The Rest Is Still Unwritten

I’ve heard memoirs described as a roadmap for being a human.  Memoirs tell others what it felt like to have a certain experience – the good ones don’t claim to be the authority on that experience but they are bold and certain in their own particular truth and honesty.  A good memoir, in my opinion, when it’s finished, convinces you that it will be like this for you too perhaps, when “it” happens. Or, I know you know what I’m talking about because you felt it, and maybe, just maybe, you couldn't put it into words, so here the words are for you, finally.

For me and what became my cancer memoir, writing about Phil and the long process of his sickness, degrading health, the shock and even surprise when his death itself occurred ~ both the certainty that the suffering would eventually end and the hope and confusion about when, why and how, those parts came relatively easily.  The way the world always seemed to be cast in shadow offered endless perspectives to draw from for insight and commentary.  But now, most days there’s not much else I can say about it, Phil’s death.

Now I am in the land of grief – the process, the journey, the wandering.  There are no more facts or figures to report.  There are no more updates or data to interpret.  The need for my clinical skills is long past and I am left with the plain story of survival, coming to grips with the fact that my life will forever be divided into “before” and “after”.  Even my children are moving on in their grief, with the resilience of youth and the blessing that time affords them in the abbreviated economy of their lives.  My old life ended at the same moment that Phil’s did and it will never come back.  The loss of a spouse has been described as the loss of one’s “present” ~ I so totally get that. 

 I look around now and can’t help but see how people move through life as though their days aren’t numbered. As I continue to hear news of deaths or tragedies and how they shock people into another mental state, “the shallowness of sanity” is exposed again and again, just as it was for me.  As Alice went “through the looking glass”, so too did I undergo a radical change in perspective.  There is no going back to life as I lived it.  There were a multitude of things I set down in order to carry the weight of Phil’s illness and death and I realize I don’t ever need to pick them up again.  I consider that insight a divine gift, a silver lining to all of this – a very costly, but divine gift. 

How incredible too that this new mental state offered me an opportunity for tremendous growth!  As my wandering gains focus in this new headspace I have choices I get to make.  I have been given a fresh start, a new perspective, and what lies ahead is my future, full of possibilities and endless potential.  I’ve been blessed with another precious gift from this wreckage.  Yes, the wreckage remains but I am learning to dive it better with each descent.  I'm finding that I can come up for air more often and for longer periods of time.   Yes, I am grieving the loss of my "present" life but what I have gained is the expanse of the rest of my life.    

For me and my house, the rest is still gloriously, unwritten.   

Camp Erin

I'm not entirely sure what I expected to hear from Bennett when I picked him up from camp on Sunday but I knew he'd have an incredible story to share.  I'd made arrangements for Olivia to be with friends so he and I could have the drive home alone together.  She and I had driven him to Camp Erin on Friday after school - a bereavement camp for kids who have experienced the loss of a loved one, sponsored by The Moyer Foundation and San Diego Hospice.  We had to straighten out his name tag (his first and last name are always getting switched around) but it was smooth sailing after that.  It was classic Bennett from then on, "Don't let the door hit you in the butt on the way out Mom, I've got this".  He was all set to make friends and "do camp".  And do camp he did.  

By all accounts, Bennett stepped deeper into himself this weekend and tempered the core strength and self awareness of his that has burgeoned this year.  One after another his counselors told me what a pleasure it was to have him in their cabin and what a natural leader he is.  They told of Bennett putting his arms around kids who were struggling with their grief, just sitting with them or encouraging them with a kind word.  And of how he led their cabin in the "GaGa" tournament victory (some high-action ball game, the hit of the weekend for all the campers)!  A wounded healer and athlete, he is his father's son in so many, many ways.  

On the way home Bennett filled me in on all the fun stuff they did - the canoeing, the pillow fights, the food, the farting, and the ghost stories.  He shared about the grief work - the memory board where he put Phil's picture and told his story, the lanterns they built and sent floating into the lake, the art projects they did together to commemorate their loved ones.  And about losing his voice because he laughed and yelled and screamed so much.

And then he turned the conversation to his whole life, outside of camp.  The things he said and the way he connected the dots and made sense of who he is and what's happened to him thus far in life... amazing.  As his mom, I'm not worried.  My son knows who he is.  He isn't looking to anyone outside of himself for validation or approval.  

He loves his dad and misses him but his life isn't going to be defined by Phil's death.  

As I told him, he is so far ahead of the game with that going for him.  I am so proud.  So in love with him.  So thankful.  

God is good, all the time.    

It Ain't That Hard

I heard Deepak Chopra speak many years ago when I was a PA student at Duke.  It was a silent snowy day and campus was eerily quiet.  I didn't see a soul until I entered the SRO auditorium and even then there was a subdued atmosphere, everyone whispering in hushed tones and huddled together for warmth.


