TODAY I AM A WHINER

Today I am a whiner!  This is a tough week.  So many happy/sad memories wrapped up with it.  The joy of the beginning, the sadness of the starting of the end.  I am trying hard to stay busy, and do things that are fun and full of life, yet I find while in the middle of it all, being surrounded by people I still feel isolated and alone.  I hate this.  I hate the way I am feeling.  I have so much to be thankful for, but feeling it today is hard.

I found myself wishing that it had been me to be the first to go.  How lucky was Pat to be the first one to die.  He was surrounded by my love, advocacy and family.  To be the survivor, I find that I wonder what my place is in life.  Where do I belong?  How much am I really loved?  I don’t want to be a whiner, but I am today.  I thought time and distance from the moment of departure would make life be easier to get through.  But not this week.  Not this day.  Not this time.

I'll keep moving.  Keep pushing on.  And just like any memory, once this time passes and the heightened memory subsides, life will push on until the next time.  

I hope.

I HATE VERIZON!

There is one word that I try hard to never use in my vocabulary.  That word is “HATE”.   I’ll walk away from something or someone before I get to that point.  I believe that I am a person who carries a great deal of empathy for those that are not like me, or travel to a different drummer.  But when it comes to Verizon, they have made me cross that line.  I HATE Verizon.  Let me share my story.

Eleven years ago, when we moved to our present home, we paid Verizon over $300.00 to install some extra phone lines into the house.  Our computers needed them.  Our television needed them.  And with Pat’s illness, I needed access to a phone in multiple rooms.  Over time, the phone line began to act up.  Every time a Verizon technician showed up, they one by one dismantled all the phone lines that we paid to install, saying that the lines were soaking up moisture and that was what was causing the static in the line.  By the end of that particular journey, we ended up with just one working phone line and a new satellite phone system.  

In the mean time, when the internet line was affected, that too became dismantled and instead of replacing the line under the house, Verizon technicians ran a line outside, laying it on the ground next to the house, drilled a hole in the back wall and ran it through the wall.  Now I questioned this and was upset that they treated my home like trailer trash, but to no avail.  Only after I got crazy with them on the phone, did they come and hook the line every couple of feet onto the side of the house, getting it off the ground.  I know you are asking, but laying outside in all the weather….this too wouldn’t absorb the moisture?  Yea, I asked that too with no answer.

Eight years later into this saga, my husband died.  So began the attempt at getting the account turned over to my name.  Sweet talking voices on the other line, said sure, we can do that, but bill after bill would continue to come in with my husband’s name.  So recently, after my frustration level with the DSL of Verizon, I decided to end all my services with Verizon except for my wireless which I have six months before I can change that service.  This decision ended my “One Bill” program where my wireless, my home phone, my internet and my Direct TV were billed in one bill.  

The morning brought an email that said, my account was ending and that I would have a credit of $68.95.  The same day, the mail came with a bill, showing I owed $99.99, indicating my wireless bill of $60 and an internet service of $39.99.  So I called to clear up the matter and undo the confusion of having a credit, now owning $99 and making sure the internet service was taken off as that was one of the services I canceled, and yet making sure I paid for the wireless part that I was keeping.  (You confused yet?)  While trying to get through to a voice, I get the message that my account is closed and that I owe $0 on a bill.  Now all this is happening in the same day!!!  Is it a credit?  Is it $99.99?  Or is it $0?  At this point, your guess is as good as mine

After waiting 40 minutes online for a real human to speak with, I ask them to look into the question of the internet service and making sure I do pay for my wireless…and oh yes can’t the credit be applied?  And by the way, can I now get my name on the account?  Oh sure, said the voice on the other end.  So after waiting, and waiting, I was told all was taken care of, no internet, only wireless, and finally an account in my name.  I hung up the phone expecting to receive a confirmation of the $60.00 I owed for my wireless.

Soon I get an email, confirming all the changes and showing me that I now owe $83.59 for my wireless.  $83.59???????  What happened to the $60?  So once again I get back on the phone, another long wait, I finally get a voice and I ask why am I paying almost $25 more for what I was paying $60.00 for?  By this time, I am not being nice.  I told them “I will not pay any more than the $60.00 that I….yes I…signed up for.  So fix it!”  Well, some song and dance about the account change the closest they could get me was the $60, plus some taxes making it almost $70.00 a month.  Tired, and frustrated by this point I gave in.  I was told the credit check would arrive separately.

You know the old saying “To ASSUME makes an ASS out of U and ME?  Well, I assumed the check would come in my name…I mean after all we talked about Pat being dead. I could not be more wrong.  A few days later, the check arrived, in my dead husband’s name.  Now he is gone going on 4 years now, so there is no way to cash this check.  

Once again, I call.  I wait.  When getting a voice, I say, "I need to speak to your supervisor as they will be the only one who can help." (I am hoping.)  They refuse to pass me through until he has a chance to help me.  I proceed to tell him the long tale.  He asks me, “Have you not tried to put the account in your name before this?”  

To say I lost it on the guy is an understatement.  I am not proud of how crazy I got.  I am pissed that Verizon and their poor customer service took me to this point, but after some screaming and yelling and demanding and scolding, and yelling some more, the man finally, after another 30-minute wait, put on a supervisor.  

Once again, I went through, with teeth gritting, the whole story from the beginning of my frustrations to the moment I was on the phone with this supervisor and how now I am just asking that the check is rewritten in my name.  Once again, I was asked, “Had you not tried to put the account in your name before this?”

Yelling firmly but loudly, “I DID TRY AT LEAST ONCE EVERY MONTH FOR THE FIRST SIX MONTHS AFTER PAT DIED, THEN A COUPLE OF TIMES AFTER THAT, ONLY TO GIVE UP UNTIL THIS MOMENT WHEN I DECIDED I DID NOT WANT THE SERVICES ANY LONGER EXCEPT FOR THE WIRELESS.  CAN YOU TELL ME WHAT ELSE I COULD HAVE DONE?  I OFFERED UP A DEATH CERTIFICATE!  I WAS TOLD  IT WAS NOT NECESSARY.  I TRIED AGAIN AND AGAIN.  CAN YOU TELL ME WHAT IT IS THAT I COULD HAVE DONE AND DIDN’T IN ORDER TO MAKE THIS HAPPEN?"

It was quiet on the other end of the line for a couple of minutes.  I gathered my breath and waited.  I finally said to her, “You know the stupid part of this whole thing, is that if I did nothing, eventually the check would show up in unclaimed property of Pennsylvania and I would only need to send a death certificate and fill out a form and the check would be released to me.  Can’t we do this now so I can get back MY money?”

