Today I was in the kitchen and I saw out of the corner of my eye our neighbor's car pulling into their driveway. And for a splitsecond moment my mind said "oh, mom's hom--" the thought was never completely carried out as I remembered that my mother is dead and therefor not very likely to be pulling into our driveway ever again.
Today my dad sat on the front porch and had a brief thought of that he should call her, but then he remembered what I remembered.
My aunt still waits to get phone calls from her and then she remembers.
My sister flew back to Tahoe and today of course my mother would have called to check in on her and make sure she got there okay.
I went to Fashion Shop and think my mother would have approved of my 6 dollar quilted coat-- she thought it was cute back when it was 26 dollars. I'm a bit dubious of the charcoal color, but it was the only size "small".
Today was so warm. I wore flip flops. And my mom's just not around anymore. And sometimes I forget to remember. And that's different than denial. And the therapist says that's normal.
And there's this strange twingy twisty pain right below my right ear lobe and above my jaw bone. It's like if I ate something really sour, but it happens when I'm not eating.
And I think I've covered everything for today. DIS-missed!
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Saturday, March 26, 2005
eastereve
"hey! What are you doing? You got a Tetris and now you're winning."
"Dad, that's the point of this game."
"No it isn't. The point is to be nice to your father!"
-------
Happy Easter from all of us to all of you.
"Dad, that's the point of this game."
"No it isn't. The point is to be nice to your father!"
-------
Happy Easter from all of us to all of you.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
quote
Here is a quote by "source unknown" that is taped to the kitchen cabinet door above where I'm sitting. I don't know who put it there, but I shall end with it.
"Did we not know we were to die, we would be children; by knowing it, we are given our opportunity to mature in spirit. Life is only the father of wisdom; death is the mother."
"Did we not know we were to die, we would be children; by knowing it, we are given our opportunity to mature in spirit. Life is only the father of wisdom; death is the mother."
Friday, March 18, 2005
only in the wee hours
I always think more at night.
An old classmate of mine from 16-ish years ago, wrote on my mother's legacy.com memorial guestbook that she had wished her mom hadn't been my mom's assistant so she could have had my mom as her teacher. I also wished I could have been in my mom's class back in my 4th, 5th, 6th grade years.
Isn't it funny that back then I longed for my mom to be "my teacher" while she was in fact that very thing-- every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year of my life since the moment I was born.
I think I've taken a certain degree of education for granted most of my life. I had a mother could enthusiastically dissect frogs, help me with my book reports, and explain square roots to me at a moment's notice; and I had a dad who could show me how to practice every piece of high school orchestra music I ever brought home.
My mother is the reason I look back fondly on my academic experiences and creative endeavors. My father is the reason I can't ever remember a time in my life where I didn't know how to play the violin (and the reason I can quote Stan Freberg albums almost verbatim).
My parents are such strong, positive, immense, PRESENT figures in my life. And that is probably why it feels like my mom will be back next week from wherever she's gone. And that is probably why I refuse to process completely that what is in a tiny wooden box on my bedroom shelf surrounded by family photos is in fact a few tablespoons of all that remains of her tangible physical presence on this earth.
The following exchange between me and my mother, which happened sometime during the latter half of my college career, brilliantly sums up our relationship.
Me: "Oh mom, you're like my Zen master."
Mom: "Oh grasshopper..."
An old classmate of mine from 16-ish years ago, wrote on my mother's legacy.com memorial guestbook that she had wished her mom hadn't been my mom's assistant so she could have had my mom as her teacher. I also wished I could have been in my mom's class back in my 4th, 5th, 6th grade years.
Isn't it funny that back then I longed for my mom to be "my teacher" while she was in fact that very thing-- every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year of my life since the moment I was born.
I think I've taken a certain degree of education for granted most of my life. I had a mother could enthusiastically dissect frogs, help me with my book reports, and explain square roots to me at a moment's notice; and I had a dad who could show me how to practice every piece of high school orchestra music I ever brought home.
My mother is the reason I look back fondly on my academic experiences and creative endeavors. My father is the reason I can't ever remember a time in my life where I didn't know how to play the violin (and the reason I can quote Stan Freberg albums almost verbatim).
My parents are such strong, positive, immense, PRESENT figures in my life. And that is probably why it feels like my mom will be back next week from wherever she's gone. And that is probably why I refuse to process completely that what is in a tiny wooden box on my bedroom shelf surrounded by family photos is in fact a few tablespoons of all that remains of her tangible physical presence on this earth.
