Anniversaries

Anniversary - a date that is remembered or celebrated because a special or notable event occurred on that date in a previous year.

June 30, 1933:  Birth date of Mary Suzanne Clyne Switzer

June 30, 1944:  Birth date of David Lee Egts

June 30, 2016:  A date to be celebrated more than mourned, for it is the anniversary of the birth of two of the most influential people in my life; two of three people who assured me of unconditional love.  Incredible, beyond my husband and parents, I would have to say that there are even a few more in my life who extend that incredible gift to me, whether I deserve it or not.  It says far more about them than it does me.

So today I need to speak of legacy.  They both left legacies that to me are bigger than life.  If I were to combine their legacies with my dad's and they manifested in cloud form, we would not see the sun from one horizon to the other.  These two individuals, in particular, left amazing examples of how to live.

One of my earliest memories of my mom was juggling.  Not balls or oranges, but life.  She had the ability to juggle running a household, four daughters seven years apart, making do on my father's income as a teacher, sewing, gardening, canning, freezing, hosting family events, participating in a bridge club and being an active member at our church.  She worked tirelessly and the only complaint I remember was after we asked for the 5th time about when we could go play with our friends, she reminded us that it was our responsibility to finish our Saturday chores before play.  And then it was more with a heavy sigh, than a sharp retort.  We knew the rules, and we knew that she stuck to them.  If you waiver as a parent, how does one know that you mean what you're saying?!?!  She was a perfect example of commitment and consistency, therefore stability.

When my youngest sister went to kindergarten, mom went back to work and her ability to juggle was then at a professional level.  She was a teacher.  Over the course of her career she taught math, literature, creative writing, English and Spanish.  She was proficient in each.  Her students often had to keep journals and more than one evening, I would look to see her with tears streaming down her cheeks as she was reading a journal, hurt at what that student was enduring and struggling with in their life.  She didn't just teach, but sponsored many clubs i.e. S.A.D.D., Spanish Club, and the Academic competition team.  She volunteered at our parish in the summer and fall helping to teach migrant children at our Catholic school English as a second language before it became something anyone was familiar with.  She played bridge, she belonged to a Literary Guild, she was our Girl Scout Leader, she chaperoned events for us and at the school where she taught.

She was kind and loving, but firm and practical.  I loved that friends felt welcome at our home.  That was one of her gifts, making everyone feel comfortable and welcome.  And probably, her most incredible gift was always looking for and recognizing the good in others.  There were times when she was hosting one of her groups that a little gossip might surface.  Mom either remained silent or spoke up noting something very positive about the individual being discussed.  She did that with us as well.  My parents never spoke about the people in authority in our lives in front of us as children or teens.  They maybe didn't always agree with how someone handled a situation, but they were respectful enough of that individual to handle it privately and not plant anything in our little heads.  

No person is a saint, and neither was my mom, but she gave us more than a solid base to build on.  She exemplified the reward of hard work, of compassion and faith.  She has been gone just over 20 years and I still wish I could pick up the phone and ask a question, or share something with her.  These past few years I have yearned for her arms to hold me as she did as a child.  I was so extremely blessed with the woman God chose as my mother.

And then there is Dave.  David Lee, Boy, Six Pack, Big Daddy, Grandpa, Bumpa are just a few other names he answered to over the course of his life.  This man had more personality in that short frame of his than one could ever imagine.  He loved being the "tough guy" and in many, many ways he was.  His history as a Marine, a sheriff's deputy suited him well.  He was small but not in the least fearful.  I never saw him be afraid for anything that had to do with him.  His passion was his family.  He adored his sons, and fortunately for Adam, Chad and me, he extended that same love to us when we came into his life.  He definitely was a mama's boy and cared for her beyond what would ever be expected as she aged and diminished due to Alzheimer's.  His life was not easy early on, but he adapted by overcoming.  He took great pride in doing a good job and nothing was too menial for him.  