The topic of his lecture is lost to me now but there is one thing that remains with me from that night.  He was talking about road rage and our hurried life style in this country; how we are always rushing to and fro, how what we are all about is more important than anyone else's business.  He challenged us to think about the person in the car that cuts us off, the car that won't let us pass, the driver that flips us the bird.  He challenged us to consider what their emergency is.  Maybe, just maybe, they are in crisis and have fewer tools in their tool box than we do.  Maybe, just maybe, they are in need of grace and we can give it to them.  Maybe, just maybe, they are going somewhere more important than we are.  Maybe, just maybe, we can exhale and let them go by us and we will be better off for having done so.  


Yesterday I was returning a video to the Red Box at 7/11 and I couldn't find a parking space in the lot.  There was a pick up truck blocking the lane and a red-faced young kid was shouting at the driver to move her ass out of the way, waving his arms and swearing a blue-streak the whole time.  The driver was so flustered in her attempts to do so that she backed up over the curb into the bushes.  As I found a spot way out of the way and walked over to the rental return I crossed by her and saw her crying.  Her passenger called out to me, "Excuse me, can you help us?"


It turns out they had been driving around for over an hour looking for a street that was several miles away.  He was overdue for dialysis and had missed his bus so his wife was driving him -- she spoke no English and he was legally blind and couldn't drive himself.  They were so far out of their element.  I rummaged around in my car, found a highlighter and wrote directions on a paper plate.  Hopefully they made it to their destination.    


I thought of Deepak. 
I thought of all the times people had stopped to help Phil and I.  
And I thought of all the times I've been disappointed by people who can't see beyond themselves.  


It's pretty simple.  As my snarky and wonderfully loving friend Anita posted yesterday on her Facebook Status: "Guide to not being an asshole: Don't be an asshole.


Love wins every time.

That Place

It's been a particularly rough few days for me. The kids are fighting more, my fuse has become short, and I wear lethargy like a lead apron.  The boxes are becoming more and more difficult to face each day.  The high of moving is gone and we are all feeling the downturn.  There is much more to it of course.  There always is.

We've made several trips back to the rental to gather up straggling items, do a final walk through, take out garbage and set aside our Amvets donation. On each visit I've remarked to myself how glad I am to be out of that place with it's crumbling pathway walls, waist high weeds, wobbly faucet, 1950's insulation and chronic smell of smoke and ash.  That place that until two months ago had no heat. That place so poorly managed.  That place where Phil died.

If you ask the kids are they going to miss that place they'll say "No" very emphatically and might even call it a slum.  I'd have to agree with them.  But our hearts are sorely hurting for having left that place all the same.  For no matter the condition of that house, it was our last home with Phil.  It was the place where we witnessed his final hours of courage and humility and the place we gathered to share our heartbreak and sorrow.  It was the place where neighbors cradled us in their collective arms and cared for us day after day after day.  From this point forward we will only move further away from that place ~ which is both good and sad.

Life is a gift.

It's Monday morning now and it's clear that the vacation is over. Life is a gift, let us live and love accordingly.

I received horrible news last night that a lifelong dear friend of my family had died suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving behind a wife and two daughters in their early 20's. He was in his early 60's, a surfer and runner and very full of life. He, like Phil, wasn't supposed to die young. And he, like Phil, was one of the really good guys. He loved the Lord and made the world a better place by being in it.

Now his wife and daughters will embark on the journey the kids and I are on - learning to live without a husband and father they thought would be there. Diving deeper into a faith they've only begun to plumb the depth of. And coming to terms with the edges of themselves that are raw and uncomfortable and need grace and mercy in the most difficult of moments when they are fatigued, overwhelmed, grieving and missing their loved one.

But having walked this road ahead of them I know a few other things they will find on their journey as well. They will find good Samaritans who will feed and cook for them, wash their laundry, clean their house, take care of needs they don't even know they have. They will find peace and comfort in memories and in the letters and cards that come their way. God will comfort them with deep refreshing sleep that defies explanation given the circumstance. And He will provide sweet moments of relief from the pain in the form of joy for old friends reconnecting and reunions with loved ones to shoulder the burden of sorrow.

As I dropped my kids off at school this morning they were so eager to run off to share their vacation experiences with their friends. I hadn't told them about our friend's passing yet. There will be time for that this afternoon. I wanted them to have their day today. For me, I have had a different attitude toward life for a while now and this just solidifies it. I agree whole-heartedly with my sister Anita who says she has no more naïveté thinking everyone is going to live a long life. There have been too many early deaths in our circle.

Life is a precious gift. Let us live and love accordingly.

The Burgh

The kids and I just returned from what they are calling the vacation of a lifetime. We spent six days in Pittsburgh for a celebration and memorial of Phil's life followed by almost two weeks in Orlando to enjoy "the happiest place on earth" as well as Universal Studios and the wild beauty of the St John River and the promise of gators. The entire trip was a sacred, healing and outrageously fun time for us and was filled with moments of emotional connection and communion with the friends who loved Phil so well. Each of us was deeply affected by our time spent with those friends and I am so grateful, on behalf of my children especially, for the stories, love and affirmation that were poured into us.

Our time in Pittsburgh was exactly as I hoped it would be. There were not too many tears but instead numerous good stories were shared and I had the chance to meet a lot of the people from Team Conrad whom I'd come to love over the last year. Rob Hamilton and Jeff Breland's eulogy's were eloquent and individually captured the spirit of friendship they shared with Phil. And the video montage that Brad Bruckman put together encapsulated the times of Phil's life wonderfully - hearing Phil speak at the end took me by such surprise that I was immediately besought with tears. It was both a gift and a sad reminder of what we've lost.