Finally, she says, "yes, send me a death certificate and the check."  “Oh no”, I said.  “I’ll send you the death certificate, a copy of the check and a copy of my crazy bill, and you can rewrite the check, or credit my new account….I don’t care.  I will send the original check made out to my husband once I get the replacement in my name.  If I send this check to you I will have no record of it.  You are not getting it until I get what I want!” 

She agreed.  So here I sit, waiting for the mail to come with the reissued check.  I am not holding my breath.

I find myself asking, “What ever happened to real customer service, where you are made to feel important, and listened to?"  These big companies have lost their way.  I get the bottom line in life.  But the cost to us as customers leaves us wanting.  It is why I tend to shop as local as I can, where good customer service means a happy customer and repeat business.  

Oh, remember good ole Bell Telephone?  Now those were the good ole days!!!!

IT IS THE SEASON OF HOLIDAYS!

Grandson Leighton at the Dog Train Party!

 I am going to just put it out there.  I am a kid during this time of year!  From the time, the first leaves start displaying their brilliant colors through the first snow fall my adrenaline flows fast and free!

Life, and I mean my adult life…started for me October 7, 1966.  Driving cross country through the mountains with the brilliant glow of the reds, yellows and golds of the trees welcoming me to Pennsylvania, I entered into a family that was grounded in unconditional love and I could feel the change and I embraced it’s every core!  

A holiday has never been just the day for me.  There is such joy in the planning, the preparation and the day….well the day for me is sitting back and watching all those I love and care for enjoy themselves.  

Halloween presents itself with a chance for me to dress up with the kids and go trick-or-treating.  As they got older and didn’t hang with “M-O-M”, I would dress up anyway and greet the kids at the door.  One year I dressed in an old black witches outfit, with a big hat.  I sat on our porch with a large bowl of goodies, head down and still, and when I would see their feet I would pop my head up with a scary “Happy Halloween”.  Those who came to my door grew to know that Mrs. Ford would be doing something silly.  

The pumpkins and fall decorations would hang around through Thanksgiving.  Joined by the pilgrims and the great planning for our Thanksgiving meal.  The Ford family gathered either at Grammy Ford’s or my house.  We are a foodie family which always creates such great excitement amongst us.  The joy for me as I watched the Ford family gather was how, no matter how much time had passed between visits with one another, there was always such a great presence of celebration (and without the drunk fighting).  The tradition carries on today at my son and daughter-in-law’s home.  

Christmas….ah Christmas.  I feel sorry for those who put all their effort into just THE day.  For me, from the moment Thanksgiving is done until I am forced to take the holiday decorations down, it is Christmas.  When my kids were young we would do the advent wreath.  It was such a joy to stop the day's hectic schedule, light a candle, pray and read a Christmas story to them.  Letting each one take a turn to open the advent calendar door or window.  One year to add the spirit of love and the spirit of giving to the lesson I began the tradition of a “secret Santa”.  They had to draw each other’s name, keep it a secret and at least once a week do something nice for that person and not tell them.  It was only at the end that they were allowed to share who they were.  

Along with the normal prep for the holiday I would have the kids make things to give as presents, instead of buy them.  One year we created a calendar and they had to pick a date at least once a month and write a promise to that person.  During the year, we had to keep track and fulfill that promise.  It could be a car wash, a visit to the grandma’s, or bring a dinner to them.  Grammy Ford told me once this was her favorite!  

Our neighborhood after a storm!

One year I drew a picture of Grammy Ford’s house and we had notecards made up.  The kids helped me find the right little basket, and we wrapped them and put ribbons around them.  I can still remember how excited they were. 

There was always the homemade Christmas decorations for the tree.  I loved teaching them the lessons of giving.  

New Year celebrations would round out the season.  They were always fun, yet not rowdy or crazy.  A small gathering of friends, or a dinner.  But a round-robin of phone calls to the family not there always came at midnight.  

When the older generation passed, it took a couple of years for new traditions to take hold.  In my life since losing Pat, I take great comfort in the fact that I know what we are doing for these family gatherings.  Life is so busy the rest of the year, and there can be many lonely moments, but not the holidays.  It is a time for us to come together and celebrate each other, catch up, and be reminded of what is truly important to our life, and that is the love we hold for each other. 

HOW CAN IT BE THAT YOU ARE GONE?

Forty-nine years ago this month a broken winged bird was carried half way across these States to a new life where unconditional love and healing allowed me to grow into the woman I am.  At moments, the energy consumes me like it was yesterday,

So how can you be gone?

How can you be gone when the morning sun invades my room, I still find myself reaching out to feel the warmth of your body and can at times still catch the smell of your sweet skin?

Standing by the shores of a lake I see you cast a shadow on the lake from your fishing boat, as I wait by the shore for the signal to bring in the trailer to load the boat.  How can this be when you are gone?

When doubt fills me, I am suddenly embraced by your voice letting me know all will be okay.  Oh, how can you be gone?

I see and hear you in our children, the way they live, love and play, so tell me how can you be gone?

Watching them live their lives is like watching reruns of ours.  How can it be that you are gone?

At moments when I do something dumb I still hear your voice call out, “Marlena!!”

Life has gone on since you passed.  But fall fills me with the memories of both the beginning and end of the time we had together.  The vibrant colors of fall take me back to that trip East through the Pennsylvania mountains a bloom with the brilliant red, yellow and gold of autumn and to that Thanksgiving Day with the last of the fall colors fading from the trees and the sun warming us through our sweet wedding day.  I ask again, how can you be gone?

It all went so fast.  This Thanksgiving brings our 49th wedding anniversary, along with the 4th year that you entered Hospice Care and I still ask, how can you be gone when I feel you around me so strong.

And again I ask how can you be gone?

Because you are.  And I thank you for the sweet memories that continue to fill me and remind me of our love.

A BRUISED APPLE IS STILL GOOD ENOUGH TO EAT!

This summer has found me in a nostalgic mood as I have been sorting and organizing all the family history, photos, and stories that I have gathered these past 49 years.  At my age, I realize time is running short and one day this lifetime of work will be a challenge for any of my kids to deal with if I don’t finish off this project.

To add to this, I received a call from a first cousin of mine that I had not seen since I was about 7 years old.  She and her husband were traveling East to visit Atlantic City and since I lived close wanted to stop by and visit with me.  I was very excited to receive them.  

For those first seven years of our life, we were close as first cousins could be because our families lived in the same area.  One month older than I am, we were constant playmates, along with her older brother and my two younger brothers.  Then her parents separated and divorced and except for a brief meeting at our grandmother’s funeral in 1993, we had not seen each other.  I had not heard a lot about her or her life.  My younger brother had a bit more contact with these cousins after I left home, but I had none.  For me, a life of abuse caused me to be isolated and I kept to myself until the day I left home and started a new life with Pat here in Pennsylvania.  For my cousin, life turns out to not have dealt her a good deal at first, but for both of us, life did eventually bless us with love and the ability to create our own loving families.