He was working his retirement job as the bag room manager, locker room manager at a country club.  His carts sparkled, clubs shone and you could see your reflection in your shoes if he was the one who shined them for you.  He had a lot of old school values and ideas, but they were wonderful ones.  I never walked along the curb on the sidewalk with him, never opened a car door, or any door for that matter.  I never put my coat on myself if he was there.  He still carried handkerchiefs, folded meticulously.  There were actually two, one for him to use and one to offer if someone became teary (more often me than anyone).  For some of his gruff demeanor, he was the consummate gentleman.  He gave 110% for me from the moment we married.  I didn't think it was possible to feel as safe with anyone as I had with my parents, but he gave that to me as well.

He taught me, after years in a marriage that suffered with emotional and verbal abuse, that I was fine just the way I was and that I should never change for anyone but myself.  I could go where I wanted, do what I wanted, wear what I wanted, talk how I wanted without fear of his reaction.  He healed me.  He allowed me to become who I was meant to be.  He made me feel comfortable in my own skin for maybe the first time in my adult life.  He had a wonderful sense of humor, and made me laugh every day.  My favorite feature of his, without question, were his eyes.  They were a beautiful blue and sparkled.  Only Santa, Glinda the Good Witch, and a very few other magical creatures have eyes that twinkled like his did.  They lit up every time he saw any of our sons, definitely for our grandchildren, other family members and his dear friends.  Even when he was wracked with pain from cancer, when I would return home in the evening he could still manage a glimmer.

He taught me how to live and he showed me how to die.  He showed me what a real marriage is, what partnership means, and what it means to put yourself aside for the betterment or good of your spouse.  He was everything I needed and more and for the life of me I don't know how we came to be, but I will forever be grateful for the eleven short years we had together.  What I would love more than ever, would be to dance one more time with Dave.  To be held in his arms, one hand in his, my face nestled into his neck, smelling the goodness of him and his cologne, where everything was absolutely right in the world.  That would be heaven to me in the here and now.

Anything good about me is in large part due to both of these people in my life.  I miss them each more than I can tell you.  But tomorrow I will find a chocolate cupcake somewhere, for that is what they both favored, and celebrate the joy in not only knowing them, but being loved and cherished by them.  And I hope by now they have had the chance to meet and can celebrate together tomorrow.  (Who knows what really happens in heaven, but the idea makes me happy so I'm going with it!)  

Happy Birthday Mom.  Happy Birthday Dave.  My heart and eyes are full as I remember and celebrate you both.  You have been the embodiment of love, acceptance, and good examples with your lives and tomorrow I will make my very best day in your honor.  

Orlando's Loss; More Revelation

I have been writing about my journey through my own profound loss.  This weekend at least 50 other families are beginning a journey they never wanted to take.  My heart breaks for them in a way that it never could before.  Now I understand firsthand the pain of planning funerals, making decisions, considering well intended suggestions, learning to go forward and live without someone who maybe meant the world to you, or someone who was your world.  My heart hurts so much that it now brings tears.  And why?  For what?  These families will have to reconcile even more than I have had to manage, because these were violent, senseless deaths.  The terror and fear that had to have been present in that club is beyond anything I want to try and comprehend.

Anyone who knows me well knows my belief system, probably understands where I lean politically, and my own personal behavior.  I’m proud to be a Christian, and proud to be conservative.  That does not mean I hold any bias.  Life has taught me that there is no merit to that.  It does not matter who I vote for, or what church I attend.  What is important is that I find love and tolerance for my fellow man.  I don’t have to believe what you do to respect you and your right to your opinion.  I don’t have to worship in the same way to believe that there is a higher being looking out for us all.  And if you’re not a believer, that’s not my business either. 

I am going to share here what I believe that we, as human beings, are called to, whether we are atheist, agnostic, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Democrat, Republican, Independent or anything else.  I think that first and foremost we are called to be human. 

Full Definition of human

1. 1:  of, relating to, or characteristic of humans
2. 2:  consisting of humans
3. 3a :  having human form or attributes b :  susceptible to or representative of the sympathies and frailties of human nature <such an inconsistency is

very human — P. E. More>

Now add an “e” at the end for humane.

