Three-quarters of a year have gone by since I became an only child. I'm not sure how I made it this far. There certainly is something to be said about putting one foot in front of the other. Not that I am getting very far, mind you, but I am moving. On those days when I feel like curling up in a ball and sobbing the day away, and they are there more than I would like to acknowledge, I just keep going.
In the past 10 months I have screwed up a gazillion times - in what I have done and what I have failed to do. Take, for instance, the two Friends of the Library meetings I, as President, canceled, both on short notice. One I was out of town for and totally forgot about until 12 hours before the meeting. The other was to take place at the same time as a very important work meeting and I did not realize that until - you guessed it - hours prior to the meeting. This week's meeting I made by the skin of my teeth. I cruised into Carbondale a good five minutes before the meeting after making a five hour drive from Monmouth. Luckily, the Holt House meeting closed on time and I did not have to break speed records to get home.
That I have coordinated the three yearly health conferences in these dismal times is purely a reflection of the great board of directors I deal with on a daily basis.
And my friends have been very understanding. Frankly I have been lousy friend - giving rainchecks, letting correspondence fall through the cracks, to the point that even I wouldn't put up with it.
I haven't been the best homemaker either. My trips to the grocery are more hunt and peck adventures than a well planned attack on Krogers. I usually spend more time deciding on what cut flowers to buy this week than what should we have for dinner the rest of the week. Making a list seems like too much of an effort.
But this is how life goes. "We disappoint, we leave a mess, we die, but we don't." (Into the Woods) comes to mind. And so we go, putting one foot in front of the other, hoping we make progress in the game of life.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
9/11/01 ten years later
The weekend of September 8, 2001 was spent at a meeting in some Texas city. I can't remember if it was Dallas or Houston. A few of us stayed until Monday to meet and discuss an updating of a program. There were two of us flying to St. Louis. We had decided to get to the airport early and then meet some more at the airport before we headed out. Sara, the other person heading to St. Louis, checked in before me. The TWA attendant told Sara there was a plane taking off in a few minutes and she could get on it. When she said she was going for it, I agreed to go too. We both got to the gate, the gate door was closed, but the attendant at the gate opened the door and we boarded. The rest of the committee went to their gates since we decided that we really didn't need to meet again that day.
September 10, 2001 turned out to be the last day that you could go to a closed gate door and board the plane.
September 11, 2001 was a beautiful day in southern Illinois. The sky was a deep blue. I remember seeing deer in the backyard before I turned on the television and sat down at the computer to answer e-mails. I hadn't talked to my sister Louise in a few days and calling her was one of the first things on my list.
Our mother had passed away that March after nine months of being in and out of hospitals dealing with a brain tumor and cancer. The day that we met in Florida knowing that the end was near for our mother, we were both in our private agonies. Her husband, a bond trader, had just left/lost his job at Cantor Fitzgerald on the 103 floor of the north tower of the World Trade Center. When he was in Florida he was networking and by the time we had made our way to Long Island for a memorial service a few days later, he had another job lined up, this time in the 60s of the South Tower.
He had been there for the earlier attack on the Trade Center and had walked down 100 floors by the light of his wrist watch. Having him in the middle of the towers seemed better than being on the top of the world.
The phone was in my hand as I turned on the television. The shot I saw on the screen made the hair rise on the back of my neck. A plane had crashed in to the World Trade Center. There was no way I could call my sister. She would hear the fear in my voice. I walked around the house with a knot in my stomach. A few minutes later the phone rang. It was Louise. There was panic in her voice. I told her to calm down. I kept telling her that at the end of the day she would be one of the lucky ones. I kept saying it even though I didn't truly feel it. All I knew was that I needed to get to the east coast as quickly as possible. I was trying to make flight arrangements to get there when I heard from the voice on the other end of the phone that the Pentagon had been hit.
I was on the phone with Louise when the first tower fell. I called my uncle and cousins. They made their way to Louise's house so that she wouldn't be alone when she left work and went home.
It was after 11 when she finally heard from her husband. She said that when he looked out the window and saw debris falling, he said to himself "This will not end well." He and a colleague left their desks and headed out of the building. That earlier experience was still fresh in his mind. They ignored the all clear that sounded and told people it was safe to go back to their offices.
He left and kept walking north. He knew he was one of the lucky ones. Nearly everyone he had worked with at Cantor was gone. The colleague who helped him get the new job perished. His life would always be pre- and post-9/11.
