CELEBRATE

One more week before my wedding anniversary date arrives.  This has been such an unsettling summer, and it had nothing to do with the election!  A lonely walk down memory lane is a hard one to take.  I know those around me are tired of me moaning about it, but 50 is a big number.  Most who cross that threshold would be celebrating and rejoicing, but when you walk this walk alone, all you can do is think about what you had and now lost.  I will take this morning of the 24th and celebrate albeit alone, the day that forever changed my life.

My desire to surround myself with family during these times can be difficult because they are all so busy, so I try to busy myself.  It does not always work. I had a conversation the other day with others my age and discovered most all of us are walking this walk,  particularly those who have lost their life partner.  We have all experienced loss and as days go by we discover that those that entered this world with us are leaving us with only those we gather or gave birth to along the way.  What I heard in these conversations is that loneliness does not mean we are alone physically.  It is more that we have lost the intimacy of the closeness in a relationship.  To be intimate is to be let into someone's life.  To feel needed, important, and most important, wanted.  All seem fleeting in this world where everyone runs and has no time to slow down.

Saying this, I know I am luckier than some others.  I know there are those out there that never had an opportunity to create a family, so in watching them traverse through this period is interesting.  The common link for us is finding people that will let us into their life allowing for the sense of purpose.  Yes, we volunteer, we help, we give, but always something is missing in the end.  Intimacy.  Sharing. Belonging.  The other day I was in conversation with a friend who celebrates names.  Yes, names.  The history of names.  How we got them.  Why we got them.  He is from Ireland.  By the end of the conversation, we determined that we here in America long to belong to a "tribe."  We miss that personal sense of identity and belonging.

So as we enter this holiday season, take the time to look into the eyes of the older generation.  Let them know they are not forgotten.  We will all be enriched if you find a way to let them into your life. 

Happy Thanksgiving and Happy 50th to me!

VICTIM NO LONGER

I’ve been uneasy lately.  Sometimes it takes me time to figure these things out within myself as to why.  Hearing the hate rhetoric of this political campaign I know is part of it, so I have taken to tuning it out and making myself busy doing more enlightened activities.  

But then the other day I happen to be listening to the radio when Trump was speaking.  He announced that when the election is over, he plans on suing all the women who have stood and said he sexually assaulted them and the crowd cheered.  Like a thousand shards of glass, I felt pain from every one of those who cheered him on.  

My life has not been without its bullies.  For 11 years I was a victim of childhood sexual abuse and rape.  I was the keeper of the secret because I was told if I told anyone what was happening, I would be the one to get into trouble.  What does a 5-year-old know when an adult says that to them?

It took me until I was 17 to find the courage to speak the truth out loud.  In the end, I found power in letting the truth out, but not before my family abandoned me with accusations of my being a slut, whore and out just to get the uncle’s money.  But for the fact that I met my husband who showed me a different way of life I wonder where I would be today?

In my work life, I ran into two more bullies.  A job I had in a local printing shop had a supervisor who made inappropriate comments to all the women in the plant when they went about doing their business.  Then one day when I was working in the office in the early evening, that same supervisor came in and as usual standing over me, making his crude comments suddenly slipped his hand inside my shirt top.   I did not hesitate to take the incident to my boss.  An investigation took place supporting my story, the supervisor retired early with a “secret” retirement party, and then began a year long ugly shop talk by the “good ole boys club” of the plant.  In fear when I left work at night in the dark, I would find graffiti on my car or a flat tire.  Stage whisper conversations would occur as I walked out into the plant, talking about me as if I could not hear.  Running to the HR people was not feasible…how could I complain about every time I was made to feel uncomfortable.  So I endured.  A year later I left that job for another.

In my last job, I worked one year for an interim assistant principal covering for my boss who moved over to the Principal’s seat while that person was on sabbatical.  For one year, he bullied and badgered and went out of his way to let me know how he felt about me by either what he did or didn’t do.  At the end of the year when I was called into the office to discuss the Mum that was left on my desk every Monday with an upbeat note of encouragement, i.e., “The sun will come up tomorrow!  Love Annie”.  An accusation was brought against me as if I were the one who instigated the gift of the motivating Mum every Monday.  When I fought back, I was told just to buck up, that the end of the year was coming and this would be behind me.

I started with nightmare dreams like I had in the early years before my voice had been heard about the abuse I was experiencing.  I was initially puzzled as to why my abuse issues were rising.  Then, one day, when the year was behind me, it came to me.  That sense of abandonment by my boss, who instead of standing up for me, asked me just to endure the moment and let it pass.  “Be a good soldier”, he said.

The more powerful the bully, the harder it is for a victim to step up.  No one steps up without consequences.  Loss of family.  Loss of friends.  A feeling of being alone and knowing the truth and nowhere to turn.   It can be a lonely walk.

Being a victim is not easy.  Being let down by those around you is worse.  It took me a long time to come to terms with that part of it.  As I watched the ladies who have been harmed by Bill Cosby and now Donald Trump, I find myself saying, “You go girl!  Stand up to the bully!”  

For that is what men like this are.  They believe they have the right and their money allows them to push back hard.  I have learned over my course of living, that finding the courage to speak the truth even when others do not want to hear it, frees me.  I can breathe again.  I can walk with my head high, even when my heart breaks at the crush of words that may come.  I know the truth, just as the women who find themselves standing up to these men do.  There is a journalist, Michele Goldberg of Slate Magazine, who offered women a chance to share their personal story of bullies in the workplace.  She was unprepared for the avalanche of response.  It is not a club that anyone has asked to join.  It is not an easy club to belong.  But speaking the truth not only shines for others looking to do so but frees ourselves up to live the life we are entitled to live.  I am proud to be a survivor.  To not have let the bullies ruin my life.  I am one of the lucky ones.

To all of you who cheer Donald Trump on when he says he plans on suing these woman when this election is over, I pray your daughter never has to experience this pain.  And to those who have a story to tell, email Michele Goldberg, she wants to hear your story.  michelle.goldberg@slate.com

And to those who need light…I share the following:

“Don't judge yourself by what others did to you.” 