The following exchange between me and my mother, which happened sometime during the latter half of my college career, brilliantly sums up our relationship.
Me: "Oh mom, you're like my Zen master."
Mom: "Oh grasshopper..."
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Today has been the third day of the rest of my life.
A special thank you goes out to Mr. Wright who last night endured a 45 minute drive; suffered through a dinner of sake-induced ramblings about the death of my mother; survived a fall into the Gap; and emerged triumphant from Busters after beating me soundly at some bad (but clean!) pool. And to his credit, it's not just anyone who will hug you after you have been hugged by someone else who stinks so badly that their sweaty-man-scent remains on your shirt as an oderific reminder of sincere condolences.
My favorite sound bite of the evening:
me: "if we go to the mall, we have to run into the Gap"
him: "if we go the gap, I have to have a cigarette on the way over"
---------------
Today's house rules for getting through Wednesday, March 16, 2005.
Sleep in.
Sip tea.
Walk around the house making bold statements about your pajamas becoming permanent attire.
Watch at least 6 episodes of Sex And The City (season 4)
Sign for flower deliveries.
Eat salads.
Wait for your mom to come into the kitchen and fuss about all the fruit sitting on the counter.
Remember she's not going to come.
Cry a little.
Eat some grapes.
Contemplate taking a shower.
Pep yourself up to drive out to the hotel to play with pre-teen cousins who are visiting because you must remember that you are a grown-up person with responsibilities and they are just kids who have lost a very nice aunt.
The best thing about today: when people ask how you are and you reply by saying "I've decided to answer the door all day in my pajamas!" and they respond with "good for you!" and they sound like they mean it.
My favorite sound bite of the evening:
me: "if we go to the mall, we have to run into the Gap"
him: "if we go the gap, I have to have a cigarette on the way over"
---------------
Today's house rules for getting through Wednesday, March 16, 2005.
Sleep in.
Sip tea.
Walk around the house making bold statements about your pajamas becoming permanent attire.
Watch at least 6 episodes of Sex And The City (season 4)
Sign for flower deliveries.
Eat salads.
Wait for your mom to come into the kitchen and fuss about all the fruit sitting on the counter.
Remember she's not going to come.
Cry a little.
Eat some grapes.
Contemplate taking a shower.
Pep yourself up to drive out to the hotel to play with pre-teen cousins who are visiting because you must remember that you are a grown-up person with responsibilities and they are just kids who have lost a very nice aunt.
The best thing about today: when people ask how you are and you reply by saying "I've decided to answer the door all day in my pajamas!" and they respond with "good for you!" and they sound like they mean it.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
in lieu of flowers
Because a few people have asked, I would like to post the following information.
The school my amazing mother taught at for over 30 years is undertaking an enormous project. They are acquiring new land on which they plan to build a brand new school. This school would provide the students and teachers with much needed storage space, reliable plumbing and drainage, larger classrooms and a lot of other well-deserved improvements.
My mother believed in this endeavor a great deal and was still actively participating in fund raising events up until a few weeks before she died. It was her wish that in lieu of flowers, people might make donations to the Community Montessori Capital Campaign. An advocate for children all during her life, my mother has with this request managed to continue her efforts even after her death.
My mother is one of the most selfless women I have ever known. And she is going to be a tough act to follow.
For information on this wonderful school (which I myself had the privilege of attending for ten years) please go to www.cmsmontessori.org.
Checks can be made to Community Montessori Capital Campaign and sent to:
166 Crestwood Drive
Lexington, KY 40503
Or email me if you have any questions (melyndz@excite.com).
Thank you.
Melinda
The school my amazing mother taught at for over 30 years is undertaking an enormous project. They are acquiring new land on which they plan to build a brand new school. This school would provide the students and teachers with much needed storage space, reliable plumbing and drainage, larger classrooms and a lot of other well-deserved improvements.
My mother believed in this endeavor a great deal and was still actively participating in fund raising events up until a few weeks before she died. It was her wish that in lieu of flowers, people might make donations to the Community Montessori Capital Campaign. An advocate for children all during her life, my mother has with this request managed to continue her efforts even after her death.
My mother is one of the most selfless women I have ever known. And she is going to be a tough act to follow.
