We Want to Know We Mattered

My mother’s day was made over the weekend by a visit from an old friend of my brother’s and his wife. While my brother hasn’t seen this friend in decades, my mom had seen the couple off and on through the years about town – or stopping by in her car to say ‘hello’ if she saw either of them in their yard. She thought the world of them but didn’t necessarily expect they felt even remotely the same.

When Christmas rolled around this past December, and they didn’t receive a card from my mom, it made them consider the last time they had seen her. Several things happened in the aftermath that kept her top of mind. Finally, my brother’s friend drove down by her house and knew immediately that this was no longer my mother’s home.

He went home and got online, started tracking down my brother, who owns a business, and managed to get his contact information. He made a call and they caught up over a 90-minute conversation with the vow of getting together soon. Next up was visiting my mom, now that they knew where she was.

Over the past year and a half, my mom’s life has changed radically. She got hurt, badly, in a fall at the beginning of 2017 and what started out as a simple lunch out with a friend resulted in my mother never going home to live in her house again. Can you imagine? You go out the door for lunch with a friend and never get to live in your house again. And the life you once had, the car you drove, your furniture, a ton of your possessions no longer is yours and, for the most part, because you can’t use them and don’t have space for them anymore.

With all of the changes – and just the process of growing older – I know my mother sometimes questions, like many of us do, what her place in the world has been. How much of what she’s done over the years mattered, and to who? Did she make an impact on anyone? How will she be remembered?

When life grows long and the world grows smaller, it’s hard not to focus on these things. We all want to feel that we have value and matter to others and that we’ll be remembered for those things.

Earlier this year, at a post-holiday gathering, some friends were discussing the passing of so many people that we loved. One friend said that she had been thinking lately about her mortality and what she would want after her death. Whereas once she was in favor of cremation, perhaps with her ashes scattered, she had now changed her mind. She wants a burial, even if it’s to be just her ashes, with a headstone to mark that she had once lived. Otherwise, who would know she had been there?

It was a thoughtful conversation and one that made me think once again about our legacy, our understanding of who we had influenced in some way or made a positive impact on – universal thoughts for sure. We want to know we mattered.

I think back on the weekend. It’s hard to describe the joy that transpired, not just for my mom, but really for me as well, which surprised me. I happened to be on my way down to visit my mom when her surprise guests came to her door. They were kind enough to wait for me to arrive so I could see them, too.

The effect their visit had on my mom, particularly as my brother’s friend recalled times at our family home so many years before, when he’d run into her at the supermarket or when she stopped by their yard, was transformative for her. It allowed her to see that regular daily interactions in her life had become good memories for others, for people she thought so much of and it made her happy.

That they took the time to seek her out, find out what had happened that made her move from her beloved home, came to visit and brought beautiful flowers and shared memories of my brother, of my father and mother, and me as well, made her feel such appreciation and so much joy.

For me, it was emotional as well. The years somehow seemed to melt away. I’d hazard none of us really saw what we look like now but rather someone we remember from so long ago. There was a lot of laughter and a lot of memories regained in just a short time.

I see how much moments like this mean to my mom, who has been blessed by kindness and care from people she’d never realized she’s touched in her life. She continues to make a difference in the lives around her. The former principal of the elementary school, where my mother served as a paraprofessional and substitute teacher at until she was 80, was a resident for a while at the assisted living my mother lives at now. I think my mom’s presence brought this 100-year-old woman to a more present state than she had inhabited for some time, perking up to share stories and memories of a different time in both of their lives.

An old friend of mine’s mother-in-law also came to live at the assisted living and in the short time before her death; she and my mother became good friends. Over a several-months-long span, the two were nearly inseparable and my mother spent time at her bedside in her final weeks. Since that time, her daughter-in-law and son have been extraordinarily thoughtful, sending my mother flowers and letting her know they care about her. It’s thoughtful beyond words – and so unexpected and appreciated by my mom.

These days, this is what matters most to her. Human connection and knowing she matters still – and always has. She’s not much different than most of us.

Next time you’re thinking about someone and what they mean to you, take a minute and let them know. You can’t imagine how much it will mean to them.