Full Definition of humane  

1.   1:  marked by compassion, sympathy, or consideration for humans or animals

2.   2:  characterized by or tending to broad humanistic culture :  humanistic <humane studies>

So, as an entire horde of humans that often have nothing we believe in common, we absolutely do.  We want to live, to be healthy, to find love, to find validation and success.  Unfortunately, far too many of us place parameters on those desires, for ourselves and worse, on others.  If we could live by the golden rule, “Do Unto Others as You Would Have Others Do Unto You” or the biblical command “Love One Another As I Have Loved You”,  Would it matter to me what color your skin is?  Would it matter to me how many children you have?  Would it matter to me who you love or where you work or what you do, whether you carry or are anti-gun, or where you attend church services or if you do at all?  Would it matter to me who you vote for?  Do I care if you believe in global warming?  Would I want to ridicule you for your choices or might I want to engage you in conversation to learn why we feel differently.  Who is to say who is wrong and who is right? 

If I were to scream at you that you were going to hell for one reason or another, would that be modeling love toward my fellow man?  Why do I get an opinion on that and why is that really my problem?  I have my hands full more than I can manage just trying to be the person I aspire to being.  And if then your retort was that I am bigoted, racist and ignorant for my particular belief system, are we going to gain any ground?

In my very humble opinion, we have isolated ourselves with the need to believe that we are “right”, “superior in intellect” and very self assured that how we view things is the way it should be.  Can we not step back, and be interested enough in each other, and brave enough with each other to share who we really are?  If we begin there, sharing ourselves and truly listening to our friends, neighbors and strangers tell their stories, would we not understand that the reasons for our personal behavior has roots.  We feel one way or another for a reason.  Some of us have been blessed growing up in the midst of love and safety.  Many, many others have not been as fortunate, and their stories are very important to hear.  We need to be tolerant of what has molded us, and understand that as a child, you don’t get a voice in how that happens.  When we encounter someone suffering, should we not share what we have, materially and emotionally?  When we meet someone celebrating, can we not put down our own burdens for a moment to celebrate with them and understand that one day we have the potential to celebrate as well?  And I mean no matter what their race, religion, sexual orientation, political party, alma mater, etc.

Then comes the question of how do you not judge the Boston Marathon Bombers, or James Holmes, or this weekend’s shooter?  Their acts are horrific.  At this point, I will pray for the situation, pray that there will not be copycat crimes, pray that justice is served and glad that justice is not mine to have to dole out.  Cop out?  Maybe, but the reality is, I won’t be involved in those processes, therefore, what I do is pray for the victims, pray for their families and the family of the person responsible for the tragedy.  I vote for the legislators and judges that I think will handle things appropriately.  I do not need to chastise, name call or publicly denounce someone on Facebook just for entertainment.  I have done that and am now ashamed.  When events like this become memes I don’t think we’re going in the right direction.  I’m interested in doing better and will hopefully change my ways without a slip.  These events are not entertainment, nor should they ever deteriorate into that.

I see so much that is harsh on Facebook from people I know, respect and admire.  They are convicted.  I understand that.  But is it more important to be right than compassionate?  I find it amusing when I see people who are more passionate about animals than other humans.  Probably because they’ve been disappointed by creatures who judge more than those furballs who only love.  None of us have had identical experiences, therefore none of us have the right to be unkind to each other.

I have hope for this world.  I look at my grandchildren, my children, my nieces, nephews, anyone’s child and see the wonder of creation and such beauty and potential.  Why in the world do we want to plant seeds in them that will rot and fester.  We need to be examples, good stewards of humanity.  A good friend reminded me that it costs absolutely nothing to be kind.  We need to quit worrying about who is right and who is wrong, who is smarter, who is taking advantage.  If we begin to behave on a plane that includes everyone, those who so angrily retort may not feel as threatened and may begin to respond in kind.