September 11, 2001 changed lives. The events of the day are etched in many minds. My sister and her husband's lives were changed that day.
As the 10th anniversary approaches, the day will play over and over again in my mind. My sister is gone. It will be a tough day for her husband. As we remember that day, let us not forgot all the lives that were lost. May they rest in peace. And may those who mourn their loss know that they are not alone.
September 10, 2001 turned out to be the last day that you could go to a closed gate door and board the plane.
September 11, 2001 was a beautiful day in southern Illinois. The sky was a deep blue. I remember seeing deer in the backyard before I turned on the television and sat down at the computer to answer e-mails. I hadn't talked to my sister Louise in a few days and calling her was one of the first things on my list.
Our mother had passed away that March after nine months of being in and out of hospitals dealing with a brain tumor and cancer. The day that we met in Florida knowing that the end was near for our mother, we were both in our private agonies. Her husband, a bond trader, had just left/lost his job at Cantor Fitzgerald on the 103 floor of the north tower of the World Trade Center. When he was in Florida he was networking and by the time we had made our way to Long Island for a memorial service a few days later, he had another job lined up, this time in the 60s of the South Tower.
He had been there for the earlier attack on the Trade Center and had walked down 100 floors by the light of his wrist watch. Having him in the middle of the towers seemed better than being on the top of the world.
The phone was in my hand as I turned on the television. The shot I saw on the screen made the hair rise on the back of my neck. A plane had crashed in to the World Trade Center. There was no way I could call my sister. She would hear the fear in my voice. I walked around the house with a knot in my stomach. A few minutes later the phone rang. It was Louise. There was panic in her voice. I told her to calm down. I kept telling her that at the end of the day she would be one of the lucky ones. I kept saying it even though I didn't truly feel it. All I knew was that I needed to get to the east coast as quickly as possible. I was trying to make flight arrangements to get there when I heard from the voice on the other end of the phone that the Pentagon had been hit.
I was on the phone with Louise when the first tower fell. I called my uncle and cousins. They made their way to Louise's house so that she wouldn't be alone when she left work and went home.
It was after 11 when she finally heard from her husband. She said that when he looked out the window and saw debris falling, he said to himself "This will not end well." He and a colleague left their desks and headed out of the building. That earlier experience was still fresh in his mind. They ignored the all clear that sounded and told people it was safe to go back to their offices.
He left and kept walking north. He knew he was one of the lucky ones. Nearly everyone he had worked with at Cantor was gone. The colleague who helped him get the new job perished. His life would always be pre- and post-9/11.
September 11, 2001 changed lives. The events of the day are etched in many minds. My sister and her husband's lives were changed that day.
As the 10th anniversary approaches, the day will play over and over again in my mind. My sister is gone. It will be a tough day for her husband. As we remember that day, let us not forgot all the lives that were lost. May they rest in peace. And may those who mourn their loss know that they are not alone.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Books, books and more books
I have always loved book sales. Finding a book I've been looking for or looking through boxes of books and coming across something that looks interesting has been a fun activity.
I've been co-coordinator of our Friends of the Library Book Sale for more years than I'd like to admit. I like to say that as coordinators we do our civic duty by recycling books that our donors cannot recycle for themselves. There are several categories of books that end up in the "Do not pass go, do not collect $200" category otherwise known as the recycling bin.
These include:
* Any textbook with a publication date prior to 2007. You would be amazed how many people hang on to textbooks. Most of those textbooks haven't been opened since the final exam for the class was taken, yet someone has held on to the book for decades.
* Travel books that have been on a book shelf for years. While the book may have been helpful on your 1995 tour of Madrid, it's highly unlikely that the hotels and restaurants are still around.
* How-to books, especially anything that catered to the y2k bug. News flash, we made it from 1999 to 2000 without any problems. Some people made big bucks on the books they wrote and the fear they created. No one wants the books in 2011.
* Anything that has mold, has fallen into the tub, or has cat pee odor. The latter drives us up the wall and we usually have to get rid of the entire box of books when a cat has decided to relieve him/herself on your books.
* If you've had to use a rubber band to keep it together, chances are good that no one wants the book.
* If the title is "The Bridges of Madison County" there is no market for the book. Sad, but oh so true!