Indisputable Proof

I’ve been doing a lot of cleaning and reorganizing lately, some of it because I have a little bit of extra time on my hands and even more, because it’s way overdue. It’s easy to get in a rut maintaining a household, not making too many changes and yet as time goes by, there’s so much less that I need. What’s most amazing is no matter how much I clean and discard, there is still so much more to deal with – it’s incredible how much one accumulates over 30+ years with a family.

As part of the process, I’ve been cleaning out old photos, and coming across lots of slides. Early on, long before digital cameras, we took a ton of photos with a Minolta camera and generally shot slides since processing was so pricey. The best ones we made prints from and put them in albums, but all these years later, even the marginal shots are precious and worth saving. So, I’ve been scanning slides, saving them digitally and even introduced my mom to the effort to help. Sadly, there were many slides that haven’t withstood the years, which makes it even more important to capture what I have while I can.

Just as I accumulated a ton of material items over the years, I have even more in the way of memories. Some have lain dormant until the visual reminder sparked those memories. Like many of the objects in the house, filed and boxed away for safekeeping or convenience, I did the same with many of the things that came my way – putting them in boxes to unwrap later, I guess, for when I had the detachment of time to take them all in.

I’ve grown so used to life as it now is that I sometimes forget what my life once was – and as I scanned slides and viewed many of the images with my mom this past weekend, so many memories came alive again.

I often tell myself that while my life had been pretty special when my kids were young, I also know that the distance from those years often lends a rosier vantage point than maybe it really was. But as I looked at pictures from my late teen years, from the early days when I was dating my one-day husband and the earliest years of our marriage, the proof is indisputable. It wasn’t just pretty special – it was extraordinary in so many ways.

A truth I can’t dismiss is this: I had a genuine love story. So many happy times and so much love. It wasn’t perfect, but it was perfect for us. And out of that love, our story grew to encompass four kids that brought such joy to us – and we had so many adventures together for so many years.

I think I pushed some of this away for a while; it doesn’t hurt as much if you lessen the magnitude of the loss. I made up scenarios in my head that told me that had some of the heartbreaking stuff – illness, issues related to that, separation and more – not happened, it still didn’t mean that our lives would have continued to be as good as they once were. But it’s hard to know that, hard to guess what two people might have been like in the future based on whom they were once upon a time. So it was easier to second-guess who we had been, what we once had.

But there we were, once upon a time, in full color across my laptop screen. Pictures don’t always show the truth, but these have back-stories to corroborate what had been hidden away in boxes, in a dark closet at the end of the hall.

And as I remember it all, I can now smile as I do. Life seldom unfolds as we planned, but I am blessed to have all that I had and still do.

As My Daughter Turns 30

30 years ago today, ten days overdue, I wondered if my soon-to-be-born baby would ever arrive. I wasn’t feeling great, but had been told by an OB/Gyn standing in for my own doctor that day that I most likely had a stomach bug. “No, I had similar symptoms when I went into labor with my son.” He wasn’t buying it. And I wasn’t buying his response either.

However, I went home and sat on the couch that evening, no labor in sight – some stomach cramping, but nothing that stopped me from polishing off half a pint of Haagen Daz sorbet. My son was asleep and my husband taking a bath. I remember shouting from the living room around 10 p.m., “I feel like these stomach cramps have some sort of pattern to them.” Per usual, he didn’t think I was in labor. (This reaction became consistent behavior with all four births). A half-hour later, he was calling his parents to come watch our son and we were on our way to the hospital shortly thereafter.

My labor, at the hospital, consisted of me running to the bathroom several times while contractions increased rapidly. I had momentary fear I’d be become one of those moms who actually gave birth on a toilet (insert your own shudder here). Not more than a few pushes later, my beautiful, 10-lb. baby girl arrived. At the time, women were still moved from labor rooms to delivery. Ridiculously, we traveled over quickly, I was hoisted on the delivery table and Marissa Skye made her debut in what seemed like moments later, Even at nearly 11 days overdue by this hour, I never imagined I’d give birth to a child that looked at least two weeks old – and she was perfect. I’m sure the other babies in the nursery were wondering, “What’s up with this toddler? Why’s she here?”

