My daughter Amanda, interning in Manhattan, had her college boyfriend of a year and a half break up with her this past weekend. From 600 miles away, Bill and I have been trying to console and advise her. It's very difficult when they aren't right in front of you. It has been 36 hours of repeated messages and game plans for her remaining time in New York. Our latest conversation took place early this morning, and after I heard that she was only slightly more rational now than she was on Saturday night, the sad truth hit me. And this is the best I can offer to her. The rest has to come to her, from her.
Dear Mandy,
I wish I could put my arms around you and tell you that everything will be alright, but we both know that this would be a response fit for a child, not a 19-year-old girl trying so hard to be an adult. I have spent the past three years telling everyone how you are so unlike I was at your age - how you found your passion and went after it with such determination and such maturity, how absolutely fearless you have been. What I now realize is that when it comes to relationships, you are very much like me, and this is a scary thing to discover.
At the age of 19, I acted as though I were the Sun, and my friends and family were just planets circling around me. I was oblivious to whatever people may have been thinking about me. Small wonder that I couldn't even get a date, let alone a boyfriend. Your father, for whatever miraculous reason, felt like rolling the dice and marrying me. We both know what his flaws were. Our marriage was not an easy one, from the start, and it got only slightly better after you were born. We could have thrown in the towel any number of times, but then we would never have made it to where we are today. I was too self-centered to try and figure out why he acted the way he did, and he was too busy reacting to me to realize that I was immaturely reacting to him. Where are we today? We understand each other's idiosyncrasies, we know where each other's line in the sand is, and when one of us occasionally crosses it, we know to take a step back and not say the first thing that comes into our minds. We each know where the other is at in terms of our careers and our hobbies. It took over 20 years of work to get to this point. We have always loved each other, but now we love and understand each other in a mature way.
Also. there is a finer line between romantic relationships and friend relationships than you realize. The same behavior that can doom a romantic relationship to failure will also destroy friendships. As I progressed from high school through college, the gap between me and my friends widened imperceptibly with each passing year. When I finally cut ties with them two years into my marriage, I rationalized that it was because I had "moved on", but now I know just the opposite to be true. The sad truth is that they just got tired of putting up with me. I was, as they call it nowadays, a toxic friendship. Afterwards, I floundered through what remained of my '20s and my '30s with no real friends. You say that you have difficulty making friends. Welcome to most of my adult life. I was the center of my own universe, taking up most of the space in that universe and leaving very little room for anyone else.
I wish I could give you a magic bullet that would provide instant wisdom and experience. The saddest part is that you may think you are understanding all of this, but I'm not sure that it is possible for you to actually "get" this message until you are much older. I don't know if you will be consoled by the fact that I am finally in a place in my life where I am completely happy with most of my relationships. As I said, your father and I are happier than we've ever been - because we walk in each other's shoes every single day, and that is the biggest different between a mature relationship and an immature relationship. Gail, as you know is my very best friend, and why is this different from my friends of years ago? Friendships are formed because of commonalities, but more than that, real friends understand not only the similarities, but also the differences, and we recognize and sometimes even celebrate those differences. I know her line in the sand and she knows mine. Have we crossed those lines occasionally? Yes, but a mature friendship recognizes it, apologizes for it, and goes to extraordinary efforts to keep it from happening again.
I am happier now than I have ever been in my entire life, and maybe it took 25 years of my adult life to get here, but I can't go backwards to try to change anything. I can only go forward, and that's what you must do as well. The lesson here is not about romantic relationships or friend relationships. It is about human relationships. Try to step outside yourself to understand what others may be thinking or feeling on any given day. You have proven in the past that you are capable of amazingly selfless acts of kindness on a broad scale. Try shrinking those acts down and applying that thinking to your every day life. As I said, you may be incapable of doing this until you have logged a few more years on this earth. Sometimes we are doomed to learn the most important lessons the hard way. Lord knows, I was. But whatever you do, don't give up and turn into one of those perpetually angry, pessimistic people. You are so much better than that. Just like I was and still am. You are, after all, your mother's daughter.
Love,
Mom
Monday, July 22, 2013
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Disappointment
It is past midnight as I write this, and I am writing it in an attempt to clear something from my mind so that I might get a few precious hours of sleep before 5:00AM rolls around.