My cousin, once she was gone with her mother and the life forged anew, was mostly separated from her father’s side of the family.  We both spent a life separated physically but as it turns out, not emotionally.  For her, memories of a family filled with the craziness made one cautious in wanting to make that initial contact.  Lucky for me, that caution did not stop the curiousness about a long-lost cousin.

When she and her husband planned a trip East they decided to give a visit to me, yet, there was a concern that maybe, I was the continuum of what we both knew at those young tender moments of our life.  So, with a bit of cautiousness, a brief visit was planned.

For the first couple of hours, it was catch up time.  Sharing what life had brought to the both of us, introducing each other to our own families through pictures and stories.  And memories of a childhood surrounded by adults behaving badly.  Not one of us, cousin or sibling, were left untouched by the pain caused by the behavior of those who surrounded us.

We talked non-stop.  My cousin’s husband could only sit and shake his head at the craziness of some of our memories.  “Remember the time we both sat huddled under the table in Grandma’s kitchen with beer bottles flying overhead breaking against the wall?”  “How about the Santa that gave us french kisses…ewe…”  “Remember how badly Donnie was treated?”

The fights…the fear…the drinking that always surrounded every gathering left its mark on our souls.  Photo’s shared of times and places hard to recall, but through them showed us how we were connected.

I invited them to let me show them my home area, and by the end of the evening, over a dinner by the Delaware, we spoke of how much we liked each other and sorry that so much time had passed between us.  Stories and memories left me a bit ruffled, yet at peace with not only the opportunity for each of us to recognize how fortunate we are that we had the courage to make better choices in our own lives.  

“You know what I hate?” I said to my cousin.  “I hate the saying ‘the apple does not fall far from the tree.’  Our apple rolled down hill a ways, a bit battered and bruised from the trip, but still good enough to enjoy!”

As we ended our evening together with a hug and a promise that we would see each other again, I was proud of the fact that some of us survived the family craziness and by the example of our lives, teach our own children that you have choices and the most important one you can make is how you choose to live your life.  

REMEMBERING 9/11

Tomorrow is 9/11.  That date will forever be etched in the lives of those who lived through that day.  I have kept a journal about this period.  Took pictures, kept samples of all the things that came across that had a patriotic symbol on it…all in remembrance of what we experienced that 9/11.  Now, on the anniversary I write in my journal once again, updating what we have been doing, never imagining that I would be writing an update so far in the future chronicling the aftermath of that day.  But here we are, still fighting and losing our young men and women in a war that looks like it’s impossible to win.  

I know I was forever changed by that moment.  There is nothing I can say here to change our lives as they are today, but one thing has not changed and that is the love I carry in my heart for those in my life.  What I wrote to my children that first Thanksgiving after 9/11 is as relevant today as it was then, so I shall share it here with you.

Thanksgiving 2001

To Our Dearest Children,

Due to the events of September 11th, Thanksgiving has taken on a new meaning for many of us.  After the first few days of shock and grief, I looked around and saw that we all were intact and I said, “Thank you, God.”

The events of September 11th have touched my soul.  Although Joliene was closest to ground zero, I needed to hear all of your voices.  I needed to know you were all okay.  That was the most frightening morning that my life had ever experienced.  I will never be the same.  Thoughts are deeper.  Touches have more sensation.  The eyes see more intensely.  Through all of this, by how you live, you have reminded me that this too shall pass and life goes on; the wedding plans, the expecting of a newborn baby, the goals that are being set, the hope for something or someone of tomorrow.

Thanksgiving is a time to reflect on the good things that have happened to us.  YOU are the good things that have happened to us.  I love you in ways that words alone are too inadequate to express.  it is a joy to be your parent.  My life is a rich mosaic of personalities, experiences, and emotions just because of you.

I hope you too take a moment during this Thanksgiving holiday to reflect on your surroundings. your life, and especially your goals.  I have a friend who lives by a three-word philosophy:  “Seize the moment.”  Too many people put off something that brings them joy just because they haven’t thought about it, don’t have it on their schedule, didn’t know it was coming or are too rigid to depart from their routine.  If September 11th taught us anything, it taught us to seize the moment.

I read somewhere that “we Americans cram so much into our lives, that we tend to schedule our headaches. We live on a sparse diet of promises we make to ourselves when all the conditions are perfect:  We’ll go back and visit the grandparents when we get Stevie toilet-trained.  We’ll entertain when we replace the living-room carpet.  We’ll go on a second honeymoon when we get two more kids out of college.”

Life has a way of accelerating as we get older.  The days get shorter, and the list of promises to ourselves gets longer.  One morning, we awaken, and all we have to show for our lives is a litany of “I’m going to…” I plan on…” and “Someday, when things are settled down a bit…”  Dad said this year as he faced his latest physical challenge, “I thought I would work, retire and end my days fishing off into the sunset.”  Well, we will work, he will retire, but we will be searching for other things to do in that sunset and all I keep thinking of are the times when we put those fishing trips off waiting for the day in the future when all things would be perfect to follow our dream.

When anyone calls my seize-the-moment-friend, she is open to adventure and available for trips.  She keeps an open mind on new ideas.  Her enthusiasm for life is contagious.  September 11th says to me now go live and be more like my friend.  Life is a balance between our wants and needs.  it is important to keep your responsibilities in tact, but do not forget that it is also important to do something on your “WANT TO…not just something on your SHOULD DO list.

A woman in my memoir group wrote the following and with her permission I share it with you:

Have you ever watched kids playing on a merry-go-round?  Or listened to the rain lapping on the ground?  Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight?  Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?  Slow down.  Don’t dance so fast.  Time is short.  The music won’t last.

Do you run through each day on the fly?  When you ask, “How are you?”, do you hear the reply?  When the day is done, do you lie in your bed with the next hundred chores running through your head?  Ever told your child, “We’ll do it tomorrow.  And in your haste, not see his sorrow?  Ever lost touch?  Let a good friendship die?  Just call to say “Hi?  You’d better slow down…do not dance so fast.  Time is short.  The music won’t last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere, you miss half the fun of getting there.  When you worry and hurry through your day, it is like an unopened gift…thrown away.  Life is not  a race.  Take it slower.  Hear the music before the song is over.

Your Dad and I wish you a very Happy Thanksgiving.

With All Our Love…

Much has changed since that 9/11, except for this one thing…my love for my family remains as deep and hard as it was that first Thanksgiving after 9/11.

How has 9/11 changed you?

FATTY FATTY TWO BY FOUR...

There is nothing funny about Comedian Nicole Arbour.  She is getting a lot of attention these days for her “Fat Shaming” video by those who have the courage to produce their own video fighting back.  The truth is, fat shaming is not just what Nicole Arbour does, it is what many do.  I believe it is the accepted form of bullying.  When is the last time you heard anyone say to someone who makes fat crude jokes, that they should not.  I haven’t.  I would be interested to hear if you have.

