Who is with me?

Who is with me? I am going to start this on January 1, 2013.
I am struggling with loss and feeling like I am in need of change. But! I am a little scared of change right now so I think that taking these simple steps will provide some insight as to what I am looking for in me and around me and for me.
If you want to join me yet aren't ready to go public, privately send me your daily writings. I would be thrilled to keep them sweetly sacred.

Merry Christmas 2012

As I mentioned....first Christmas without my kids and I am staying outside Boston. Don't feel bad for me. I am going to list off my blessing that have kept me warm and happy this morning.

First. How did I get to the airport? Silver. I got a ride from my ex's girlfriend. I am blessed that I have been given the opportunity to forgive not only Ed, but honestly....me.

Just as important. My children. What more can I say? They are my greatest accomplishment and my greatest blessing.

Next. Gooseberry Gals. This is what I found under the tree in Massachusetts .

This is what it contained.

I won't be eating real food for days.

More. My Gooseberry from Boston. She went to her library and picked out a variety of books for me. She also left me with a stack of BBC period dramas. I am curled on her couch with a down blanket deciding where to start.

Really? There is more! Friends. You know who you are. You feed me with laughter, texts, fb messages, phone calls, music, hugs, chocolate, and more laughter. (Gosh, that is quite a few of you.)

I am blessed to know that I have a Heavenly Father that loves me. Actually he adores me. He knows my needs. He provides for me. Coming here to Massachusetts has provided me with A Silent Night. A time to step back. To stop moving. Time to reflect, relax, rejuvenate. I am indeed grateful to my Heavenly Father for my many blessings.

I wish each of you a very Merry Christmas.

Where did that come from?

An update since Saturday.
Overall I have good feelings about my dad passing away. I was ready. He was 91 and even though longevity was in his genes I did not expect him to hold out too much longer. What has surprised me is where and when the tears come. On Saturday there were random tears while sitting at a traffic light. Sunday, only one little moment when a sweet woman from church dropped by with her little guy, who I adore, bearing gifts of Trader Joe's Candy Cane Joe Joe's and a hug for comfort.
Those tears make sense.

Here are the two moments that have blind sided me.

A little background first.
This is my first Christmas and New Year without Peanut, Bean, and Iam. I knew I couldn't stay in Ann Arbor. So in October I started checking out flights and places to go. Where would I go? What wasn't too expensive? Where would I feel safe and happy? About a week later one of my Gooseberry Gals offered me her house outside Boston. In exchange I had to take care of Bianca the 16+ year old cat. Deal! Blessing! Prayers answered! Let's start with I Love Boston. Second this sweet home is on a lake and is filled with the warmest spirit.

Now onto blindsided.
Monday I boarded my flight bound for Boston via Philadelphia. All was good.
As we were preparing to taxi out from Philadelphia I look over and there is a military funeral procession. Hurst, casket, young men and women in military dress standing at attention, four police escort vehicles with lights flashing. Tears. I could not believe how fast they came. Pouring. My heart ached for this family bringing home their loved one on Christmas Eve.
Then, last night I went to Mass at Trinity Church in Boston with my Gooseberry Gal and her family. Her youngest sings in the choir there. An old, Old church in Boston. A church that I wonder if my grandmother might have visited while a young newlywed living in Boston. A beautiful service. An amazing organ that made my heart swell. We sat in the balcony and watched the members partake of communion. I look down and see a young soldier in his Army combat uniform walk forward with his family to accept the sacrament. In my head I hear "uh-oh, uh-oh" yep...here they come. Tears. What a sweet moment for me to witness.

So are we starting to see a pattern? I am going to have to find a way to provide some service back to our men and women who choose to protect our country. Suggestions? Something fun. Something personal. Something to do year round. Maybe monthly? And?! How do I serve without breaking into tears? Maybe that is my reason to serve. To feel and feel deeply.

Where is the parent manual?