I had intended on naming this post "Secrecy", but in the spirit of true honesty, I think "Disappointment" is a more accurate label for the feelings jumbling around inside of me right now.
If we look back in history at failed events, failed persons or failed governments or organizations, it seems that secrets - whether they be well-kept or ill-kept - have played a part in many an unraveling. Going back to the beginning of time, in Biblical terms anyway, Man's first failure occurred in the Garden of Eden when Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit and then tried to hide their mistake from God. Since then, how many times have the bonds of trust been broken because of secrets?
Here's the trouble with secrets: The best-case scenario is that the secret is revealed as planned, but there are always people who are smart enough to put two and two together and figure out that something was in the works that most likely could have and should have been revealed much sooner or included a wider circle of participants. The worst-case scenario is when a secret is leaked out unintentionally, usually because of the influence of alcohol or false bravado. It has been my experience that the worst-case scenario is usually the scenario that happens most often.
I think that people rarely intend to be conniving nor are they are plotting or circumventing someone. In fact, many times they genuinely believe that they are doing the right thing or "doing what's best for everyone in the end." In their minds, there are not any secrets at all, but merely facts and circumstances that will be revealed at the optimal time and place. The trouble with this "big picture" approach is that there is no way to anticipate the reactions of the receivers of the" news". Are they to feel exciting about this turn of events? Should they feel a sense of gratitude that the "big reveal" was sprung on them and that they didn't have to be bothered with the decision-making process? Or, will some people have dissenting opinions that, if voiced, will be too little, too late? Will some people feel excluded or belittled? My guess and my experience tell me that in any random group of people who are supposed to be working together for a common cause, there will be a mixture of all of these reactions. My experience also tells me that if there is even one person who feels betrayed or marginalized when they "come in at the tail end of the story", then that is a problem.
Transparency should be the goal of any group of people working toward a common cause. If you are proposing something that is in the best interest of all and does not fly in the face of earlier commitments, what do you have to fear from disclosing it to all parties? If there are dissenting opinions, is it not better to hear them before making the commitment? If you have no ulterior motives and you aren't trying to circumvent something, then you should not fear dissension.
Too many times in my life I have been on the outside looking in. Yes, I will admit that I have been a keeper of secrets quite a few times, so I can say that it feels much better to be a secret-keeper than to be the one in the dark. After all, what does it say to the person kept out of the loop.... that they can't be trusted? That their opinion is not wanted or isn't important? Or more likely, that their opinion would be a roadblock or a hindrance. When I have years of experience with something, I often find myself playing devil's advocate. I have this annoying habit of raining on peoples' parades by reminding them of past mistakes and expressing my desire not to repeat them. This is a quality that is not always prized by everyone... I realize that. Since I don't see myself changing anytime soon, I guess I will have to learn to live with the disappointment of rarely being in on the ground floor of much of anything.
"Secret" is an ugly word. Better words would be "Plans" or "Something in the Works". These words are so much more positive and can be attributed to true acts of altruism - surprise parties, for example. In the end, only the initiating person really knows the difference. And in the end, that difference means everything.
These words represent the prattling of someone who has been awake for 18 hours and who found something out this evening in what I feel to be a most unfortunate manner. I felt blindsided, frankly. I will admit that I don't know all of the facts, so it may be entirely premature for me to be venting in this fashion... but, one does what one must to try to clear the brain and steal some sleep.
The End.
I had intended on naming this post "Secrecy", but in the spirit of true honesty, I think "Disappointment" is a more accurate label for the feelings jumbling around inside of me right now.
If we look back in history at failed events, failed persons or failed governments or organizations, it seems that secrets - whether they be well-kept or ill-kept - have played a part in many an unraveling. Going back to the beginning of time, in Biblical terms anyway, Man's first failure occurred in the Garden of Eden when Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit and then tried to hide their mistake from God. Since then, how many times have the bonds of trust been broken because of secrets?
Here's the trouble with secrets: The best-case scenario is that the secret is revealed as planned, but there are always people who are smart enough to put two and two together and figure out that something was in the works that most likely could have and should have been revealed much sooner or included a wider circle of participants. The worst-case scenario is when a secret is leaked out unintentionally, usually because of the influence of alcohol or false bravado. It has been my experience that the worst-case scenario is usually the scenario that happens most often.