I am going to lay it out there…I have never been thin.  NEVER!  In 5th grade, my report card shows that I was 1/2 inch off my adult height and weighed 155 pounds.  A weight I carried right up to my first pregnancy when I was 23 years old.  Each of my four pregnancies added some weight (reaching 175 lbs) until I became the long-term caretaker of my dying husband in which I gained my most weight…a weight I carry today.  No excuses…it’s just what happened.  I have been on many diets over my life time.  I would initially lose weight but eventually it came back to where I started.

Carrying weight above what society says should be, has taken its toll on my self-esteem and emotional well-being.  Starting in those elementary years right up through today, I can honestly say not a day passes that I don’t experience something by someone that lets me know I am fat.  

In my 8th grade class from Gavin Grade School, we had a tradition of signing autograph books as our class graduated elementary school heading off to high school.  Some of the boys in my class filled my book with poems reading, “Fatty, fatty, two by four, can’t get through the kitchen door….” sending me out with a life time of insecurities and self conscience and negative attitudes towards myself.  And in my case, this treatment was only the frosting on a cake that was already soured by a complicated childhood.  

I never had a safe place from “fat comments.”  Over the years, conversations with long distance relatives would often include a question, “lose any weight lately?”  It would sting, but I would brush it off the best I could.

Look, I get how weight can be a detriment towards good health, but at the same time I also recognize that sometimes weight is caused by more than poor choices.  My daughter suffers from Polycystic ovary syndrome, which showed up while she was in college.  One noticeable symptom of POS is weight gain.  It is heartbreaking to watch how differently someone you love is treated just because they carry more weight than what is “acceptable” by society standards.  

Yes, bullying comes in many forms.  And the video that Nicole Arbour produced is a form of bullying.  In a society where we celebrate those who call people who disagree with them “losers” and name call anyone different than themselves, I don’t know how to expect anything different.  I am filled with sadness when I see how we tolerate being cruel to one another.  I cannot change the world, but I can choose to be kind and accepting to those around me, no matter how different they are as compared to me.  

9/8/2015

DESCRIBE YOUR FAMILY

According to the dictionary, the definition of a family is a group consisting of parents and children living together in a household.

An Intelligencer reporter, Christina Kristofic, is asking us to send our description of what our “family” is for a piece she wants to write as the World Meeting of Family approaches here in Philadelphia.  When I first read her question my first thought was, depends on what stage of life you are talking about.

My childhood was not and is not anything I want a do over in.  Getting as far away from those times has been my life long quest.  It is a time period where the world “normal” had profound meaning for me as I did not believe I was “normal” in any fashion.

My “normal” did not start until I met and married my late husband of 45 years.  Together we created the family I could only dream about as a child.  Four children in 4 1/2 years made for a fast, compact, and full existence.  I worked hard at “being a good mother”, even when my own children didn’t appreciate it.  My husband’s family were kind, loving and taught me the meaning of unconditional love.  Family gatherings carried a high priority and one did not miss the event unless it was a life and death situation.  

The wonderful thing about the family we created as a couple is that our table always made room for those without family connections.  A tradition that carries on today.  Our son and his wife host the family Thanksgiving celebration, and every year he expects a call from one of us asking, “I have a friend who….” all the while counting on the fact that their answer would be yes.  Of course last year’s 27 people at the dinner table may have pushed the hospitality to the limit!

Today, as a widowed senior,  family life has taken on another meaning.  One where family gatherings are sandwiched in-between a lot of quiet lonely times.  When I am with my children and their families I see through them, the fulfilled life I once had and long for even today.  My husband’s illness and early death did not allow for us to have that special “empty nest” experience I hear many talk about. Children grown with families of their own, grandchildren entering their teenage years, making it that I am just an old person who visits now and then, leaves me searching for any purpose in my existence today.   

So when Ms. Kristofic asks what comes to mind when I hear the word family, I am carried back to my fulfilling days of being a wife and mother, surrounded by wonderful neighbors and friends and experience the joy of knowing that through our love and experience, we have passed on that same sense of purpose and tradition of a loving family to our children.  That in the end fulfills my ultimate purpose.

WHY WRITE MY MEMOIR?

I lead a Memoir Class in the community in which I live.  The most common question I get regarding our Memoir Group is “Why write a memoir?”  So I reached out to some people I know who are in the process or have written their own memoir and here are a few of their answers:

"I want them to know 'the real me,' to know I had an interesting, adventuresome life."

"To understand my life by looking backward."

"To write something for myself."

"I want to talk about all the fun we had."

“I loved life on the home front during WWII and I wanted my grandkids to know what it was like.”

"I grew up in an Irish neighborhood in Philadelphia which no longer exists. I wanted my kids and grandkids to know what that life was like in the city."

“To share our immigrant story."

"To capture the stories, but not in a lot of depth."

"To write the story of my military life.”

“To share what life was like during the depression.”

You don’t have to have led a spectacular life to write a memoir…you just need to be you, and find the story in your experience.  I have had people tell me their story, then follow that by saying I cannot write so I don’t know how to write my story.  I tell them to write it as you just told it, in your own voice, your own style, and your own way.  It is that simple.

Many people confuse memoir writing with autobiographies.  Autobiographies encompass the entire life of the writer, where memoir writing focuses in on just one given period.  Which is why memoir groups are growing in popularity.  Pick a topic and write about it as you lived the moment.

I share a story about two sisters I know who lost their mother early in their life.  Their father remarried about a year after their mother died.  These two sisters, loved their step-mother but over the years as they went through the special occasions in their own lives they missed their mother and wished they knew more about her.  Afraid they might hurt the feelings of a step-mother who was very kind and loving to them, they kept this desire to themselves.  When their father died, the older sister got a call from the step-mother and let her know that in the attic she found a box of things that looked like they belong to their mother and offered the items up to the sisters.  

The sisters got together that very day and opened the box which began a journey of discovery. In the box were not only photos and mementos but also diaries their mother had written.  Non-stop reading, sharing, laughter and tears until about 4 in the morning when they realized the time but so overjoyed by the realization that for the first time in their adult lives they knew who their mother was, her desires, her experiences, and how much she loved her two little girls.  A joy they share over and over again today as they gaze down on their own children and grandchildren.  

Like so many others today, they keep active journals of thought and experiences for the purpose of sharing who they are with the generations to come.  

There can be many reasons for writing your memoir, but none more important than sharing an ordinary life in extraordinary times.

FEELING MY IMMIGRANT HERITAGE

The last couple of weeks as my health has kept me quiet and inside, I find myself contemplating the “Donald Trump” syndrome that I am reading and hearing about.  I ask myself, “What is it about his speeches and the discussion that he has brought to the political table that bothers me.?  Why do I cringe when I run into neighbors and friends who tell me what a great President he would make?”

