meeting up with you when its our turn to walk through the door.  God Bless Us All!

Love Notes from the Past

My sister reaches for the last box in the closet.  One last box to go through as we go through all of Dad's papers as part of settling his estate.  The last box at the end of a long day of looking at hundreds and hundreds of papers.

Taking the lid off the box, we discover a packet of handwritten letters.  The postmarked letters date from late 1947 to mid 1949 - love letters Dad sent to my mother while he was in college.  We let out a gasp of wonder at their existence.

We carry the letters back to my sister's home.  That evening, stretched out on the couch, with a glass of red wine and dark chocolate within easy reach, we read each of the 22 letters. 

The postage, by the way, was 3 cents back then.  And it wasn't until the second reading of the letters that I noticed that Dad put the stamp on each letter upside down, which is what my boyfriend (and later husband) did with the love letters he sent me in 1973 with an 8 cent stamp!  Rumor has it that a stamp placed upside down indicates love and romance.

In Dad's letters we learn of the silly, the mundane, and the interesting aspects of life in the late 1940's:  the live crabs Dad put in his roommate's bed as a prank; the pinochle games that went on until 3:00 a.m.; the music he listened to; the friends he and Mom doubled with; his negotiation with his Spanish professor for a better grade; his first bylines in the school newspaper; the boring jobs he holds to make ends meet as a student.

We also learn of the romantic and earnest side of Dad.  By letter # 8, Dad tells Mom he loves her . . . that she is the one he has been looking for all his life.  As you might imagine, I shed a few tears here.  Later letters reveal that Dad thinks he can do anything, be anything with Mom at his side.  He counts down the days, hours, and minutes til his wedding day, imagining Mom walking up the aisle to him.

What an extraordinary experience to read Dad's words - to be let in so intimately into his life at age 21-22, before he became a husband and father.  I am struck by how alive he becomes for me - his enthusiasm, his optimism, his joi de vivre, his sense of humor, and most of all, his unabashed love for my mother.  

These letters are part of a past era . . . an era characterized by "The Greatest Generation," as Tom Brokaw writes about them.  Dad served 2 years overseas during WWII.  Postwar, he attended college on the GI bill.  He had no money, and begged and borrowed rides to travel an hour each way each weekend to see Mom.  Their primary source of entertainment included playing cards, and dancing.  The qualities of innocence, romanticism, and optimism marked their lives at the time.  Surely it couldn't hurt our cynical world to return to a more gentle style of courting.

Reading these letters has been bittersweet.  They create a fresh wound of grief and sadness at not having Mom and Dad in my life.  And they make me feel so utterly grateful for being given a rare glimpse into Dad's heart and soul.  I will hold and cherish the memories Dad's words have created for me.  And I will share the letters with my daughters so that they will not settle for anything less than the grand love exemplified by their grandparents.

All of this has gotten me to thinking . . . what do you want to leave behind for your loved ones to discover?

One Less Irishman

It's hard to take in that the center of our family is now gone.  Dad passed away 10 days ago.  I'm reeling from the rupture his absence has created.  I never imagined that the loss of the second parent could feel so devastating.  As grateful that I am to have three siblings, not one of us can take his place.  It's not meant to be.

This is a difficult post to write, yet I want to acknowledge what there is to celebrate about this generous Irishman who graced the earth for 83 years. What follows is an excerpted version of a poem I wrote for him on his 70th birthday, edited to reflect his current passing.

CHARLIE DUNN - AN IRISH SPIRIT

    What is an "Irish spirit?" you ask.
Such a element defies definition.
Squeezing it into words is as elusive as
capturing rays of sunlight in your hand.
And yet it's there .  . . you can feel it, sense it.
It made up the essence of Charlie Dunn.
The Irish spirit dwells only in those who cherish and foster it -
Yes, someone like Charlie.
His youthful Irish spirit was idealistic, hopeful,
gregarious, romantic.
The year weathered his Irish spirit,
but did not tame it.
The cynicism of the world did not mar its gleam.
This Irish spirit . . . how could it be that
he experienced the world as an adult,
yet enjoyed it with the abandon of a child in play?
Perhaps an Irish spirit is not a hothouse flower
to be carefully tended and protected,
but is destined to grow and thrive
even in adversity and darkness.
Charlie's Irish spirit believed in helping,
cheering, toasting, loving, celebrating - Life!
At this final chapter, Charlie's soul
proceeds ahead of him to sing to the
angels of his robush Irish spirit, while
St. Patrick greets him at the gate.
There is much to ponder about the Irish spirit.
There is much to celebrate about Charlie Dunn.
May his example continue
to illuminate our imaginations,
and remind us to live our lives in the light of
generosity, expansiveness, and faith. 

We Miss You, Papa!

Moment of Respite

I'm sitting in my father's condo in Ohio.  It is quiet and peaceful.  The skies outside sport fluffy clouds amidst the blue.  Temperatures are delightfully mild.

I enjoy this respite.  It keeps me grounded in the present moment.  Something I find hard to do while my father lies in the ICU.  Later this morning my siblings and I meet with Dad's medical team to discuss end stage treatment.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.  He went in for surgery 4 weeks ago.  The schedule called for a brief stay in ICU, followed by a week on the surgical floor, and a few weeks convalescence in a nursing home.  For his first surgery ever in his 83 years, Dad did well.  Although the pathology report came back with a malignancy, it is the secondary infections that are killing him.

Amidst my return trips back to my hometown to see Dad, I attended my 40th high school class reunion a little over a week ago.  We were a small class of 59 growing up in a small midwestern town.  It was a poignant, heartfelt reunion.  I found myself talking  with classmates that I never talked with in high school. 

I believe it has a lot to do with being older.  Life has seasoned and weathered us with good times and bad.  We've all experienced loss, and been humbled at times.  Dare I say we have mellowed and aged with distinction and grace? 

There is something about "cycling" back through the formative years, revisiting the physical scenes of our successes, failures, triumphs, and humiliations.  It's like reconnecting with a part of myself I haven't been in touch with for awhile.  

I struggle with watching my father slowly die in the present.  I don't want to let go.  In my head I know that the older generation moves on.  We take over the elder position while watching our children and grandchildren move along the life cycle.  From birth, to life, to death, and back to life again.

Amidst my sadness and loss, a multitude of friends, extended family,  and colleagues reach out to remind me that we are all connected.  As I sit and write this, I allow their love, prayers, and positive energy to reach me, and support me.

There are many things to be grateful "for" but, as I ripen with the seasons of life, the many reasons blend into a sacred mystery. And, most deeply, I realize that living gratefully is its own blessing.
- Michael Mahoney

[Photo Credit:  Dani Simmonds]

 

Summer is Reconnecting

What do you get when your daughters travel east from Chicago, your sister and niece travel west from Ohio, and yours truly travels north from South Carolina?  A "Girls Only" weekend in Brown County, IN!

Armed with food, dark chocolate, and bottles of wine, we stake out our place in a beautiful vacation "cabin" in the woods.  The time whips by way too fast as we talk, reminisce, and listen to the dreams of our daughters.  For the sake of modesty (and the fact that pictures follow you forever on the worldwide web), I'll forgo posting the hot tub pictures!

After our precious weekend ends, I travel to Ohio to see my father, and later grab a few hours here and there with girlfriends on my last day in Ohio.

We have more trips planned this summer.  I am grateful for the modern conveniences of airplanes and fast cars that can get us to our destinations much faster than the horse and buggy days. 

May you find time to reconnect this summer.