― C. Kennedy, Ómorphi

“You can recognize survivors of abuse by their courage. When silence is so very inviting, they step forward and share their truth so others know they aren't alone.” 

― Jeanne McElvaney, Healing Insights: Effects of Abuse for Adults Abused as Children

“Survivors of abuse show us the strength of their personal spirit every time they smile.” 

― Jeanne McElvaney, Healing Insights: Effects of Abuse for Adults Abused as Children

TRAVELING DOWN THE ROAD

Coyote Roadhouse
Baileys Harbor, Wisconsin

I want Thanksgiving to be over!  I cannot escape the yo-yo ride of emotion that has been with me since the summer started.  As I have said earlier, this would have been our 50th anniversary year, and I celebrate without my best friend by my side.  This past week I drove a friend out to Wisconsin to see her only son and daughter-in-law in their new home.  A journey for my friend turned out to be a sentimental journey for me.  It was Oct 7, 1966, that I moved from Ingleside, Illinois to Harleysville, Pennsylvania.  

Taking Audrey to her son in Wisconsin provided me an opportunity to drive through the place of my birth and where Pat and I first met and fell in love.  I was taken back by the emotion that rose up as I drove by Belvidere Road…Gurnee, Rollins Road…places, and names that are permanently etched in my bank of memories.  

The spot where Lake Michigan meets Green Bay.

The trip had one of those serendipity moments too.  Audrey’s son and daughter-in-law manage the Coyote Roadhouse in Baileys Harbor, Wisconsin.  The Roadhouse is one of those bar/eateries that locals love and where everyone knows your name.  As we walked in, although strangers,  we were greeted like lost old friends…a Midwestern attitude that I immediately recognized.  Great conversation, friendly faces, and some really good food made for an enjoyable time.  Later, talking to Carrie, Audrey’s daughter-in-law, she asked where in Illinois I lived. 

After telling her that I graduated from Grant Community High School in 1965, she indicated that her waitress, Diane Pinkham’s family is from there.  It turns out I graduated with Betty, her sister-in-law.  Small world.  Smaller when you think of how everything lined up to make this moment happen.

Door County Wisconsin is a beautiful place.  If you look at a map and check out the area between the bay of Green Bay and Lake Michigan, you will see a little strip of land tucked up between these two bodies of water.  I could easily see that life was hard for those who lived there all year round.  Working every hour you could while it was tourist season carried you through the winter months when everyone went home.  

What struck me, was how connected those who lived there were with each other.  Especially the art community.  Because I dabble in oil painting, Scott took us to some of the many galleries in the area.  What I observed was how supportive they were of each other.  “Oh, you like oil paintings?  Then you should check out the gallery at such and such.”  I would get a history of the artists represented.  Did I like photography, then it was a must I see so and so.  Many of the galleries we visited were artist owned.  The joy was in the conversation and energy felt during our conversations!  

It was a great trip with my friend Audrey.  I was glad to be able to take her out to see her son and his new home.  It was also a good trip for me.  I am reminded that life is still to be lived and there is much to explore.  And I look forward to the adventure of meeting new people and seeing new places…especially if they are all as friendly as the gang at the Coyote Roadhouse.  You should stop in if you get up that way.  They would be glad to see ya!

TRAVELING DOWN THE ROAD

Coyote Roadhouse
Baileys Harbor, Wisconsin

I want Thanksgiving to be over!  I cannot escape the yo-yo ride of emotion that has been with me since the summer started.  As I have said earlier this would have been the 50th anniversary year, and I celebrate without my best friend by my side.  This past week I drove a friend out to Wisconsin to see her only son and daughter-in-law in their new home.  A journey for my friend turned out to be a sentimental journey for me….timing.   For it was Oct 7, 1966, that I moved from Ingleside, Illinois to Harleysville, Pennsylvania.  

Taking Audrey to her son in Wisconsin provided me an opportunity to drive through the place of my birth and where Pat, and I first met and fell in love.  I was taken back by the emotion that rose up as I drove through Belvidere Road…Gurnee, Rollins Road…places, and names that are permanently etched in my bank of memories.  

The spot where Lake Michigan meets Green Bay.

The trip had one of those serendipity moments too.  Audrey’s son and daughter-in-law manage the Coyote Roadhouse in Baileys Harbor, Wisconsin.  The Roadhouse is one of those bar/eateries that locals love and where everyone knows your name.  As we walked in, although strangers,  we were greeted like lost old friends…a Midwestern attitude that I immediately recognized.  Great conversation, friendly faces, and some really good food made for an enjoyable time.  Later, talking to Carrie, Audrey’s daughter-in-law, she asked where in Illinois I lived. 

After telling her that I graduated from Grant Community High School in 1965, she indicated that her waitress Diane Pinkham’s family is from there.  It turns out I graduated with Betty, her sister-in-law.  Small world.  Smaller when you think of how everything lined up to make this moment happen.

Door County Wisconsin is a beautiful place.  If you look at a map and check out the area between the bay of Green Bay and Lake Michigan, you will see a little strip of land tucked up between these two bodies of water.  One could pick up that life was hard for those who lived there all year around.  Working every hour you could while it was tourist season carried you through the winter months when everyone went home.  

What I was struck with was how connected those who lived there all year round where.  Especially the art community.  Because I dabble in oil painting, Scott took us around to some of the many galleries in the area.  What I observed was how supportive they were of each other.  “Oh, you like oil paintings?  Then you should check out the gallery at such and such.”  I would get a history of the artists represented.  Did I like photography, then it was a must I see so and so.  In many of the galleries, we stopped they were artist owned and could found on premise for some wonderful conversation.  

It was a great trip with my friend Audrey.  I was glad to be able to take her out to see her son and his new home.  It was also a good trip for me.  I am reminded that life is still to be lived and there is much to explore.  And I look forward to the adventure of meeting new people and seeing new places…especially if they are all as friendly as the gang at the Coyote Roadhouse.  You should stop in if you get up that way.  They would be glad to see ya!