Trust me, I have not mastered this.  I, like all of us, am a work in progress.  But the older I get, the fewer reasons I find to be exclusive, intolerant or just plain rude.  Life is short.  If you want to enjoy it and live it well, I think it is meant to lived with a spirit of joy and love, and not just for a select few, but for any person we encounter.  It’s a start.  I am making my own renewed effort on behalf of those who lost their lives this past weekend and for those who will work to find their way forward in their grief.  We have to begin somewhere.  I challenge any of you who read this to take a softer stance in your encounters with others.  Do it for 50 days.  See if it makes a difference.  I’m not a gambling woman but this is a bet I’m willing to take.  God bless those souls in Orlando, and Fort Hood, and Columbine, Sandy Hook, Oklahoma City, and all the other tragedies, which unfortunately, the list that is too long to print.  May their families find comfort and peace and may we all walk more softly in this world that is filled with individuals who need each other.  If we are softer, kinder, we can be of more help to those who need us.  We can be better versions of ourselves and by doing that we help ease a family's suffering, a mother's grief.  Make it your best day.

Muhammed Ali, My Fight, My Grief

This past winter and early spring are maybe the most difficult months I have spent in my life.  I know that my husband and son have been gone for just over 18 and 15 months respectively, but I’ve shared that this year has been harder.  I had been warned it would be that way, by people I know, love and respect.  But no one can prepare you.  So I’ve wallowed, I’ve cried, I’ve held epic pity parties, and I’ve just existed.  What few positive things I had done to take care of myself i.e. exercise and diet, went totally by the wayside.  I’ve discovered many, many things about myself, other people and my husband and son, good, bad and indifferent.  For anyone who has already been down this road I am walking, knows that it takes a TON of energy to grieve.  Suddenly it’s harder than ever to peel yourself from your bed in the mornings, to do the things that are good for you, that you need, because the reality is you just don’t care.  It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t mean you have stopped loving those who you have always loved that are still here; in my mind, conversely so.  I cherish them more than ever, because I have learned all too well how fragile life really is.  But the distraction those loved ones provide during their texts, phone calls, visits, can’t cover the span of vacant time when your mind wanders and where your heart inevitably returns.

I made up my mind not so long ago – 43 days ago to be exact – that I was going to do my best to start the days with my best foot forward, to start my days with a positive inspiration, to plan for a future I had no idea I’d need to dream about.  And it has helped.  It truly has.  People who love you, who watch you suffer, want so badly to be able to help.  They want you to move on, move forward because when you love someone you don’t want to see them hurt.  It’s been a fight, because I’m not healed, but I want to live and love with purpose.  I want to present an example someone could point to and use impressive words like “strong”, “inspirational”, “courageous”, “grace” and “dignity”.  I’ll be lucky if I get “clean” and “on time”, but I’ll keep trying.

With the recent death of Muhammed Ali, I remember sitting with my dad on the couch and watching him fight – when he was Lew Alcindor.  He was sometimes thought of as very arrogant in those days, but didn’t say a thing he couldn’t back up.  He also had a wonderfully dry sense of humor which his eyes couldn’t belie.  After he converted to Muhammed Ali, matured, aged and battled illness which had to have been more than devastating to a man who had relied on his body, his mind was still strong and not just viable, but witty and playful.  Again, you could see it in his eyes.  I thought of his courage with his battle as he was remembered on TV.  I was touched deeply by the expression in his eyes.  He wasn’t winning his battle with Parkinson’s, but he didn’t stop living.  He just changed the way he did it to suit himself.  And I thought “There’s a role model I can use”. 

I had some really rough moments this past weekend.  I felt like they had the potential to be huge setbacks in the small progress I have made.  But I’ve decided that it was just one match in my career.  I’m in training and I can keep improving.  No matter how positively I think, or how hard I work, the pain of not being able to speak with, touch or hug my husband or son is knife-like and it will cause me to pause, react and heal some more.  I’ll wear those scars like medals of honor, for the men they represent are worth them.  Or maybe my better metaphor for this particular day is that they will be my champion’s belt.  Maybe one day I’ll feel like floating like a butterfly and the sting of sorrow will fade.  Here’s to you Mr. Ali.