How does a country, whose foundation is based on immigration, spout such ugly rhetoric toward the people who come here to become American.   I am reminded of conversations with my husband’s grandmother, whose family immigrated to American in 1903, from the Austrian/Hungarian Empire. They were a hardworking, close family, who told stories of having stones thrown at them during World War I and II because they had Germanic names and spoke some German with heavy accents.  It caused them to pull in ranks, stay close as a family, put their heads down, work hard, and live a quiet life in the community in which they lived.  It even caused my husband’s grandfather to change his last name to an American name…“Ford” instead of Jobb that he was born with.  “A good American name”, he said to Grammy when he returned from serving in the Calvary during World War I.  

On the other side of the family were the Irish immigrants who eventually settled in Philadelphia and like the Ford side of the family, their church, community organizations and family bond helped them pull in tight in order to withstand the slings and arrows that came their way just because they chose to come to America and start a new life. 

1896 anti-immigration cartoon

Being anti-immigration is nothing new to us.  Political cartoons sometimes played on Americans' fears of immigrants. This one, which appeared in an 1896 edition of the Ram's Horn, depicts an immigrant carrying his baggage of poverty, disease, anarchy and sabbath desecration, approaching Uncle Sam.

I grew up with ugly conversations towards those who lived and looked “different” from us.  As a child we lived on the “edge” of one neighborhood which put us in school with a very diverse group and in fact, in my elementary school time I was only one of four white students in my class.  I had friends in the class of both colors.  I would get invited over to my friends home, where treatment by them towards me was nothing but kind and giving from the adults in the household.

I would not bring anyone home, because my parents didn’t hold their tongue and their words so often embarrassed me (even as early as age 6, 7 or 8) so that early on in life I knew not to bring friends home.  But this did cause me to grow up and question very early in my life, the things my parents said about those who are “different”.

What I see happening today with the Donald Trump popularity makes me feel as uncomfortable as I did when my mother shouted at me asI walked into our home with my friend from class, “Who is that tramp and what is she doing here?”

I have not heard Donald Trump say anything concrete about what he would do to help our country grow and prosper.  I have heard him do a lot of name calling.  The fact that his ugly spewing of venomous language is so welcomed by so many burns my spirit.  I find myself feeling the same way I did when my mother would shout her ugly venomous language at me if  I dared bring someone different into our house.

I am left feeling embarrassed that the world sees us through Donald Trump’s eyes and sad that we are all letting it happen by supporting him.

AGING IS NO JOKE

Before I embark on any trip, I do a lot of research about the area I am going to visit, setting up road map information and laying things in chronological order to ease my stress on the trip.  Planning becomes so important in making it easy and stress-free.  

Too many times, I have watched people enter their aging process with no plans, only the attitude that “something will come along to take care of me.”  No worries.  No fears.  Just wing it.  For many of us, that is all we have to work with. When we wing it, too often we are asked to make these life changing decisions when we are least able.

I know many of us are not in a financial place to plan for the worst-case scenario, but I don’t see anything wrong in taking time to search what the system of aging offers so we can best understand what we will be faced with.  Other wise, tough decisions have to be made in your name, surrounded by a lot of kicking and screaming, 

Taking care of our seniors when they can’t live alone is an expensive proposition.  For those without long-term care insurance policies, we must rely on family and government programs and hope that family or room can be found to help with care.

People more knowledgeable than I have written volumes about what we face today when entering alternative living arrangements.  As I mentioned some posts ago, my friend, Martin Bayne, has been a long time advocate for better living situations in assisted living facilities.    His website, http://thevoiceofagingboomers.com/ is considered one of the best because he has been living in an assisted living facility for over 10 years.  In his 50’s, his body was in need of help, but not his mind.  He continues his work today, constantly challenging those who own and manage long-term care facilities to find better ways to create a home for our aging citizens.

One thing we can do to help those that will be our caretakers is prepare all the necessary paperwork, laying things out to make it easy to discover.

One site that I have been using to get my own personal things in order is called, “Get Your Shit Together”.   http://getyourshittogether.org/.   Yes, you read that right….Get Your Shit Together!

This is one of my favorite sites because it gives you a checklist of all the documents everyone should have in their files.  Not only does it provide a checklist, but it also provides forms that you can easily fill in and print out.  It’s easy-to-understand-explanations of what the documents mean help me understand the truth from the myths we think we know.  

Right after my Dad died, I decided to create an “IN CASE OF DEATH NOTEBOOK”.  I purchased a 3-ring binder, added some plastic sleeves, and began to gather the information necessary to deal with my end of life issues.  When Pat died, I discovered it to be a gift to myself.  I pulled out the book, opened a page, contacted who I needed to contact, making notes and filing the notes with the paperwork until the process was complete.  I did not have to search for anything as all the paperwork I needed was all in one place.  When the death certificates came in I placed them inside the book and used or made copies to file with all those institutions that needed them.  Leaving the balance in the book for when my time comes and in case the kids need them to finish off my estate.

The following is a sample of the items I had in my “IN CASE OF DEATH” notebook.

Obituary information:  This may sound silly to you, but what I found in my own family is that when sitting in front of an undertaker, still reeling with the shock of loss, you and your family members have a great deal of trouble remembering.  Having things written out simply helps simplify the moment.

MEDICAL POWER OF ATTORNEY DOCUMENT

MEDICAL LIVING WILL

POWER OF ATTORNEY:  Note most financial institutions will require their own, so don’t assume because you have a POA that it covers everything.

LIFE INSURANCE POLICIES

MEDICAL INSURANCE INFORMATION

COPY OF WILL COVER WITH A NOTE WHERE THE ORIGINAL IS LOCATED

Military information:  If you served in the military keep your DD214 (Discharge Papers) on file.  They will need it to provide all the military honors your are entitled to.  If, like my husband you are receiving disability payments from the VA, you also need this information to inform them of death.

Marriage and Birth records:  At least copies with notes on where you keep the originals.

Financial Accounts:  I update every quarter when the new statement comes in so that my family will have the last statement on record.  (A good practice is to always keep the first statement showing what you started with.

Bank Account Records:  I take December’s statement and keep a copy of it in my file to give information on bank and information needed to inform of my death.

List Assets:  For most of us this will include our home and car information.  A good habit is to make a copy of important information concerning both your home and car, along with a spare set of keys for each in these pockets.

A COPY OF YOUR UTILITY BILLS:  I found when dealing with these issues you need these for the account information and contact numbers.  I usually copy the last bill of the year and place in this pocket.