TRANSITION

I follow a site called “Begin with Yes”…today the following posting showed up.  “The transition to evening reminds us that life is about transitions too. When we understand that this is just part of the natural unfolding, we resist less and become less fearful. Everything will be OK”

How many times have I written about my own personal transition from wife to widow to single and the challenges it has presented, yet feeling lucky to understand and accept the idea that everything will be OK.  That does not make the pain go away.  I know I sometimes have to wear a mask of “everything is ok” just to get through the day, and so do many other widows I meet and talk with.  

When I talk about my reactions to leaving a wonderful event with family or friends and sometimes find myself breaking into tears heading home alone in the car…they nod and understand…for them too, they tell me.  There is always that moment that you leave the group, get into your car and as I have said before when you close that door that sound of the door slams you into a reality of your aloneness. 

I gave a talk a while back and was in conversation with someone who said, “I pretend to be okay because everyone expects me to be.”  She went on to say, “In pretending, I can often get through the day, but it is not real.”  

How that struck me.  We all wear masks of sorts.  Most of us present to others that which we think they want to see and too often it leaves us wanting inside and nowhere to share the voice we really want to be heard.  

Yet, I know it is up to me at this stage to find my own way, to create a new life.  I often feel like I have each foot in a different world.  One where I want to run and explore and start over…even sometimes thinking it would be wonderful to run away and begin life over.  The other foot stays planted in a need to be around the family.  But I am experiencing more that the family is so busy, and their need for me, is gone, and due to time, distance and busy lives getting together is harder.  And it is not unique to me, it is a common theme.  In the community in which I live, the last census taken by the Homeowners Association showed 52% of the people living here are single-home dwellers.  The quiet that permeates this place sometimes kills the soul!

I remember when I first moved here the first thing I missed was the sound of kids playing on the street.  Halloween doorbells ringing with “trick or treat” sounds.  Noise.  Now don’t get me wrong…quiet is good.  But too much quiet is deafening to the spirit.  I need people.  I need life.  I need to move and dance and play and sing.  So I am preparing for a new transition.  I have decided to sell my home and with my daughter-in-law and son’s invitation am moving into a mother-in-law suite they are building into their home.  Privacy when I want it, yet family when I need it.  

This will allow me to have the funds I need to travel.  This will put me in a place where life is still being lived robustly, yet when I need to step in and be in quiet…it will be there (we are soundproofing the place!)  For the first time in a long while I am looking forward with joy in my heart.  This feels good.  I am lucky.  At 69 I am healthy, mobile, still have my wits about me, and have a few years to get in as much as I can before my time comes to leave this place and by damn I am going to give it all I got and see where it goes.  

The next challenge? Thinning out the “stuff”.

IT WAS GOOD WHILE IT LASTED!

Joe Hart, best man, Lucyann Eyre, Maid of Honor, Me and Pat
at the home on Cressman Road where we held our reception.

As some of you have recognized from my last few writings I have been on a melancholy journey lately.  It is because for many in this stage of life this would be a journey of celebration…fifty years of anything would be worth celebrating, but I’ll miss the joy of celebrating those 50 years with my best friend. This would have been the year. 

It all happened so fast.  Our first date in June.  Engaged in August.  Met the new in-laws in September.  Moved to Pennsylvania in October.  Married in November.  So this time of year is finding me looking back and remembering the good times and feeling amazed at how fast the time has passed.  

Today I took a road trip to all the places I have lived since moving to Pennsylvania in 1966.  My first stop was on Cressman Road in Harleysville.    We left Illinois, pulling a U-haul trailer behind my 1966 VW (yes I said pull a fully loaded trailer behind the VW).  We could not travel faster than 40 MPH and that was downhill.  Driving from Ingleside to Harleysville at that speed made for a long slow trip.  Being a new convert to my faith, when Pat asked if we could stop at a hotel about half way there, I asked if he could promise to be “good”.  “I can’t promise that,” he said.  “Keep on driving then,” I said, and we did, 23 total hours from Ingleside to Harleysville.  When we pulled into the driveway, Pat got out, walked through the door with me following close behind, and he turned to his Mom and said, “Take care of Marlene Mom, I am tired and going to bed.”  There I was standing in the doorway, with my new family that I had just met 3 weeks earlier.

I shared Lucyann’s bedroom until our marriage on Thanksgiving Day.  We were perfect roommates.  We both were good at hiding our dirty laundry under our bed.  It was also the place where I began to learn about unconditional love and it’s true meaning.  I was a young woman with not a lot of female guidance from my own mother, so I entered this family like a waif from the wrong side of the tracks.  I learned this when my husband’s grandmother who lived with my widowed mother-in-law, did my laundry and discovered my less than perfect lingerie.  Shocked that I would become a bride with such garments, she grabbed everything out of my drawers and threw it all away.  By the time she thought of what she had done the trash man had come and emptied the trash cans.  

When I returned from work, I was met at the door by a nervous grandmother who guided me to her room and explained what she had done while slipping some money into my hands telling me I needed to go out that night and replace what had been discarded for all I had left was what I was wearing.  

I slipped up to my bedroom and burying my face into the pillow crying with embarrassment, wanting to run away but couldn’t because I had nowhere to go.  This turned out to be a good thing in the end.  When Pat came in from his job, he was told what had happened and finding me crying up in my room, explained for the first of many times to me that when someone does something out of love, I could not get mad.  “If she did not love you,” he said, “she would not have cared.”

Our first apartment was at Pennbrooke Apartments in Lansdale.  I remembered when we got the apartment Nov 1st.  We had less than three weeks to gather the things we needed to set up our first home.  Garage sales and auctions allowed for some good finds.  An old bed from the house, a table from Uncles Bob and Ed set us up for a good start.  We didn’t have much, but we didn’t need much.  We had each other and it was fun.  I remember one night we had gone over to the apartment to set up the kitchen.  After awhile, the apartment manager came knocking on the door with a message from Pat’s mother.  She thought we were there just a little bit too long and thought it time we return to the house.  This made for a good story on more than one occasion during our lifetime.

A year later we found a cheap, $55 a month apartment on Morwood Road in Telford.  A downstairs, one bedroom apartment in the country.  We could have a dog.  It was a small place, yet we had Damian while there and became pregnant with our second son, Justin.  Pat and I actually argued about moving.  Pat wanted to stay…after all who wanted to give up $55 a month?