I think that people rarely intend to be conniving nor are they are plotting or circumventing someone. In fact, many times they genuinely believe that they are doing the right thing or "doing what's best for everyone in the end." In their minds, there are not any secrets at all, but merely facts and circumstances that will be revealed at the optimal time and place. The trouble with this "big picture" approach is that there is no way to anticipate the reactions of the receivers of the" news". Are they to feel exciting about this turn of events? Should they feel a sense of gratitude that the "big reveal" was sprung on them and that they didn't have to be bothered with the decision-making process? Or, will some people have dissenting opinions that, if voiced, will be too little, too late? Will some people feel excluded or belittled? My guess and my experience tell me that in any random group of people who are supposed to be working together for a common cause, there will be a mixture of all of these reactions. My experience also tells me that if there is even one person who feels betrayed or marginalized when they "come in at the tail end of the story", then that is a problem.
Transparency should be the goal of any group of people working toward a common cause. If you are proposing something that is in the best interest of all and does not fly in the face of earlier commitments, what do you have to fear from disclosing it to all parties? If there are dissenting opinions, is it not better to hear them before making the commitment? If you have no ulterior motives and you aren't trying to circumvent something, then you should not fear dissension.
Too many times in my life I have been on the outside looking in. Yes, I will admit that I have been a keeper of secrets quite a few times, so I can say that it feels much better to be a secret-keeper than to be the one in the dark. After all, what does it say to the person kept out of the loop.... that they can't be trusted? That their opinion is not wanted or isn't important? Or more likely, that their opinion would be a roadblock or a hindrance. When I have years of experience with something, I often find myself playing devil's advocate. I have this annoying habit of raining on peoples' parades by reminding them of past mistakes and expressing my desire not to repeat them. This is a quality that is not always prized by everyone... I realize that. Since I don't see myself changing anytime soon, I guess I will have to learn to live with the disappointment of rarely being in on the ground floor of much of anything.
"Secret" is an ugly word. Better words would be "Plans" or "Something in the Works". These words are so much more positive and can be attributed to true acts of altruism - surprise parties, for example. In the end, only the initiating person really knows the difference. And in the end, that difference means everything.
These words represent the prattling of someone who has been awake for 18 hours and who found something out this evening in what I feel to be a most unfortunate manner. I felt blindsided, frankly. I will admit that I don't know all of the facts, so it may be entirely premature for me to be venting in this fashion... but, one does what one must to try to clear the brain and steal some sleep.
The End.
Monday, June 17, 2013
What I've learned so far....
There is a world of nutritional data out there. It is almost overwhelming. Thanks to the internet, you can find nutritional data on just about any edible item. What I've learned so far....
Polenta is naturally low carb and sugar free. Fry it up in a touch of olive oil and drip a tiny bit of hot sauce on it and you'll almost forget that you aren't eating rice, potatoes, bread or pasta.
Perry's no fat, no sugar added butterscotch swirl is really delicious. The baby cone portion at Canalside Creamery appears to be about half a cup which equates to only 90 calories and a bonus of 4 grams of protein. The cone itself is problematic but not excessively so. I, of course, prefer the sugar cone, which -as the name indicates - is not the healthier choice. 40 calories vs 17 calories for the wafer-type cone, and twice as many grams of carb. I know I should chuck the cone altogether and ask for the stuff in a dish....... but somehow a half a cup of ice cream would just look so pathetic and sad in a dish. So, from now on... wafer cones for me!
I bought the Good Seasons cruet to make my own olive oil and balsamic vinegar mixture. The cruet came with 2 packages of Good Seasons Italian dressing mix. Guess what the #1 ingredient was? You guessed it..... SUGAR! I promptly dumped them in the trash.
I learned that my associate at work loves pita bread. I gave her the pita that came with my souvlaki salad last week. Today I ordered souvlaki salad again, (from a different place), and - again - it came with a pita. I IM'd her :"want a pita?". No lie, she was at my door in 20 seconds flat from the other side of the office. Symbiosis at its finest.
Coffee that tasted delicious when loaded with cream and sugar doesn't taste so good black.... and vice versa. Our favorite breakfast joint had what I would call mediocre coffee. I was pleasantly surprised to discover this past Saturday that it was delicious when consumed black. Man, that is some strange chemistry.