A LIST OF PASSWORDS FOR YOUR ACCOUNTS.  In today's world of online banking, doctor sites and other sites that are important to us, we find that we are overwhelmed with the need to collect our passwords.  Your caretaker needs to have these to carry out your wishes when the time comes.  I understand these have to be protected so a note where they can found is good to place here.

I share this with you to inspire you to make things easy for your future caretakers and like I discovered when my husband died, a gift to yourself.  

MORE CONVERSATION ON AGING

I lost another classmate this week.  I know at my age, this is to be expected.  We are approaching our 50th class reunion this September and John’s loss makes 25 known classmates that have left this earth.   In my own experience, I have come to believe the first person to die in a relationship is the lucky one.  Family intact, the healthy spouse becomes the built in care-taker, the medical advocate, insurance advocate, and family communicator.  Not an easy road being a caretaker, but it can be more scary facing aging alone.

Most of us do not plan for these times.  My own parents were a great example of this.  Living life, often pay check to pay check, not giving a thought about what the future holds as an “elderly person”, mostly because they didn’t have the resources to plan.   My Dad, who survived my mother by nine years, spent those nine years getting by, doing what most of us do when living life alone after losing a spouse, keeping busy to fight off the loneliness.

My Dad and I had a conversation shortly after my Mother died about his future.  I told him then, that I wanted him to be as independent for as long as he could and do as much as he wanted, but when the time came for him to face that moment where he knew he could no longer care for himself, to please consider moving in with Pat and I.  He did not respond and that was the entirety of our conversation.  As the oldest child and daughter, I took on the long distance role of calling him every day, morning and night (unless I knew he was traveling with his lady friend).  Over time, because of this intimacy in calls, I could hear the changes in his voice and tone, even though his words were, “I’m okay, “ often followed by his activities. 

A trip to North Carolina followed as soon as I sensed something was off with him to discover it was time for that decision.  I walked in, saw his condition and said, “Oh Pop, you know what this means?” as I saw how swollen his ankles were and how out of breath he was with any movement.  I was lucky in that he gave me no fight about moving him up North, and for the last 3 1/2 years of his life, the only thing he had to say about moving in with us was “If I had known I was going to live this long I would have waited longer before moving in with you all.”

That was the total conversation about any end of life arrangements.  I didn’t really understand it then, but now, as I stand alone after losing Patrick, I understand better what it means to face the rest of our life alone, hopefully, independent but still alone.  We don’t want to be a burden to our kids.  We don’t want to cost our kids any financial worries.  As we age, we tend to hang on to what ever we have harder…for those days when we will need it.

But we do a disservice to ourselves and our children when we avoid sitting them down and having the “senior talk.”  I know my brother and I talked about those times long before we lost our Mother and our Dad was alone.  I know my own children have had the conversation since losing their Dad, although I sometimes believe they are throwing dice to see who the loser is that will have to deal with me.  (Kidding of course!)

Next, I’ll cover options…especially when moving in with a child is not one of them.

Next time…

A CONVERSATION ON AGING

Getting old is a challenge.  Take time and  have a conversation with someone you see that is old enough to have their body begin to fail.  An honest conversation will show you that transition into old age is often scary, lonely, and physically challenging.  

When I talk with the elders here in the community, I hear things like, “I don’t want to bother the kids.  They are so busy with their life.”  “I don’t want to bother anyone.”  “I am okay. (Even when they are not.)”  Often,  the eyes on the elderly rest with caring neighbor’s who, more than anyone, are able to see up close the needs of those who have reached this stage.  

As long as health and mental abilities are good, there are no issues.  I know, at 68 almost 69, I find when I hear a comment that refers to my age as “elderly”, I often cringe inside and say quietly, “Really?  Elderly?”  Right now—today—I do not feel elderly.  Oh, I know my body tries to show me in many ways I am.  I look at my hands surprised at times at the wrinkles and brown spots that seem to multiply daily.  I only need look at my naked body in the mirror and watch what gravity is doing to those parts that use to be perky!  My hair grows grayer by the day, my body is apparently rejecting foods I use to love to eat,  my muscles are not functioning at a level they did when I was just 10 years younger.  Oh, I feel the creeping effects of age on me.

Change is the most challenging.  Especially change that comes without choice, like death or health issues that make it impossible for one to stay in a home they know.  Often in conversations with others here, I hear people plant their feet in cement, and do not want to give up what they have or where they are at in life.  A feeling that “at my age, why should I …..” and I don’t always understand this.  With many of us living 25 to 35 years beyond retirement, I don’t get how we can expect our monies to last that long.  I know that I have already been looking at alternatives for myself when the time comes that I can no longer afford to live where I am now.  I get that it could be hard if you are living in the home you raised your family in, with the hopes that you could die there too, but the reality is different.  

Often, a home large enough to raise a family in becomes a physical challenge to upkeep.  It is also not realistic to think that we will die with all the money we had at retirement in the bank.  Some of us may be lucky in that field, I expect I will not be one of them.  The moment I start losing sleep over the fact that I don’t have enough to cover my primary living expenses I hope to be able to find the wisdom to move on with grace.  

I have a friend, Martin Bayne, who I met after listening to him speak on aging on NPR radio.  He has written so eloquently on the art of aging and what we Baby Boomers are going to face in the future.  He rings a bell as loud as he can, but too many of us are too busy living and playing to take the time to listen. His blog, http://thevoiceofagingboomers.com/ is worth a look and has a large following which produces in him the hope that by the time Baby Boomers arrive they will face a different long-term care system that what he has found himself living in.   I will write more about his work later….

I’VE COME A LONG WAY

As I sit here this Saturday, not babysitting, or doing anything else for that matter, trying to recover from a short hospital visit, and a diagnosis of diverticulitis and another round of bladder infection, I realized how different this visit was as compared to the first time I went in after losing Pat.  

The first time I went in, I was more acutely aware of not having Pat, my comforter, with me.   I felt extremely vulnerable and alone.  Every question was loaded with reminders of my new station in life.  But this time the experience was totally different.

When the fever and pain told me this was something different and needed attention, I called the doctor’s office and got the direction to go to the ER.  I was calm through the whole thing…in pain…but calm.  I knew I could always call 911.  When a neighbor heard that I was having issues they offered to drive me, too.  I decided to call my daughter who worked nearby and let her know I was heading over to the ER  and she responded with, “I’ll be right there.”  

I let her come and off we went.  At the hospital, the questions no longer were slaps in the face…single married or widowed.  I am what I am. A widow.

I even sent my daughter home with an “I’ll call when they are ready to release me.  Go home and rest until I am ready to go.”  And, “don’t let your brother’s know until I know what is going on.  If they tell me I have the bunga-bunga disease and have a short time to live you can call and get their butts here.”  We laughed and said good-bye.  She would have stayed if I wanted her to.

That was enough for me.  Just knowing that if I really needed someone, there would be someone there.  I know in my heart, if I had called any of the kids, they would of come.