Our third home was on Trumbauersville Road in Quakertown.  A 3 bedroom rental house allowed us to grow our family that at this time included Joliene.  It was here that we took in our first house guests.  Fresh Air Children from the city for two weeks.  This turned out to cause trouble with our landlord.  They were  black.  He did not like that.  Although we enjoyed having Keven and Michael in our family for two weeks, when the next summer came we were asked by the landlord to not bring the kids out again.  He felt that he was being blamed for having the first blacks in the area and he said if we respected him we would not do it.  It was an awful time for us, for we loved the family we grew to know and wanted them to return to our house.  So we left there and bought our first home on Portzer Road in Quakertown and our first guests were the whole Edwards family.

We lived on Portzer Road for 13 years.  Our family grew by one more, Aaron.  Family picnics, holiday parties, yard sales, and great neighbors made this a hard place to move from.  But when your oldest son could not stand up straight in their bedroom on the second floor (we lived in a cape cod style home with a slanted room upstairs) it was time to move.

We soon found ourselves on East Market Street in Perkasie.  Pat and I knew from the moment we crossed the threshold of this house that this was home.  It took awhile for the kids to adjust to the new school and neighborhood, but the family time at this place was perfect in many ways.  We always seem to find room for those needing a bed and place to stay  until they got  back up on their feet.  In fact, one time we found the kids had put a sign up on our bedroom door, “Boarding House Managers Sleep Here.”  

In the 18 years we lived there we had the following people live with us at one time or another:  Oko (a Japanese exchange student), Little Rich, Big Rich, Penny, Brandon, Tyler, my Dad, my mother-in-law,  Denise,  and Dawn (a woman of many personalities).  The first summer we moved into the house,  Damian’s friend Carl, lived with us all summer causing us to explain to the neighbors that all the kids did not belong to us.  It was a sad moment when I recognized due to Pat’s illness that we could no longer stay in this home of many memories, and we moved to where I am now, a 55 plus community in Buckingham.  

This last move was a bittersweet move.  It was good to downsize.  Taking care of a large home and yard by myself was beginning to weigh on me.  Moving here was a form of relief even when it did also mean that Pat was ill and could no longer do steps.  I knew when I moved in here that this would not be my last home but it has been a great place to be, especially with the outreach during Pat’s illness and eventual death.  

But it is time for me to move on.  I can look back at each one of the homes I have lived and remember the good moments and happy memories.  For this I am grateful.  But, as I once said to one of my sons, "I am not dead yet."  I do have a life to live and I am working to make the best of it. Even when my thoughts fill me with what once was, I know that I am grateful for all that it has been.  

My life with Pat was more than I ever imagined it could be.  And because of our life, I know that if I remain open to all possibilities, it could happen again.  I just have to get in touch with that spirit within me that directed me to take a chance all those years ago and not be afraid.

But damn…it sure was good while it lasted!

CHERISH THE MOMENTS

Cherish the  3 a.m. time in the rocking chair trying to calm the colicky  baby.

Cherish the moment when you have had three nights of interrupted sleep because the baby is not well. 

Cherish the moment when the kids come flying through the door with mud on their shoes on your newly scrubbed floor.

Cherish the moment…when you pace the floor as your teens return home on the minute of curfew.

Cherish the moment when the basement floods but together you figure out how to clear it out.

Cherish the moment when you watch your spouse play on the floor with the kids and manage to break your favorite vase.

Cherish the moment when you find tears flowing from the fatigue you feel because the day was so full and you have not had one minute to yourself.

Cherish the moment the kids are fighting in the back seat of the car on that long road trip.

Cherish the moment your teen screams at you about how you don’t understand.

Cherish the moment when the kids return home from college and clutter the house.

Cherish the moment when your child comes in crying and you are the only one who can comfort them.

Cherish the moment you spend the night worrying about the choices your child makes.

Cherish the arguments you had with your spouse.  At least you were communicating.  

Cherish the moment you felt alone in the house because they were all gone…you at least knew they were all returning.

Cherish the moments you laid your head down on the pillow just glad you made it through the day without killing the kids.

Cherish the moments.  For too soon the opportunity for those moments go away and you are left standing at the door wondering what happened to those days, wishing you could be back there…full of life…fatigue…worry…stress.  For they are days you will describe as the best days of your life.

KEEP ON MOVING ON

I write to process life as it presents itself to me.  Plain and simple.  The other day I wrote about the loneliness found in the aging population.  You only need to look around you and you can find it if you want to.  For me, writing about this loneliness helps me to understand that it is a normal passage of life.  Lucky are those who are the first to die in the partnership.  The first to die still has a family intact, an advocate when you cannot think or act on your own, and most important that someone close who knows when you need the family nearby.  You are never alone.

But once you lose that partner, you stand alone in the world facing most all these moments by yourself.  I remember after Pat died, thinking on more than one occasion, how long would it be before someone found me if I should collapse in the house?  And when I talk to those who live in my community who find themselves in the same position as myself, this conversation comes with lots of I-know-what-you-mean head nods.  Yes…yes…yes….me too is the common idiom.  

And the truth is, there have been occasions here in the community where people have died and it was a few days before they were found.  It happens.  We do not want it to be us…but it could happen. The most common assumption is that having children is a safety net for these things to not take place.  Not so.  Our children are busy living their own lives.  A full schedule makes time pass quickly between calls or visits.  

There is a level of fear that some express when it comes to these vulnerable moments.  I don’t know how you make those moments go away.  I try to fight them by staying busy, but the truth is this does not always satisfy either.

In the beginning of my journey of learning how to live alone, I wrote a poem titled, “Keep Moving”.

Keep moving.

No time to think

No time to miss

the things that gave me joy

So I just keep moving.

Keep moving.

To stop is to feel

I don’t want that now

the pain is too real.

Just keep moving.

Keep moving.

If I stop

I know the pain will take me

to places, I don’t want to be.

I just keep moving.

Keep moving.

A wife, a mother I used to be,

It feels so long ago

What am I now?

I really don’t know

so I just keep moving.

If I keep moving

the pain won’t be real.

If I keep moving

it will be hard to feel

the dark that fills my insides.

I just keep moving.