Her birth was indicative of her life thus far as a daughter. Not a lot of fuss or drama. Throughout the years, I’ve heard any number of horror stories about arguments and sass, tears cried (by both parties) and how rough it is to raise a daughter. I don’t have much to add to that conversation, except this: The toughest part of raising my daughter is knowing what the world can sometimes be like for a woman – the expectations, the disrespect and the vulnerabilities she’ll experience. The most tears I’ve cried are in knowing I’ve sometimes failed her – in spite of my best intentions – and in preparing for her to move out in her senior year of college. I cried for me, not her, because she had become this incredible adult I was so proud of and loved so much, but time moved far too fast for my liking. She was ready, and already older than I was when I left home, but I knew how much I was going to miss her.

Throughout the years, she’s welcomed me in her life, even during the far more private teen years, and I feel so blessed by how much I’ve been able to share of her life, even now as she approaches 30. She’s made wise choices, worked hard to earn her bachelor’s – going to school three days a week and working full-time the other four, married the person who she’s loved since she was 16 and earlier last year, became a mother.

As often happens, her birth experience was not quite what she expected and she learned the day prior to his birth that her overdue son was following in her footsteps – yet he was topping the scales at over 11 lbs. A C-section would follow – and it was in the hours after that I marveled at how natural it was to see she and her husband as parents. I was humbled in the days to come by her resilience, her lack of complaint when surely she was in great pain and how brave she had been throughout the week prior.

It has been amazing to watch her become the mom she has to my beautiful grandson. For someone who never had much interest in children, it’s like she has been doing this all of her life. Her love for her son has amplified all of her best qualities and added a confidence to her personality of which she probably isn’t even aware.

So she is about to turn 30, and it tugs at my heart. It’s bittersweet as I miss the girl she once was, but I’m so excited for the woman she now is and the possibilities ahead of her. As any parent will say, time goes by too quickly, far too quickly. Yet, I remember so many moments, many that she may never recall – and those are the moments that sustain me as time continues to spiral us forward. I still see her sweet smile – mirrored always in her eyes, too – and the little ponytails, and the love for every new pair of sneakers. Sometimes her long hair is in a braid and I can’t help but reach out and feel its texture, hold it for a second in my hand, remembering all the mornings braiding her hair so long ago. I see the care she takes in choosing new sneakers, even now, and how her smile is still one of my favorite things – and especially now seeing it in her son too.

I’m so very proud of the woman my daughter has become. She’s stronger than she knows, smarter than she realizes and so very capable of handling whatever life brings her way. She has taken on far more than many women twice her age – acting as a guardian for a chronically ill parent and taking on the role of the family organizer so much of the time. I rest easy knowing that she is the next generation foundation that will always keep our family close.

Happy 30^th birthday, Marissa Skye! It is such a privilege to be your mother. I love you so much.

Fourteen Years Gone

My father passed away fourteen years ago today, and it strikes me that he has now been gone more than a quarter of my life. Something about that is beyond bizarre to me, and yet his influence is felt every single day. I feel him in my attitude, the way I talk, and the manner in which I approach life itself.

So much has happened since he died – so many things I wish I could tell him. He wouldn’t say much in response. Never a big conversationalist, he would most likely nod or smile, or scowl dependent on the subject matter. He could get exasperated pretty easy, but I like to think he would have mellowed a bit more with age.

My mother always says that my father would never have survived in these times. He’d find them too upsetting, the world too crazy. I don’t know – he was pretty realistic. As an engineer, he looked at life strategically and was a straight shooter in his response to what life handed him. Or maybe she just knew him so much better than me and perhaps his failing health was in response to the world around him and his internal strife in viewing it.

Maybe I just idealize the man that has always meant the most to me. Continue reading “Fourteen Years Gone” →

The Peacefulness of Gently Falling Snow

We’ve had a lot of snow lately. That’s a bit of an understatement really. We’ve had more than a lot of snow in the past week or so – and it’s snowing out now. I looked outside a while ago and thought, “Hmm, is it snowing or simply wind blowing it off the roof?” Within a few minutes, the gentle flakes had escalated to a greater flow from above and it’s snowing in earnest now.

Perhaps because I’m not greatly disadvantaged by the snow – no shoveling really (thank god for strong sons, even with just one at home still, and the kindness of a neighbor with a snowblower), the ability to work from home in inclement weather and a warm home – I don’t mind it. I live in New Hampshire and I expect it to snow. It’s when it doesn’t that it doesn’t feel right. Continue reading “The Peacefulness of Gently Falling Snow” →

Undecking the Halls

Many feel a distinct sadness when Christmas ends and it’s time to start storing away the holiday decorations for yet another year. I don’t.