I realize, sitting here today, how far I have come in my journey of learning to live life as a single person.  I am strong, independent and find pleasure in answering only to me at times.  Oh, that does not mean that things are perfect yet.  I still find those moments when I wish I had that hug, those cuddle moments…but you know when you can’t…you have to let go.  This latest experience told me I am okay.  

IT ALL HAS TO END SOMETIME

It’s almost over.  My two weeks at the shore.  This elongated stay is a first for me and I have enjoyed every day!  The smell of the sea air, the sounds of the roaring waves, and the sand….well maybe the sand is not so much fun, but I honestly have enjoyed my time here.  The sense that the whole world is on vacation fills every moment allowing one to relax at will.  

I am not a sun-loving sand sitter, but I do love to walk the beach in the morning and at night.  It’s the sound, the smell and the feeling of being here that I love.  So many memories flood me—-especially remembering the first time Pat brought me to Ocean City, New Jersey.  I was born and raised in Illinois so there was Lake Michigan, but an ocean and a lake, no matter the size, cannot be compared.  

From the moment I drive across the causeway to the smell of the sea air, a smile, fills my soul and will not leave until I leave later this morning to return home.

A phenomena occurred while I was here…every time i have come to the ocean, I do what thousands of others do and go shell and stone searching.  Looking for the treasure mother nature offers up.  Especially conch shells.  Time and again I would come down and find no conch.  Last year, while the family was here, Lauren and Meredith found a couple of shells and the search became more intense.  No matter how many an early morning or evening walks I could find none.

Well, some secret door must have opened after my 6-year-old granddaughter, along with her Dad and other family members found 22 conches on the beach.  Every walk on the beach since that day has been a discovery of not just one conch, but many.  Yesterday during my 12,000 step walk I found many.  It was like they were jumping up and saying, “look…look…look, here I am!”  I guess, like anything else out in the universe, once you know what to look for, you see it all around you.

I return home, with a bounty of memories, a sense of renewal and energy to tackle whatever comes my way next.

CUSTOMER SERVICE IS WORTH THE CALL

Pat and I  worked hard for our money as most of us do.  From early on in my life, I would get annoyed that a product purchased would not live up to the advertised promise.  Especially items I purchased for my children.  

Pat and I had four children in 4 1/2 years.  Money was tight, and Pat especially worked hard for what we did have, so that made me all the more frugal when it came to spending it.  I took great care at Christmas to pick out one “good” toy for each of the four, which meant I looked for the best quality I could afford.  Nothing got me riled up as much as a toy, built for a kid, not holding up to the normal play that kids do.

So early on, if a product did not hold up, I would call customer care and complain, or write a letter and before I knew it, a new item to replace the one broken was very often sent on its way.  This was a privilege I never abused, but when I did have to call, I also never felt bad about calling.

The biggest return came once when twisting a bottle cap off a coke bottle, the metal tore in such a way that I cut my thumb.  I called customer service to just let them know about the issue, more as a curtesy call than a complaint.  Before I knew it, they sent me a couple of coupons for some additional coke product.  Then one day I got a call from a service representative from Coke.  Was asking if he could come for a visit regarding my call to them.  

Upon arriving, we sat down and talked, he looked at the scar now formed on my thumb and we talked about the how and why’s of what could have happened.  Before he left, I was gifted with a couple of rubber bottle openers, some more coupons and a whole case of bottled coke.

This 4th of July weekend I found myself in another disappointing product moment.  I had bought four 1-pound packages of Dietz and Watson Hotdogs.  A product I buy all the time with great satisfaction.  But on this day, when we cooked them on the grill, it was obvious something was wrong when a slime appeared on the cooked dog.  No one would eat them.  There was one additional package left in the freezer.  I decided to call customer service and let them know something was wrong with this batch as the expiration date was not to be until July 18, 2015.  After a short conversation, some code numbers exchanged, they offered to send me coupons to replace those that I bought.  A thank you both ways, and we hung up.

Once again, I say to you all…if you are not satisfied with a product, call or write.  Contacting customer service is worth the call!

NO MORE GAY MARRIAGE

No.  Today, it is simply—marriage—and all that it brings with it.  Just that simple.  People much more eloquent than I will write about the events that have taken place today.  But for me, today is the first time I believe that we have fulfilled our promise to ourselves, “that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Oh, I am aware of those around me who are filled with as much angst over this as those around me who are in celebration tonight. I hear what they are saying, but to be honest I don’t understand their inability to accept the idea that everyone deserves to be happy and to be treated equally.

I am today, thinking of those in my family, who, for the first time in their life, can be treated as normally as anyone else.  The decisions they make in life do not have to wear a cloak of defiance, for today they have won the right to reach for their own Life, Liberty and their own personal pursuit of Happiness.  

As I think of the children who suffer such pain wrestling with the idea of their differences that today, maybe, with compassion and love, the world will allow them—encourage them to grow and become great and wonderful people.

As I think on those in my family, who hid who they were from us, for fear we would not love them or accept them, because society made them believe they were evil…this day is for you.  I celebrate with you!  I and the family have always known what a wonderful person you are, and when you found the courage to share yourself with us, you gave us a chance to show you.  Thank you for trusting us with you!

I am not naive to think that this ruling wipes away prejudice.  Not by a long shot!  But I have lived long enough to see how with time, prejudice can be lessened and we can be open to those who are different than we are.  I dream. I hope. I believe in the goodness of mankind.

A SALUTE TO MY THREE SONS ON FATHER’S DAY

Justin, Joliene, Damian and Aaron

As I sat here this morning, watching the ads on TV celebrating Father’s Day, missing the “best father” that I was married to, I realized that through my son’s and their role as father, he is still here through them.

I remember as a young family, the times that I would watch as Pat would wrestle with the kids in the living room, putting everything around in danger of breaking, yet knowing in those moments how precious these times were. Memories that still lift my spirit today.

It is a joy for me to watch my three son’s in their own life as husband and father.  I see their Dad through them in so many ways.  

I am proud of my sons.  Each one different, and at the same time carry the character of their Dad, who in my eyes, was on balance a great dad to his kids. 

Damian, a father of four, is supportive, loving, and kind.  Filled with a spirit of compassion and generosity that comes as naturally to him as breathing.  

Justin, father of two, who not only sacrificed for our country but his family too, always putting his family first.  Over the years, I watched his relationship with his girls and how important it was for him that they know how much he loves them.  Whether apart because of his military duties or together, he had a way of making it known that he loved them and they are the most important thing in the world to him.

Aaron, my youngest son, and a father of two, works hard for his family.  Watching him play with his kids is a joy for me and takes me back to the days when I watched his father on the floor with the kids, wrestling, reminding me of the life lived long ago.