Oh, what do I do?

A wife, a mother I used to be.

What am I now

in this club, I did not want to join?

A child?

My parents both gone

a child no moe.

A wife?

My husband passed on

a lover no more.

A mother?

Children grown and gone

with lives of their own,

a mother no more.

A grandmother, yes.

So sweet when they are young

but as they grow

I am an old person they know.

So what am I these days?

I float—keep moving along

afraid to stop because

I know the pain will overtake me.

I keep moving.

No desire to stand still

Oh God

please tell me your will.

So many steps ahead.

What could each one bring?

If I keep moving will I

know when it is okay to stop?

Just breath—be quiet, listen, feel it.

A new day will dawn.

New things will come.

Stop moving long enough and

just take it slow.

Who am I now?

I just want to know.

Existing is not enough

purpose has to be the stuff.

Keep opening doors,

who knows what I will find.

Keep moving.

This will buy me time.

I hope the day will come

when I no longer feel the need to run

to fill my time and space.

With some luck

I will find my place.

STOP

Breath—Listen—Feel it

Everything will be OKAY.

There are times this still is my cry in the night.  I am better today than when I first wrote this.  But living alone can still be a struggle for me from time to time.  Loneliness is still that dark hole I feel occasionally.  Not sure of my place in the lives around me can still fill me with emotion and uncertainty.  But filling my time with things to do is all I can do and like that river of pain that flows beneath my soul, sometimes it rears its ugly head and I just have to let it pass through me until I get up and move forward again.  

I also recognize that I am in an emotional place…50 years ago this month I said yes to a marriage proposal that changed my life forever.  50 years ago.  How can time pass by so fast?  How can it be that long?  50 years ago I was starting a new life.  And now 50 years later I am starting a new phase again.  Life.  Passages.  Normal.  And all I can do is remember what I wrote back in the beginning of this new journey…to stop—breath—listen—feel it…and know that everything will be okay.

AUGUST

One always thinks of spring as the time for renewal and change.  Leaving the dark of winter behind and opening up to the new possibilities   But with August sending off the next generation to their new lives through college, work or marriage, we recognize that this too is a time for a change and new opportunities.  

I’ve been seeing postings from those who are facing the “empty nest” as children go off into their new lives and I whisper under my breath….wait…it gets more so as time moves on.  

In conversations with fellow neighbors, who as a group find ourselves in similar settings, watching our grandchildren go off to school, and remembering our own like it was yesterday…many from a distance feeling more and more out of touch with what is going on in their daily lives.

You are a part of their life as they see it…but not as we see it.  We sit in a corner, distant from their everyday. I remember the shock when Grammy Ford thanked me for inviting her and Uncles Bob and Ed into their lives.  I was stunned by the comment.  We always felt their presence even when we were not together.  I didn’t get it then.  I do now.  For it is true.  Children once grown and gone either invite you into their life or keep you at bay…inviting you only when it is time to celebrate one thing or another.  

Poolside conversation by fellow neighbors (a 55 plus community) find many of us feeling the same distance and not sure how we feel about it all.

Loneliness is the theme of many here.  What does it take for someone to step outside of one's door and develop a life not associated with family.  Making new friends takes hard work, and not having the comfort of familiarity and history adds to the loneliness and feelings of being disconnected.  Even the couples here in the community express similar feelings.  Add the loss of a spouse and those feelings get magnified.   These are normal passages I am sure.  There are too many around me that I see expressing the same kind of feelings for it not to be.  

There is one woman in our community who is very sensitive to these wails in the night and sets up all kinds of activities and gets frustrated when those she hears cry out for friendship and family not take advantage of what is presented…but then depression can do that to you.  Make you feel that you don’t have the energy to step outside and face the world and work at making new relationships.  

There is a song written by John Prine and made famous by Bette Midler, called “Hello in There” and the chorus goes:  

“Ya' know that old trees just grow stronger

And old rivers grow wilder ev'ry day

Old people just grow lonesome

Waiting for someone to say, "Hello in there, hello”

WHAT’S NEXT, con’t

Back in June, I had indicated that I was thinking about what remains in life, where do I go, how do I get there and what do I do to make it happen.  Traveling is high on my list.  How to afford that when traveling alone has a surcharge…imagine.  A penalty for having no one in your life.  An odd thought really.  

Anyway, a friend shared a website called “TrustedHousesitters.com”.  Travel anywhere in the world and your lodging only costs your attention to the house and animals left by the owners.  Not a bad tradeoff.  

The other list of things to check was where to go to downsize both physically and financially.  This has been what has taken up a lot of my time…getting an education about what is next.  I am glad that I looked into this now while I am of sound mind and body.  To deal with this later in the game means the kids would have to step up and take over and the issues that can arise for them can leave lifetime amounts of guilt…something I don’t want to create for them.

So I went searching for independent apartment living.  Pennsylvania is a wonderful state to live in for seniors.  The county has a Department of Aging that provides information that at first can overwhelm you.  Here is what I have learned in this journey as a senior living alone.

First, there are two kinds of institutions out there….for profit and not-for-profit.  When considering entering one of these, know that they look at your financial status and in most cases won’t accept you if you do not possess enough money to carry you through their statistical time period of needing assisted living.  So if you live and die suddenly…this is good.  If you live and go from living to nursing home care, this too is doable.  But if your life finds you needing long term assisted living, well, let’s just say this is the part that will drain your bank faster than water over a damn.  And although these senior institutions don’t want to kick you out due to lack of funds, they will.  

Now some have a benevolent society within the institution, but if your needs go beyond what they want to carry, you will be asked to leave the facility.  Good luck family!  In some instances, an application for financial need can be exercised but in these cases, the senior needs to be destitute. 

Let me share a story of a women I met and talked with regarding an incident with her father.  Her mother had died when she was a young women.  Her father never remarried.  Living a bare bones life his senior years found him barely making ends meet.  No pension…no savings…just social security and even that did not keep up with inflation over the years making it impossible to live on his $900 a month.  She and her husband built an in-law suite in their home and for over 15 years they lived compatibly together.  The father had put the daughter’s name on his checking account…just in case.  Over the years the son-in-law would do odd jobs for his neighbors or friends and would stick some of the money into his father-in-law's account to allow for those needs of the father without him having to ask for help.