* The "Idiot's Guide to Microsoft Word '95" is best served by lining your bird cage. No one wants it and it will not sell.
* Reader's Digest Condensed Books. What exactly do they leave out? 1/3 of the plot? 1/3 of the dialogue? I think they are terrific for making altered books or having colored coordinated bookshelves.
* The encyclopedia that has been on your shelf since 1955 - the "someday man will land on the moon" version. The internet has made old encyclopedias nearly worthless.
* Softcover books that were "perfect bound", a misnomer if ever there was one. The perfect binding is notorious for splitting from the spine.
Book lovers are a rare breed. They treasure books and parting with books is so very difficult. The love of book obliterates the rational evaluation of each book. If only I could make a living getting rid of the worthless books of others!
I've been co-coordinator of our Friends of the Library Book Sale for more years than I'd like to admit. I like to say that as coordinators we do our civic duty by recycling books that our donors cannot recycle for themselves. There are several categories of books that end up in the "Do not pass go, do not collect $200" category otherwise known as the recycling bin.
These include:
* Any textbook with a publication date prior to 2007. You would be amazed how many people hang on to textbooks. Most of those textbooks haven't been opened since the final exam for the class was taken, yet someone has held on to the book for decades.
* Travel books that have been on a book shelf for years. While the book may have been helpful on your 1995 tour of Madrid, it's highly unlikely that the hotels and restaurants are still around.
* How-to books, especially anything that catered to the y2k bug. News flash, we made it from 1999 to 2000 without any problems. Some people made big bucks on the books they wrote and the fear they created. No one wants the books in 2011.
* Anything that has mold, has fallen into the tub, or has cat pee odor. The latter drives us up the wall and we usually have to get rid of the entire box of books when a cat has decided to relieve him/herself on your books.
* If you've had to use a rubber band to keep it together, chances are good that no one wants the book.
* If the title is "The Bridges of Madison County" there is no market for the book. Sad, but oh so true!
* The "Idiot's Guide to Microsoft Word '95" is best served by lining your bird cage. No one wants it and it will not sell.
* Reader's Digest Condensed Books. What exactly do they leave out? 1/3 of the plot? 1/3 of the dialogue? I think they are terrific for making altered books or having colored coordinated bookshelves.
* The encyclopedia that has been on your shelf since 1955 - the "someday man will land on the moon" version. The internet has made old encyclopedias nearly worthless.
* Softcover books that were "perfect bound", a misnomer if ever there was one. The perfect binding is notorious for splitting from the spine.
Book lovers are a rare breed. They treasure books and parting with books is so very difficult. The love of book obliterates the rational evaluation of each book. If only I could make a living getting rid of the worthless books of others!
Monday, April 4, 2011
Three months and counting
I remember after our mother died 10 years ago, Louise and I kept comparing notes on the stupid things were doing. She pointed out that it was the way stupid people lived their lives on a daily basis.
Well the past three months have seen me living as a stupid person. I'm making stupid mistakes. BIG TIME! Nearly every e-mail I send has one or two stupid mistakes, despite my best efforts to spell-check and proofread. There are probably several stupid mistakes in this post.
Does heartache really affect cognitive function? You bet! Will this fog of ignorance ever disappear?
Well the past three months have seen me living as a stupid person. I'm making stupid mistakes. BIG TIME! Nearly every e-mail I send has one or two stupid mistakes, despite my best efforts to spell-check and proofread. There are probably several stupid mistakes in this post.
Does heartache really affect cognitive function? You bet! Will this fog of ignorance ever disappear?
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Knee Deep in Grief and Inches from Tears
I am so conditioned to say "Fine, thanks and how 'bout you?" when people say "How are you?" I learned many moons ago that most people really don't want a litany of what's wrong in your life when they ask that question. It's merely a form of greeting. What I say in my mind when someone asks is "I'm knee deep in grief and inches from tears."
Should I mention that tears seem to come when I'm driving? I found that after my mother died that's when tears came too. It was on drives when I was alone in the car and some thought crossed my mind, and instantly the tears would come. Well, the tears are back. Luckily, I travel with lots of Kleenex.