I lost count of the times I heard people comment on how much Bennett looks and acts like Phil. Of how he has Phil's vibrant spirit and character. As his mother it made me proud and overjoyed for him to hear this and I loved seeing him beaming as he heard it repeated over and over again throughout the parish hall. And Olivia, quiet and contemplative by my side, missed nothing as she heard every compliment about her beauty and gentleness. The "buddies" as Phil called the guys who went on yearly trips together, made sure she heard what a miracle her dad thought she was and how much love he held in his heart for his special girl. It was love, love and more love.

As some of us gathered later to share leftovers, raise glasses in Phil's honor and continue sharing stories, the tears shed were more of laughter than anything else. Phil left quite a few whoppers behind and gave us ample material to work with. And, as if it were ever in question, he has the best friends. In the midst of coming together to mourn the too-soon passing of their dear friend, they were also having a really good time being together and celebrating this place called Edgewood that gave them a sense of shared identity, belonging, community, and connection. Be it comparing a Vinnie Pie to Mineo's pizza or rehashing the latest Pen's game against the Flyers, these Pittsburghers are the real deal - they bleed black and gold for sure. And to a person, they love life, they loved Phil and they let us know again and again how much he loved us.

Bennett commented that he felt like royalty while we were in Pittsburgh. The mere mention of his dad's name seemed to open doors and gain him access to things. When we went to Mineo's for pizza one day he mentioned to them that his dad worked there in high school. The next day at the memorial the owners came up to him and Olivia and invited them to come in to make pizza's and spend some time behind the counter. They had the time of their lives and came home with T-shirts and ball caps to boot! While there Bennett made plans to come back for a summer job and was already negotiating a salary.

Phil's brother Jamie had written a letter to the folks who now live in their childhood home, asking if we could stop by for a look. Steve, the owner, was incredibly gracious and opened his home to a dozen or so of us and gave Bennett a Pittsburgh hat and Olivia a bag of Jelly Bellys. We spent an hour walking the property, checking out the house and even crawling into the attic which David had called home for awhile. Jamie and Jeff Breland pointed out the various marks on the doors from stereo wiring and David cleared up some mysterious decals left behind in the attic for Steve. It was great fun and awesome for the kids to see where and how Phil grew up. Across the street was Jeff's house and the family there also graciously let us in, during their five year olds birthday party no less. Just another example of the friendly small neighborhood they grew up in that remains today. Standing in those homes was spiritual and bringing my children there was important.

By the time we left Pittsburgh for our adventure in Orlando we'd played in Frick park several times, eaten Mineo's AND Vincent's pizza, I'd seen the Pen's play and we'd seen some of the amazing architecture and history that makes Pittsburgh so beautiful. Bennett now knows where Mike Tomlin lives and he and Olivia have new Steeler gear to wear home. Pittsburgh and it's people have wound their way into our hearts big time and there is no question that we now bleed black and gold too.

Brothers Trips

Spring is in the air everywhere you look around here in San Diego.  The vibrant swathes of purple ice plant growing on the sides of hills can be seen from miles away and the daffodils are already fading in some gardens.  The burst of new buds are on the trees and we've had several glorious sunshiny days that have seen us at the dog beach in short sleeves and sandals.  Our weather clearly had something to do with San Diego being named America's Finest City.  


It was usually about this time of year, when these botanical events started taking place, that Phil would start talking with Jamie and then David about doing a brother's trip.  Granted, when we lived in Washington, this conversation often didn't roll around until late June given our climate-challenged vegetation...  But you get the picture.  Once Mother Earth started to wake up from her winter slumber, so did Phil.  He and his brother's had a tradition of hitting the high country together every few years to enjoy nature's beauty and get away from it all for a while.  Mostly, it was an opportunity to spend deliberate, thoughtful, focused time together.  No cell phones, no television, no women or wives or kids, no jobs or stress.  Just three men and the mountains and the sky and their words.


These were some of the best times of Phil's adult life.  These trips and his buddy trips.  There was just something about men getting together in nature and sweating it out together that really spoke to Phil.    He loved to push himself physically and to do that in a beautiful environment only made him happier and seemed to make the effort easier.  Nature always had a hold on his heart and soul.  Anyone who has heard him talk about Mt. Timpanogas in Utah or about Sundance in Deer Valley has seen the look in his eye.  Even at our beginning, he courted me in Duke Forest and along the shores of Lake Jordan in Chapel Hill, on long hikes through the woods as we talked for hours about everything and nothing.  


So it is fitting that his brothers are paying a tribute of sorts to Phil and their mutual love of the outdoors and fitness by riding in a fundraiser for Leukemia and Lymphoma.  If you haven't heard about it yet or would like to honor Phil in this way, check out their fundraising page below.  


http://pages.teamintraining.org/nca/ambbr12/jconradwo4

I hope you have many enjoyable remembrances of Phil and his lust for life as you experience spring this year.