So it went until Dad had a stroke.  With the daughter and son-in-law both working, they were forced to place Dad into an assisted living facility where they immediately applied for financial aid.  Accepting him based on what they showed as Dad’s income, and sure he would qualify for help, they waited to hear that everything would be okay.  Protocol for the financial aid is to do an audit of the financial status of the senior requiring help.  The shock came back to the daughter when the facility phoned her to say their Dad did not qualify because the audit showed that he had $75,000 more than they indicated during the time period prior to entering the facility.  The daughter tried to explain it was their money in the Dad’s account and the reason they put the money into the checking account was to allow Dad the freedom to care for his needs without having to ask for it from her.  

The facility said this money had to be counted as the Dad’s unless they could prove it was their money.  Now forced to hire a lawyer the facility said those items that were deposited as checks showing the son’s name could be subtracted from the amount on the table, but those monies placed into the account as cash would remain on the table as Dad’s, so now they had to pay the facility $32,000 and again Dad was not eligible for aid.  They were forced to withdraw their father from the facility, take out a line of credit against their home and repay the facility the amount owed for Dad’s care.

Stories like this remind us what hardships can occur when we linger our senior years in a disabled condition needing assistance but not nursing care.  

Talking with this young women helped me solidify my own decision on where to go next.  

More to follow…..

NATURE'S SERENADE

Trumpet vines reaching for the sky

waiting for the hummingbirds to stop by.

Feeling alone 

but how could this be

surrounded by the songs 

of the birds and the bees.

The evening sounds pulsating 

by the cicada’s dance

Frogs and crickets darting about

taking a chance

while bats join 

in the evening flight

of birds gathering 

in the waning light.

How can one feel so alone

surrounded by nature's serenade

quiet I sit as the evening sun starts to fade.

I ponder, as the day is done

is it just me…am I the only one?

I am reminded by the frog's bullhorn blair

that I only need to look to see them there.

As one day ends and I say good-bye

to the pain I carry 

that could make me cry

I settle in for the night

surrounded by the moon’s guiding light

as the frogs and night birds sing

hoping that a new day will bring

the music of the birds in flight

showing that everything is alright

I’ll just step outside and wait

as trumpet vines reach for the sky

waiting for hummingbirds to stop by.

WHAT'S NEXT?

One would think as we age, life would be easier to navigate.  Life experience does bring wisdom, but aging can bring events into our life that we have not experienced, proving that living life at any stage can bring new challenges.

As I look around the neighborhood (a 55 plus community or active adult community as they like to be called) I can see the future.  Like a train coming at me in a tunnel, there is no escape…at some point, I will be slammed just like others before me.

The one thing I am determined to do is to live and not be a financial burden to my children.  I hear them say to me, “Mom, don’t worry about not spending your money…live and have fun.”  Inside I am thinking right…wait until it is time to change my diaper!  There is a joke circulating that reads:  Does anyone know why baby diapers are called Luvs & Huggies while old people diapers are called Depends?  Cause if a baby craps in their pants, you are still gonna Luv'em & Hug’em. If an old person craps in their pants, will they still be Luv'ed or Hugged? That "Depends" on who's ass is in the Will.”  We old folks may laugh at this one but I have not heard anyone tell this joke without hearing a chorus of “ain’t that the truth” following.

So I am exploring the “what’s next” in my life.  I am proud of the fact that I am living and doing what I am doing at this stage.  My husband was uninsurable since he was 36 due to medical conditions so there was not a large life insurance policy to pad my aging days.  What I am living on is what we together saved during our working years.  With wise advice and prudent spending habits that allowed us to enjoy life and still save I am lucky.  But with my health being good, and money not easy to grow, I must maintain the balance in my life that I have always lived in order to continue my independence.

Like many I am sure, I feel out of sink with the world.  I’m 69 and still full of spunk and a desire to wander around and see a few more things before I can’t.  As I see it, I have about 8 to 10 good years left in me that I can do these things without any physical handicaps.  And because Pat and I were “cheated” out of those opportunities by his illness during those “empty nest” years, my desire is strong.  But few my age are as wanderlust as I am.  They have already traveled….gone places….done things…they are content with a trip nearby and hanging around home.  I get that, but for me, that means traveling alone and a higher cost for a trip.  So that being said, how do I make my money stretch so as not to be a financial burden to my kids and still enjoy my days doing a bit of what I want to do.

 So, I begin the journey of looking to downsize.  These decisions are not easy and cannot be addressed in one writing.  I am discovering it can be very complicated and VERY expensive.  I cannot imagine as the baby boomers fill the senior spaces available how competition for the limited opportunities for seniors will only increase what is already a pricey adventure.  No wonder I see so many around me still working to make their money stretch.  

So my first thought is, do I want to get a part time job to make my money stretch?  But then that really limits my ability to travel and seems to defeat my goal.  So staying here and working does not seem to be the place I want to go to first.  

When I let it be known to my kids what I was thinking I had one son who offered up his place with a willingness to install a mother-in-law apartment in their home.  A possibility.  But I worry that the one that gets me gets me until the end.  I was thinking about the 3 that have settled into homes and their lives.  All of them got a helping hand, even if a small one, in some way when they bought their first home.  I worry about my daughter, who alone in life does not have a working partner like the others have had…and part of me would like to provide that helping hand to her like the others got.  So “moving in” with one has some positive opportunities.  But before I make my final decision, I shall explore other “senior” possibilities.

I’ll let you know what I find!

IT FEELS GOOD!!!

Looking in the mirror as we age can be a challenge.  When I see a photo of myself it is different in my eyes than when I look in the mirror, phenomena that we all experience.  I think of my sweet mother-in-law when she attended her 50th high school reunion at Trainers Restaurant.  She walked in past the ballroom where a crowd had gathered, stopped at the reception desk and asked where the 50th high school reunion was.  Pointing to the ballroom she just passed, he said, “Right in that room Ma’am.”   “Oh no,” she replied, “that can’t be, they are all old people in there.”  