How do people deal with grief? Today's paper has an interview with Joyce Carol Oates about how she dealt with the death of her husband. She said it was tiring. A friend who has outlived two husbands has said the same thing. Another friend suggested I start writing in a notebook, talking to Louise that way. Perhaps, I'll give it a try. Maybe even right here. Luckily no one reads this, so I am safe. And, if there is anyone reading this, you might try to stay away from me on the road, and know that when you ask how I'm doing, I'll likely say "Fine, thanks and you?" And what I'll really mean is "I'm knee deep in grief and inches from tears."
Should I mention that tears seem to come when I'm driving? I found that after my mother died that's when tears came too. It was on drives when I was alone in the car and some thought crossed my mind, and instantly the tears would come. Well, the tears are back. Luckily, I travel with lots of Kleenex.
How do people deal with grief? Today's paper has an interview with Joyce Carol Oates about how she dealt with the death of her husband. She said it was tiring. A friend who has outlived two husbands has said the same thing. Another friend suggested I start writing in a notebook, talking to Louise that way. Perhaps, I'll give it a try. Maybe even right here. Luckily no one reads this, so I am safe. And, if there is anyone reading this, you might try to stay away from me on the road, and know that when you ask how I'm doing, I'll likely say "Fine, thanks and you?" And what I'll really mean is "I'm knee deep in grief and inches from tears."
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
To Unfriend or Not to Unfriend
It was four Tuesdays ago that I lost my sister. Lost sounds as if I'll call her name and turn around and she'll be there, but it's not that kind of lost. It's more of the I'll never hug her again and I'll never hear her voice. She'll never again tell me what I'm wearing is all wrong or that I am in dire need of a haircut.
She introduced me to facebook. Her picture pops up every time I sign on. And my heart aches and breaks every time I see it. Last night I was playing a mindless word game and started a new game. "Invite Louise to play" flashed on the screen. Oh how I wish I could!
So do I unfriend my only sister, my only sibling? I honestly don't know. I know that every time I see her picture, I think for one slight moment, Oh I need to call Louise. And then I realize I can't.
Lou, you're in my heart and on my facebook. I just wish you were here right next to me.
She introduced me to facebook. Her picture pops up every time I sign on. And my heart aches and breaks every time I see it. Last night I was playing a mindless word game and started a new game. "Invite Louise to play" flashed on the screen. Oh how I wish I could!
So do I unfriend my only sister, my only sibling? I honestly don't know. I know that every time I see her picture, I think for one slight moment, Oh I need to call Louise. And then I realize I can't.
Lou, you're in my heart and on my facebook. I just wish you were here right next to me.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Slipping out the side door...
I spoke to an old friend last night. She lost her sister four years ago. Her sister's death was as quick as Louise's was. Her sister had gone to a the wedding of a friend's offspring. Knowing she had to be somewhere else after the ceremony, she told her friend that she wouldn't be in the receiving line. She slipped out of the church by the side door. And later she slipped out of life the same way. Quickly without good-byes.
With our Mom, we had to see her suffer and go through all the indignities that being in a health care facility entails (I thank all of you who work in health care, I could not do it). The ups and downs of thinking that all will return to normal at some point is exhausting and heartbreaking, but it does give one time to prepare for the worst.
Leaving by the side door...I am so glad Louise did not suffer, but it's those of us who have to live without her that have to suffer.
With our Mom, we had to see her suffer and go through all the indignities that being in a health care facility entails (I thank all of you who work in health care, I could not do it). The ups and downs of thinking that all will return to normal at some point is exhausting and heartbreaking, but it does give one time to prepare for the worst.
Leaving by the side door...I am so glad Louise did not suffer, but it's those of us who have to live without her that have to suffer.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Dauncey
It's a word from an I Love Lucy episode. My sister Louise and I loved watching the reruns when we grew up in the 1960s, long before sitcoms were rerun with any regularity. Almost two weeks ago, my sister died suddenly. She did not suffer. It's those of us who are still here and have to live without her who are suffering.
We haven't lived in the same place since the 1970s when I went off to college. We talked on the phone. We laughed on the phone. She could have me in stitches in five seconds flat. All I had to say was that I was feeling Dauncey and she would send me a huge dose of humor.
Well I am feeling so Dauncey now and there is no one who can make me feel better. Louise, I miss you so much and I know my life will never be the same.
We haven't lived in the same place since the 1970s when I went off to college. We talked on the phone. We laughed on the phone. She could have me in stitches in five seconds flat. All I had to say was that I was feeling Dauncey and she would send me a huge dose of humor.