My life has been filled with numbers recently. 91, 24, 2.5, 9, 15-20. Maybe I should play the lottery?
I write this as I sit with my dad during his last 24 hours in hospice care. That little man above is my dad. Born Richard Warren Weitzel. Dad turned 91 in July. He is diabetic, suffers from COPD and was diagnosed with MDS - myelodysplastic syndrome on Thanksgiving. Our arrival to hospice care was bumpy, but here we are 4 short weeks later. Dad is comfortable and passing the way he wanted to with no life saving measures. 

On Tuesday I found myself feeding my dad a portion of his dinner. I had never fed my father. He was always a strong, capable, stubborn, determined man. Here I was scooping a bit of dessert between his lips. Caring for his basic needs. Through the last 18 hours we have been counting his breaths. Watching his chest rise and fall. Watching. Waiting. I remember doing the same thing those first few days when I brought Peanut, Bean, and Iam home. Just watching them breathe. Both will bring relief but in the opposite direction. 

I recall when my mom was in her last months I kept thinking "Where is the manual? Why does no one really prepare us to be adult children caring for our aging and dying parents?" The real manual. The one that tells you...you had better make sure you are able to have an adult conversation with your sibling about some difficult topics. You had better be prepared to run on 2.5 hours of sleep and function in public and not spit back at someone who wishes you a "nice day" as you prepare to head back to hospice and watch your parent pass away. You had better know that the tears might just start flowing down your face as you stare at the milk cartons in the dairy aisle in Target. You had better be able to recognize 8 different phone numbers on your cell phone and what their importance is...hospice? social worker? other hospice? other social worker? floor nurse? You had better make sure you have a support group on hand. Is there someone who will bring you mac and cheese that is so good you would just want to just roll around in the pan? Do you have friends you can text or call at 3:00am when you are sitting in the dark?

My relationship with my dad has been strained over the years. I have worked hard to forgive him and move on. As I sit with my dad I can see my Grandma in his face. He has her eyes. It is a sweet memory. I can recall good memories. Swimming at JC's pool. Christmas Eve services at Central College. Fourth of July celebrations. What would I say is the greatest gift my father has given me? My patriotism. Dad served in WWII. He was in Paris on V Day. He loved to tell that story. He would get choked up at any rendition of The Battle Hymn of the Republic. He wears a large gold eagle around his neck. We joke and tease about his "bling" but I know he loves this country. He leaves me with a deep sense of pride for our country. He taught me to honor and respect the men and women who serve and defend our country.

I am thankful for supportive friends and co workers who listen, hug, and laugh. Friends from long ago who happen to post the right song at the right time. New friends who provide a little messaging humor while you sit and wait. A group of women who are powerful prayer warriors. A sister who sits with me and giggles at silly memories. Finally, I am thankful for a dad who found hospice services for his own mother 25 years ago and continued to believe and support the philosophy.

Catch a wave...

During a conversation this week I mentioned that I felt like my life was functioning in controlled chaos. The response was " don't you think more like surfing the chaos?"

The more I have thought about it I think this wise friend was correct. I am surfing the chaos in my life.

I grew up spending summers at Yaupon Beach, NC or on The Cape. I loved the beach. I had a healthy respect for the ocean. I could play for hours in the ocean, riding a raft, floating and watching the people. I loved the taste of the salt as it dried on my skin. I hated that my freckles were so bold, but I couldn't leave the smell, feel and sound of the ocean. I had older cousins. I would watch them head out with my sister. They would swim out further and body surf in. I wanted to join them. But I can easily recall the times I went too far or the water was too rough and I got pulled under and took in a mouth and nose full of salt water. Nose, throat and eyes burning. I would take some time and sit on the beach and dig a hole or watch my uncle fish. Then I would head back in. Try again. Try to work against and control the powerful force of the ocean.

I'm back in the water now. Surfing between a dad who is dying, trials at work, teenage boys, the holidays, and my personal need to improve myself and remain strong. All powerful forces of which I have little control. This evening I was pulled back under. I came up to take a gulp of air and rinse the salty tears from my eyes. Tomorrow I will head back in ready to try again. Attempting to smoothly move from one wave to another and remain upright. 

Hang Ten!

The beautiful young woman above is Ed's second cousin Dax McGill. Dax is a sponsored surfer from the North Shore of Oahu.