I have a question.  When you run into someone who is your age, do you find yourself thinking, “I wonder if I look that old.”  Me too!

I am discovering that losing weight at this time of my life is different too.  I am not doing this because I want to look “beautiful”.  The mirror tells me that every time I see the lines, the sag, the fact that I can slap you silly with my saggy breasts.  The mirror is not my friend at this stage of my life, but it has made me realize that it is what I am feeling that counts these days more than how I look.  

It also begs the question, if I can feel so good going down in weight, why does that leave us when we are going up.  Is it all in the head?  I am sure some of it is.  But when I can walk up a hill and not drag for breath, it feels good.  When I can stop eating before I hit the bloat stage…it feels good.  My spirit is lighter with each pound I have lost and not because I look young and beautiful but because I feel young and energetic.  

I am now ready for those road trips in life.  Those things I want to do are now possible because I can walk without pain, sleep without pain, be physical with pain…okay that last part may be pushing it, but I am once again realizing that I can do anything I want within reason.  Having a 69-year-old body does have its limitations!

My weight loss journey is still a journey I am embracing…it is working and I feel good.  At this writing I have entered a place I have not experienced in over 20 years.  For those who have inquired…I’ll keep you up to date on my journey…no matter where I end up.  For now, it just feels good and I want to hang on to that!!!

GIVE BACK MY COUNTRY?

Life is messy.  It has always been messy.  But being messy is not bad.  It means we spend a lifetime of accepting the change that occurs…always, hopefully, trying to make it better than it was.  So this begs the question, what does it mean when I hear someone say they want their country back.  I wonder, back from who?  Back from what? 

The phrase, “give me the good ole days”, always sets me off.  For me, these are the good days…not the 40’s, 50’s 60’s….not even for a second.

I remember those days as everyone having a place in society and severe consequences if you broke society rules or was not born the right color or in the right place.  If you are a white man, who had money in his pocket, you do miss those days.  But for everyone else, life was a struggle.  Women who were being beaten in their marriage, kept it quiet and hidden because the choice was to be out on the street without any support system to help them get back on their feet.  

A woman pregnant out of wedlock?  You had hell to pay.  Often sent out of town for the duration of the pregnancy or get married immediately, even while in high school.  Forever branded, few had second chances at life.

Sexual abuse as a child?  Hide it.  Don’t raise a fuss.  After all, if you did tell, it was often the victim who suffered the consequences of the reveal.  Few times did the perpetrator ever get punished.

Women who had a “reputation” were in the end shunned and scorned.  But the men who played this game were treated as heroes in the conquest game.

Married outside of your faith?  You would often be thrown out of the family for such disrespect.

Were you gay?  Who knew?  Gay men and women were buried so deep in the closet they could hardly be found.  Overhearing a conversation a while back, I heard, “I didn’t realize there were so many gays.”  

Marry a person of a different color?  Forget it, you were often driven to live in the big cities where at least you had a chance to live without harm. Have children? They were the ones who suffered the name calling and bullying.  Acceptance in our society was difficult at best!

Life has always provided opportunities to challenge what we believe.  The moral choices that we made today can seem a no-brainer, but at the time, it was painful and a struggle to accept the changes it brought.  

I remember the 60’s and early 70’s when our country was in a state of upheaval and we all wondered where it would all end…would we survive…would there ever be peace again?  Free love and drugs would prove to have consequences…eventually we learned.  We grew up.  

I am glad to have been born in the United States of America where we have struggled since we accepted the Bill of Rights and our Constitution, to honor “where all men are created equal”.  It is not always easy.  Fear makes us do strange things.  Hard choices make us want to retreat into what is familiar.  Strangers can sometimes scare us until we stop and get to know each other… man to man…woman to woman…child to child and recognize in others that which is in ourselves.  

I don’t buy the cry, “Give back my country.”  We have it now.  This moment.  And it is our responsibility to always carry the torch where all men are created equal so we can live in a world where all are treated equal and with respect.

You can have yesterday if you want it…but give me today.  I am happier here in the now!

MY WAR ON ME

I have not spoken much about my war on me.  It has been a long one.  Those inner voices that scream at me about how I don’t measure up to the rest of the world.  It dawned on me the other day, that if someone outside myself would actually speak to me that way, I would be fighting back.  More important if I spoke to others this way I would have no friends….EVER!!!!  So why do I do it?  

I have not said much about my new adventure in Weight Watchers.  But self-image is the core of my war. I have been going to WW since the middle of January and for whatever reason…this time, it seems to be working.  My fight with body image began very early in life.  I don’t recall not ever feeling fat and out of place.  When going through some old files I came across my 5th-grade report card where it showed my height and weight.  In 5th grade, I was 1/2 inch off my adult height and 155 lbs.  In 5th grade, I was my adult size surrounded by skinny “little girls”.  I carried that weight until I was pregnant with my first child at age 24.  Each of the four pregnancies put on more weight…and so goes my life.  

Another reminder of the outer messages received as a kid can be found in my autograph book that our 8th-grade tradition provided for opportunities for us to wish each other well in our high school life.  But along with the typical “Wishing-you-good-luck-in-high-school” thoughts were messages that said, “Fatty, fatty, two-by-four, can’t get through the kitchen door,” and “Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m sorry your fat and so are you.”  There were others too that were just as flattering.  Messages that I laughed at but inside the knife went deep.  

With an aunt in our family that topped 300 lbs, I was always told that “you are just like Aunt Betty”.  Another cut….As my pregnancies added more weight to my body, phone conversations from long distance family members would always include, “So have you lost any weight lately?”  Always a reminder that being me as I am was not good enough.  So the war in my head went on.  No matter what kind of person I was, or what I accomplished, or what I did…it was never enough to say I was okay.

So here I am…69 years old…alone and feeling in so many ways that I am still not good enough.  When I went for my annual physical this year, the doc said to me, “You know Marlene, you are so lucky to be as healthy as you are at this age with your weight….if only we could get you to drop some of those pounds.”

So, like many other times before, I decided to take myself to Weight Watchers and give it a try.  And this time, for whatever reason, it is working.  In the past I would go to WW and the first week would be great, the second good, the third I would begin to white knuckle it, the fourth and fifth weeks I would be looking for excuses to miss the meeting.  You know…I would gain so if I missed this week and was good the next I would go next time and lose…only that would not happen and I would drift away.  But not this time.