Well I am feeling so Dauncey now and there is no one who can make me feel better. Louise, I miss you so much and I know my life will never be the same.
Friday, January 14, 2011
My favorite sister
My favorite - and only sister Louise passed away suddenly last week. Being at my sister's funeral was not the way I had planned to spend my birthday. In the fall, she had a reunion with a few of her closest high school and college friends. During the weekend, they were given an assignment to write to their 20 year old selves, knowing what they know now. This is what Louise wrote in early December.
A letter to my younger self, at the suggestion of Maura Regan:
Dear 20 Year-Old Louise,
It’s hard to imagine, but this is 51 year-old Louise writing to you. That’s right, I managed to stay alive to 51! I always say, “if I knew I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself,” which is why I’m writing to you. There are some things I want you to know……
* You shouldn’t take everything so seriously! I know it seems like things are enormously important when they’re happening, but whatever it is, good or bad, remember that this too shall pass. So lighten up!
* Please don’t waste any more time worrying about what people think of you. Be kinder to yourself. Those who love you will love you regardless, and those who don’t love you aren’t deserving of your worry. As you might say: “eff ‘em.” We are at our most powerful when we don’t care what other people think of us.
* Take a few minutes every day to calm your mind and be introspective. Sit quietly for 15 minutes, focusing on your breathing. When you’re done, give thanks for your wonderful life and trust that it will unfold for you the way it is meant to.
* Don’t go looking for your self-worth in someone else’s eyes. You are beautiful, and until you embrace your beauty and worthiness, searching for someone to validate it for you will be a recipe for heartbreak. There are many kinds of beauty – let’s face it, you’re never going to be a tall, thin, busty blond – so work with what you’ve got.
* Tomorrow is promised to no one. Say “I love you” often to those who matter because one day it will be the last time you say it to them. Sad but true.
* Regret is a stupid emotion. Looking forward with hope is much more empowering than looking backward with sadness. No regrets!
* Older Louise really wants Younger Louise to know that the only thing that really matters is how much you love and are loved. The Beatles got it right, “all you need is love.”
To paraphrase Nirvana: “Our love is all we are” “Who is Nirvana?” you ask. To which I reply “Nevermind,” but that’s a joke that’s going right over your head, at least until 1993!
Take care of us, and I’ll see you in 30 years~
Love,
Older Louise
Maura brought this to the funeral and read it. For that I am very grateful.
We love you Lou and we miss you!
A letter to my younger self, at the suggestion of Maura Regan:
Dear 20 Year-Old Louise,
It’s hard to imagine, but this is 51 year-old Louise writing to you. That’s right, I managed to stay alive to 51! I always say, “if I knew I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself,” which is why I’m writing to you. There are some things I want you to know……
* You shouldn’t take everything so seriously! I know it seems like things are enormously important when they’re happening, but whatever it is, good or bad, remember that this too shall pass. So lighten up!
* Please don’t waste any more time worrying about what people think of you. Be kinder to yourself. Those who love you will love you regardless, and those who don’t love you aren’t deserving of your worry. As you might say: “eff ‘em.” We are at our most powerful when we don’t care what other people think of us.
* Take a few minutes every day to calm your mind and be introspective. Sit quietly for 15 minutes, focusing on your breathing. When you’re done, give thanks for your wonderful life and trust that it will unfold for you the way it is meant to.
* Don’t go looking for your self-worth in someone else’s eyes. You are beautiful, and until you embrace your beauty and worthiness, searching for someone to validate it for you will be a recipe for heartbreak. There are many kinds of beauty – let’s face it, you’re never going to be a tall, thin, busty blond – so work with what you’ve got.
* Tomorrow is promised to no one. Say “I love you” often to those who matter because one day it will be the last time you say it to them. Sad but true.
* Regret is a stupid emotion. Looking forward with hope is much more empowering than looking backward with sadness. No regrets!
* Older Louise really wants Younger Louise to know that the only thing that really matters is how much you love and are loved. The Beatles got it right, “all you need is love.”
To paraphrase Nirvana: “Our love is all we are” “Who is Nirvana?” you ask. To which I reply “Nevermind,” but that’s a joke that’s going right over your head, at least until 1993!
Take care of us, and I’ll see you in 30 years~
Love,
Older Louise
Maura brought this to the funeral and read it. For that I am very grateful.
We love you Lou and we miss you!
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