I have watched the three of them grow into wonderful husbands.  I love their choices in wives.  Together they have created beautiful, loving families.  The eight grandchildren all are special in their own ways.  

My greatest joy is when their busy schedules clear enough for us to gather as a whole family, watching them banter and play, but most important, celebrate each other.  These times are when I feel Pat around the most because they are all so much like him and if you ask me, you can’t be much better than that!

Enjoy your day sons.  You deserve the best!

NO ROOM FOR HATE

As I  listen to the news that an accused 20-year-old was arrested for the hateful crime in the AME Church in Charleston, I am continually struck how the language of hate that we hear every day can motivate a young man, with a full life ahead of him, to decide to take on such a heinous act.  

Every time something like the shooting in Charleston happens, we all pause and ask why?  We will come together to mourn those whose life is so senselessly taken by another man’s hate.  Conversations will go on until we get tired of talking and the next ugly event takes place. And nothing changes.

Humanity has always struggled with its hate factor.  As the world opens up and accepts those who are different in religion or color, those on the fringe get more frustrated that no one is listening.  And the language and unwillingness of our politicians and news media to keep their angry ugly rhetoric in check only offers fuel to those on the fringe.  

This is why I try and not pass on hateful messages, or share what some perceive as jokes when it is a hate-filled depiction of one side or the other.  I can disagree politically with anyone and not lose my love of who they are.  If we all thought alike, approached things alike, then would we not all be alike? Buy the very same things? Do the same things?  We don’t.  We enjoy different colors.  We enjoy different places.  We eat different foods.  We celebrate different holidays.  And it’s amazing how we can all accept those kinds of differences without question.  But our disrespect for each other flows so freely on both radio and tv shows,  and sometimes to those in our life who believe different than us, and we forget how our words can affect those on the fringe of our thinking.

As the politicians continue to not work together and practice the politics of division, we create a divide in our peoples that is fueled by their inability to compromise and work together to create the best for the “whole of us”, not just part of us.  The money-fueled-lobbyist controls our politicians after we vote to put them in office.  

Unless we collectively shout loud and long that enough is enough, these kinds of hate-filled acts will continue.  If we collectively, do not search for and work for the common good of the common man, then these kinds of hate-filled acts will continue.  If we collectively, cannot reach across the divide of beliefs to find those things we can make better, then these kinds of hate-filled acts will continue.  It lies within all of us to make these kinds of changes.  We must treat each other as we want to be treated.  It starts with me…and you…and you…and you…and you.

DREAMING OF SWEET REVENGE

STOP!  Every time I open my mail to find more credit card offers I want to spit! I know this means I have an excellent credit history (I make sure of it!) but I resent having to purchase a new paper shredder just to get rid of them.  Week in and week out I get 3 to 4 offers.  Shredding them is important, I know, because a few years back someone got ahold of a couple of our offers and tried unsuccessfully to get a new credit card in my husband’s name.  The person attempting to do this couldn’t guess his birthday correct and that is the reason they were unsuccessful.  

As I was clearing out the weeks worth of offers, I began to daydream about a sweet revenge toward these companies that consistently make me feel like I am the meat source in a piranha fish tank.  First I would apply to get every offer that came through the door, then I would spend all my own money and purchase one of those around-the-world trips.  I would go to every exotic place on this earth, live like a Queen, and when my cash was gone begin to use up all the credit cards.  I would charge them all to the max.

I would time this trip at the end of my life.  As the credit would run out, I would return home, throw a big party to say good-bye to all my family and friends and then die, leaving no assets to pay off my debts!  

Ah….but I know this in the end would only hurt those who carry credit cards.  These companies have found ways to make us all pay for their stupidity.  

Do you remember the days when loyalty was important?  A “loyal customer” got treated special.  Loyalty to a company often meant special rewards.  They use the word today, but I find no loyalty.  When Pat died, a credit card that we had for over 30 years, without notice, got cancelled.  When I called to complain, I was told that they were notified of his death and because Pat was the primary and I was only “a user” they had to cancel the card.

I refused to apply for a new card with them.  In fact, I don’t feel any loyalty to any company these days.  You make it worth my while, I’ll consider it.

Do you remember life before credit cards?  The local mom and pop store at the corner kept a “tab” for you.  I remember my grandmother Brown sending me to the corner store to pick up a couple of items for her and saying to them,  “please put this on my Grandma’s tab.”  When Grandpa got paid, he would walk down to the store and pay the bill.

Even back in 1966 when I first moved to Pennsylvania, the local gas station kept a tab for my mother-in-law when she got gas or service.  Any of the kids could drive in, get gas and at some point she would stop in and pay the bill.  

Credit cards may have made life easier to move along, but I do not enjoy the impersonal relationship.  I miss that place where “everybody knew your name.”

I must say though, that around-the-world trip sure sounds tempting!

YOU MUST WALK YOUR OWN PATH

I enjoy reading biographies, memoir and personal stories of people whose beginnings were challenging yet found ways to overcome those challenges.  Tavis Smiley is a commentator on NPR radio, author, columnist and guest on various other news shows.  He wrote a book about his friendship with Maya Angelou, “My Journey with Maya.”  

I read the following clip on his work, “Tavis Smiley dictates a letter to a young American with inspiration from his late friend, Maya Angelou. No matter how much you seek the answers to life from external sources, the truth you seek can only be found within you. You must walk your own path without aid of shortcuts. And you need to acknowledge that the journey toward the authentic you is more important than the destination.”

I am reminded this week, through the journeys of a couple of my friends, that no matter the journey we are on, learning how to be a survivor of anything is something no one can do for us.  We can search for answers from other people in hopes of inspiring us, or we can want others in our life to “save us”, but the truth is, what we search for can only be found within us.  

A lesson I learned in my initial journey of learning how to survive childhood abuse is that I first had to decide that I was worthy of a life well lived, then decided what “I” was willing to do to allow that to happen.  Hanging on to old hurts and pain only keeps us hurting and in pain.

I am lucky in that I was married to someone who allowed me to find my own way while standing by my side and loving me through it all.  The tools I learned through that journey have helped me through my journey of grief too.   

In my case, my personal grief was a struggle because I felt so complete with my best friend and husband by my side.  With him gone, I felt the vulnerable side of me become exposed and it was as if I was learning all over again how to live life.  And in many ways I am.  Living life as a wife and mother was a 45-year adventure.  Now, living life as a single person is a new and often alien experience for me.  The most important thing I am learning is to look for the authentic “me” that dwells within.  

I resisted it for a long time because the completeness of being “a part of something” felt so good and comforting.  So when someone comes to me looking for those magic answers, they are disappointed that I cannot provide the secret code to the door that opens them up to life again.  I cannot save anyone.  Choosing to live as full a life as I can, I can by example, be a light to those in darkness, to show that if you want to live, you will find a way.