Christmas, as much as I love it, begins to feel like much too much – and I love the tradition, the beautiful Christmas tree and decorations, and most of all, the special time with my family and my friends. But suddenly, I’m ready, and I welcome clearing the shelves, the tabletops, the windows; you name it, I may have put a holiday decoration there. I’m ready to pare it all down and return to simpler space.

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Buzzing Through Each Day

In spite of my best intentions, it’s been nearly two months since I last blogged. There’s been lots going on that I would have liked to have written about, but for one reason or another, I’ve been immersed in so many things that I haven’t had a chance to. And it’s been all good, but I’m just engaged in more things than I can even begin to fit in a single day.

I was talking to a good friend about this a few days ago. She switched jobs last year, and in her former job we had a chance to interact almost daily. We both have a lot going on and seem to be operating on conflicting schedules, making it hard to find the time to catch up. During our brief conversation, we marveled at just how busy our lives seem to be and how there always seems to be a need to catch our breath and find a bit of balance. The truth is, though, we like everything we’re doing. Actually, it might be safe to say that we love what we’re involved in. So when it comes to culling an activity or two, neither of us seem capable at this point because we don’t want to give any of it up.
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Embarking on a Great Adventure

I am about to embark on a great adventure—a journey, quite frankly, that could be described as life-altering (and I’m sure it will be described in just those words by me before the journey is over). It’s a trip already in progress, and I will enter into the second third of that journey, one which I’ve had the privilege to document in blog form and social media for the nonprofit university for which I am fortunate to work.

Southern New Hampshire University began a six-week, cross-country trip by bus–a branded SNHU.edu bus–eleven days ago, and has traveled down the east coast, meeting students and alumni, connecting them with advisors and faculty who have impacted them in some significant way, and most all, students are sharing their goals, along with their personal stories and how SNHU somehow fit into each. Every story told to date resonates strongly with me. We hear about the sacrifices made to obtain dreams, not just for or by the student, but his or her family as well; and we hear about what’s next. This is an opportunity to cheer on those still making gains in their degree programs and to applaud those who have completed theirs–and celebrate their success.
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Small-Town Spoiled

I am incredibly spoiled with where I live–a small town in southern N.H., which used to be known primarily as a farming community. It’s long been a place to get gorgeous fresh strawberries, blueberries and corn, along with many other fresh fruits and vegetables and people still continue to come from far and wide to purchase produce. In fact, we still see people coming at the end of the season, stocking up on potatoes, onions and the like for the months ahead, particularly those who believe in buying in bulk and have the means for cold storage over the winter.
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Lifting the Weight

I have found myself counting my blessings even more than usual since 2013 began. Even when times are tough, I try to pay particular to all of the good things I do have in my life and be sure that I am expressing gratitude and thankfulness for those things. There’s been a lot of heaviness in the new year – the loss of my brother-in-law, who had been an enormous influence in my life as well as many deaths throughout the small community I live in, serious illnesses and more – and although the majority had very little close connection to me personally, they affected many people I know and care about in significant ways and I have had a hard time shaking the weight of that sorrow. Too many good people were having too much struggle in their lives, too many awful things were happening and it nagged at me as I tried for months to make sense of it all.

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Thirteen Years Ago Today

Thirteen years ago today, I found out I had cancer.

Here’s the surprising thing—I had no idea what the exact date was until a little while ago. I knew it sometime in late February, but it is only today when I came across a copy of the email sent to my surgeon and a print-out the doctor gave me to give me some background on this disease I was diagnosed with that I realized the date. And even more surprising, it’s today’s date.

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A Milestone to Celebrate

I have a good friend who is 30 years sober today. Given that she’s only in her 50s, this means that she recognized at an early age that alcohol was not her friend and made the decision to do something about it. I know it couldn’t have been easy and that life gave her, like all of us, many struggles to overcome. But here she is, 30 years later – celebrating this milestone – and her friends and loved ones are celebrating with her, while few would believe that there is anything she couldn’t tackle.
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