For information on this wonderful school (which I myself had the privilege of attending for ten years) please go to www.cmsmontessori.org.
Checks can be made to Community Montessori Capital Campaign and sent to:
166 Crestwood Drive
Lexington, KY 40503
Or email me if you have any questions (melyndz@excite.com).
Thank you.
Melinda
Saturday, March 12, 2005
21st Century Town Crier
Today, March 12 at 12: 59PM (EST)--if you believe the accuracy of the clock in my parents bedroom-- my mother exhaled her final breath. She was surrounded by her children, husband, sister and close friend. We held her and told her we would be okay. We told her it was okay to let go. And she finally did.
Her body is in her bed and there's a strange peaceful smile on her face (that must have come afterwards).
We are surrounded by love.
"Love is everything. Love, love, love, love, love." as my mother said a few days ago.
To those family members who are accidentally learning of this first through this weblog, I am sorry.
Peace be with all of you.
-Melinda
Pictured: Elizabeth Farrar (March 7, 1944 - March 12, 2005)
Saturday Update
This following update is for the family and close friends that I know who read this and who are far away and might like to know what's going on.
I will be concise and try to spare details, which is difficult to do.
Friday:
She woke up to a bit of vomiting. Unfortunately, what she vomited was new and different and indicative of a turning point. Hospice is now here around the clock. We had a few family visitors and she opened her eyes and whispered hello to each of them, but for the most part she seems to have fallen into a big sleep-- with intermittant bouts of uncomfortable/restlessness that are treated with adjusting her position or administering medications. She woke up enough last night to sort of make it known that she wanted to be moved from the couch back into her bed. So we got her moved.
[The following paragraph is an aside-- not informative of my mother's condition in the least. Please skip to the next paragraph.]
By "we" I mean people other than myself as I had zonked out around 11 with the idea I would wake up in a few hours to sit up with her. My body and mind had other plans and instead of waking up and maintaining a vigil, I dreamt of Jamaica and swimming in the ocean with my dad and we were on inflatable rafts and we were discussing the animals that might or might not be living in the deep water and we went too close to this coral reef jutting out of the water and there was a shriveled orca whale almost-dead stuck on the reef. There was nothing we could do and then we realized we had punctured our flotation devices on the jagged coral and we had to swim to shore fast because my dad is a good swimmer but I am not, and I was worried I wouldnt' make it, and we had to find the bus to get to the airport because I was sure we were late but I didn't have a watch. As we were swimming back I appologized to my dad for my insisting he prove his point.
[resume reading here:]
Some other relatives paid a quick late night visit and now it is Saturday mid-morning.
Her words are gone. She still makes some sounds, but no words.
Her eyes are closed.
Her lungs are taking in air.
Her heart is beating.
My dad opted out of his philharmonic concert last night, even though he was concertmaster, and he has not left her side for days and days and days and thirty years.
Her youngest sister is flying in this afternoon. Ever the hospitable one, I think my mother probably doesn't want to leave until her sister gets here to say hello.
Back before, my mom told my dad she wanted us to be happy for her when she finally goes. I don't know if "happiness" will be quite the feeling I experience, but I know we will all certainly feel relief.
A few words from Deepak Chopra to get us through the day:
"When you struggle against this moment, you're actually struggling agains the entire universe."
"Accept what comes to you totally and completely so that you can appreciate it, learn from it, and then let it go."
Words for all of us.
And here: A quick expression of gratitude to Hospice. Thank you.
And to all my loyal readers (many of whom are family): thank you for the good energy. Keep it coming this way for just a bit longer.
Posting may be scarce for the next few days.
love.
Melinda
I will be concise and try to spare details, which is difficult to do.
Friday:
She woke up to a bit of vomiting. Unfortunately, what she vomited was new and different and indicative of a turning point. Hospice is now here around the clock. We had a few family visitors and she opened her eyes and whispered hello to each of them, but for the most part she seems to have fallen into a big sleep-- with intermittant bouts of uncomfortable/restlessness that are treated with adjusting her position or administering medications. She woke up enough last night to sort of make it known that she wanted to be moved from the couch back into her bed. So we got her moved.
[The following paragraph is an aside-- not informative of my mother's condition in the least. Please skip to the next paragraph.]