Since the middle of January I have lost over 23 pounds, but more important I feel physically great.  The new program is my perfect fit.  But more important is the inner war that always waged on no matter what I did… is quieting.  Really.  For the first time in too long to remember I am not screaming at me about what a failure I am.  The tools that WW shows me has given me choices and not made me feel like I have to deprive myself in order to loose weight.  Instead, it is choices…and I seem to have transferred that thinking into other areas of my self-worth.  Choices.  One simple word but the power it gives…amazing.  

I am making no promises here…just taking one day at a time and learning that the power of my choices can still allow for good times and happy moments. I am also learning that I am okay just being me and I can only hope that all of this can help push back those aging issues that can take us down, leaving me with time for all those adventures still on my bucket list, because by damn I am going for it!!!!

FOUR YEARS GONE

Excuse me if I am not myself right now

It is an anniversary I have to get through somehow

Four years gone, how can it be

That four years ago you left me

You said I would be tough

And be just fine

Your strength you said

Came from mine

I wish I felt

What you said you knew

It would help me now

And get me through

These times when you are missed so much

I would give anything to feel your touch

So excuse me world if I am not myself right now

It is an anniversary I have to get through somehow.

ALL OF US HAVE A STORY!

I just finished watching the final episode of this season of Finding Your Roots.  I love this show.  It confirms what I have always believed.  It is not enough to know just the names of your ancestor’s.  It is more fun and meaningful to know the story of your ancestors and this is why Memoir writing is important to me.  

When I was a young wife and mother-to-be I began to recognize how the impact of moving to Pennsylvania from Illinois would have on my children and their ability to know me through my own upbringing.  My husband’s family had already demonstrated to me that get-togethers were full of stories of past memories, filled with laughter and lots of love.  I recognized also at the time, that although I was running from my own childhood memories, I did turn out okay and there had to be a reason for that too, so while pregnant with my first child, I decided to collect the stories of my family and so began a life-long journey of learning through stories shared of who my family were.

It was the best gift I could have ever given to myself.  In asking questions of my grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins, I learned that all that I perceived through life was not as it was felt and, in the end, it became a healing experience.  For in searching for the stories of who my family were and how they lived I learned that what I was feeling from them had to do more with their own experiences than what I had done to experience a negative moment from them.

I have watched time and again the celebrities express a longing about why their own parents had not shared this or that piece of family history only to discover they may have suppressed the information to hide from their own pain.  Once the story is revealed to them the level of understanding that sweeps over them often fills them with a strong emotional reaction.  

All of us have a story to tell.  Decisions we make can leave a lasting impact on those we love for generations that follow.  When the truth behind those decisions is revealed it can change the impact left on those left to deal with the outcome of those decisions.  

Funny…how we keep things close to the heart on the pretense we don’t want to hurt anyone, but the truth is we are just unable to deal with the pain of some of that reality ourselves leaving the generations that follow to puzzle the why of things.  

As I watched Dustin Hoffman and Mia Farrow in this last episode all I could think was how the truth can set you free.

MAKING ROOM FOR EVERYONE

What gives us permission to be 

so ugly to our fellow man.

Could you stand face to face

and be as mean as you can

just because you don’t agree

on some political plan?

I want to live in a world that has room for everyone.

I want to live in peace

I want to respect the man

even when he begins to cease

I want to live in a world that has room for everyone

Where I can walk and not feel fear

Is it too much to ask of God while I am here?

Life, like a salad, has fruit and vegetables that can stand on its own

But mix them together we can create a delight. 

An experience of sweet, sour, crunchy and soft

With the right sauce, it can taste just right.

Oh, give me the world that has room for everyone.

This is all I ask

Because I don’t want the day to come that

my child is the one the world does not want to make room for.

ACCEPTING WHAT IS OR OPEN TO WHAT COULD BE...

That is the question!  It has been implied that I may not have time in my life for a relationship.  This has made me stand back and think about the life I am living today.

When I found myself alone after a 45-year marriage, I had to make a conscience decision on how to embrace this new way of living I found myself in.   For 45 years I was a partner.  My identity was wrapped around that and motherhood.  Neither of which is on the table today.  Oh I am still a mother of four adult children, but they have lives of their own, and their need for mothering is no more.  We did a good job in raising our kids, and they are all very independent.  

That leaves me standing in this world alone, though. I struggle with that at times.  I decided early on to embrace this part of life with as much enthusiasm as I could.  I needed to find a way that living alone would be okay.  Look around, and you see a whole lot more widows than widowers.  But that does not mean that a part of me would not enjoy having that special someone to share the daily comings and goings of living.  I have written before that life for me today, seems to stop at the door.  You go out, have a good time, but once you leave that moment it stops.  A ride home is in silence but for the radio or the thoughts in my head.  It is always a stark reminder of my position in this life when I leave a gathering….alone.

I fight this by being spontaneous in nature and saying yes to many last minute opportunities to go places or do something, and also to plan activities around things I like to do.  But I find if you do meet someone and your calendar in the beginning does not leave open the time they want of you immediately, they want to walk away and go find that person who is available instantly, completely, and on their timeline, ignoring the fact that you have a life too.  I get that you want to spend time together, but it has to be a compromise for both.  

My husband’s uncle in his widowerhood has shown us all how wonderful life can be after losing a spouse.  He found an old friend and they have become wonderful and loving companions.  Each maintaining their own homes, but sharing a part of every day together.  My Dad did the same thing.  He dated a women 9 years after Mama died, meeting for breakfast and dinner, traveling together, doing things together and all the while each returning to their own homes.  It was great right up until the end for my Dad, then I had him move in with me so I could care for him the last days of his life.  But for those 9 years, my Dad was as happy as he could be having that special someone to share his thoughts and time with.

I don’t know what I am looking for, but I do know what I am open for…a full life!  If that means finding that special friend, love, companionship, or accepting the fact that each day will provide an opportunity to find happiness even in the small things…well, I’ll just find a way to be okay by accepting what is.