By "we" I mean people other than myself as I had zonked out around 11 with the idea I would wake up in a few hours to sit up with her. My body and mind had other plans and instead of waking up and maintaining a vigil, I dreamt of Jamaica and swimming in the ocean with my dad and we were on inflatable rafts and we were discussing the animals that might or might not be living in the deep water and we went too close to this coral reef jutting out of the water and there was a shriveled orca whale almost-dead stuck on the reef. There was nothing we could do and then we realized we had punctured our flotation devices on the jagged coral and we had to swim to shore fast because my dad is a good swimmer but I am not, and I was worried I wouldnt' make it, and we had to find the bus to get to the airport because I was sure we were late but I didn't have a watch. As we were swimming back I appologized to my dad for my insisting he prove his point.
[resume reading here:]
Some other relatives paid a quick late night visit and now it is Saturday mid-morning.
Her words are gone. She still makes some sounds, but no words.
Her eyes are closed.
Her lungs are taking in air.
Her heart is beating.
My dad opted out of his philharmonic concert last night, even though he was concertmaster, and he has not left her side for days and days and days and thirty years.
Her youngest sister is flying in this afternoon. Ever the hospitable one, I think my mother probably doesn't want to leave until her sister gets here to say hello.
Back before, my mom told my dad she wanted us to be happy for her when she finally goes. I don't know if "happiness" will be quite the feeling I experience, but I know we will all certainly feel relief.
A few words from Deepak Chopra to get us through the day:
"When you struggle against this moment, you're actually struggling agains the entire universe."
"Accept what comes to you totally and completely so that you can appreciate it, learn from it, and then let it go."
Words for all of us.
And here: A quick expression of gratitude to Hospice. Thank you.
And to all my loyal readers (many of whom are family): thank you for the good energy. Keep it coming this way for just a bit longer.
Posting may be scarce for the next few days.
love.
Melinda
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Hear ye hear ye
I don't know about any of you, but I have never been MORE aware of colon cancer (and liver cancer) than I am right now. Interestingly enough, March is National Colon Cancer Awareness Month.
Coincidence? Is there such a thing?
Hey, you know what seems like a big deal but is actually not a big deal at all? Getting a colonoscopy. It doesn't hurt. Tell your dads and especially tell your moms. My mother-- healthy as all get-out for 60 years-- had absolutely NO physical signs or symptoms of colon cancer until it had already spread to her liver.
Cancer is more prevalent than ever these days. I saw a local news story about how cancer in house pets is at an all time high. The story explained how there were lots of great new treatments and drugs that you could spend thousands of dollars on to try and cure your pet, but no mention of WHY the cancer rate in housepets has gone up so much. I suppose nobody (certainly not the Bush administration) wants to discuss the extreme toxicity of our environment. The air we breathe, the water we drink, the clothes we wear, the buildings we work in, the food we eat the electronics we use-- our bodies are being bombarded with chemicals and radiation from all sides. It doesn't take a genius to realize what's going on. It's time we examine Rover, Fido, and Muffy for the coal mine canaries they really are. We have got to give ourselves a fighting chance here, people.
And I suppose awareness is the first step.
The next step might be to get rid of your microwave, stop smoking, buy (and eat) organic produce and give up soda pop.
This has been a Sandwich Monkey Public Service Announcement.
Good night and good luck.
Coincidence? Is there such a thing?
Hey, you know what seems like a big deal but is actually not a big deal at all? Getting a colonoscopy. It doesn't hurt. Tell your dads and especially tell your moms. My mother-- healthy as all get-out for 60 years-- had absolutely NO physical signs or symptoms of colon cancer until it had already spread to her liver.
Cancer is more prevalent than ever these days. I saw a local news story about how cancer in house pets is at an all time high. The story explained how there were lots of great new treatments and drugs that you could spend thousands of dollars on to try and cure your pet, but no mention of WHY the cancer rate in housepets has gone up so much. I suppose nobody (certainly not the Bush administration) wants to discuss the extreme toxicity of our environment. The air we breathe, the water we drink, the clothes we wear, the buildings we work in, the food we eat the electronics we use-- our bodies are being bombarded with chemicals and radiation from all sides. It doesn't take a genius to realize what's going on. It's time we examine Rover, Fido, and Muffy for the coal mine canaries they really are. We have got to give ourselves a fighting chance here, people.
And I suppose awareness is the first step.
The next step might be to get rid of your microwave, stop smoking, buy (and eat) organic produce and give up soda pop.
This has been a Sandwich Monkey Public Service Announcement.
Good night and good luck.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)