So, I've only been at this for a little over a week. I have to admit I'm actually looking forward to more of these little discoveries. Cue the headline that reads "Diet Secrets that Skinny People Know".....
Polenta is naturally low carb and sugar free. Fry it up in a touch of olive oil and drip a tiny bit of hot sauce on it and you'll almost forget that you aren't eating rice, potatoes, bread or pasta.
Perry's no fat, no sugar added butterscotch swirl is really delicious. The baby cone portion at Canalside Creamery appears to be about half a cup which equates to only 90 calories and a bonus of 4 grams of protein. The cone itself is problematic but not excessively so. I, of course, prefer the sugar cone, which -as the name indicates - is not the healthier choice. 40 calories vs 17 calories for the wafer-type cone, and twice as many grams of carb. I know I should chuck the cone altogether and ask for the stuff in a dish....... but somehow a half a cup of ice cream would just look so pathetic and sad in a dish. So, from now on... wafer cones for me!
I bought the Good Seasons cruet to make my own olive oil and balsamic vinegar mixture. The cruet came with 2 packages of Good Seasons Italian dressing mix. Guess what the #1 ingredient was? You guessed it..... SUGAR! I promptly dumped them in the trash.
I learned that my associate at work loves pita bread. I gave her the pita that came with my souvlaki salad last week. Today I ordered souvlaki salad again, (from a different place), and - again - it came with a pita. I IM'd her :"want a pita?". No lie, she was at my door in 20 seconds flat from the other side of the office. Symbiosis at its finest.
Coffee that tasted delicious when loaded with cream and sugar doesn't taste so good black.... and vice versa. Our favorite breakfast joint had what I would call mediocre coffee. I was pleasantly surprised to discover this past Saturday that it was delicious when consumed black. Man, that is some strange chemistry.
So, I've only been at this for a little over a week. I have to admit I'm actually looking forward to more of these little discoveries. Cue the headline that reads "Diet Secrets that Skinny People Know".....
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Bread and Wine
...no...I am not blogging about a Communion Service. This title represents the final hurdle that I must jump when I am dining out. And dining out is an activity that I enjoy and indulge in frequently.
Dinner yesterday took place in the very gourmet Rue Franklin. In my previous life, I would have ordered the onion ravioli appetizer (sounded divine) and the Lobster Salad entree (which was a plethora of lobster, pasta, potatoes and creamy dressing), and God knows what for dessert. Last night, I ordered a salad appetizer that smelled and tasted like it was plucked right from the backyard garden. When I was a small child, I was babysat by a woman who, with her husband, managed to plant a huge vegetable garden in her backyard ... in Tonawanda. It was sort of a miracle. Her salads always had a certain fresh aroma. Last night was the first time I've inhaled that particular perfume since I was a child. Sublime. My entree was "bronzini en croute with beurre blanc and tourneed vegetables". Sea bass. It was served in a merengue crust that was delicious. I know what beurre blanc is (a decadent butter sauce) and thanks to my daughter, I know that if it's done properly, it will be light and unobtrusive. And it was done well. The beurre blanc was a sparingly light enhancement, not the center of attention. It was my first experience with sea bass and probably not my last. For dessert, I chose the fresh fruit sorbet. A trio of juicy flavors - cantaloupe, strawberry, and apricot. Very yummy and refreshing.
Where the wheels came off the bus were - of course - with the bread. It was placed on my bread plate. I ate it. The restaurant had gewurztraminer on the wine menu. I ordered it. I drank it.
I am going to put this dinner in the "success" column, because it was such an improvement over what I might have ordered only 2 weeks ago. The interesting observation that I came away with is that you have to pay a lot more money in order to be served portions of food that would not feed half the defensive line on the Buffalo Bills. It's not hard to understand why there are so many of us who struggle with our weight and why people on the lower end of the income spectrum are not going to automatically be thinner because they can't afford to eat well.
Dinner yesterday took place in the very gourmet Rue Franklin. In my previous life, I would have ordered the onion ravioli appetizer (sounded divine) and the Lobster Salad entree (which was a plethora of lobster, pasta, potatoes and creamy dressing), and God knows what for dessert. Last night, I ordered a salad appetizer that smelled and tasted like it was plucked right from the backyard garden. When I was a small child, I was babysat by a woman who, with her husband, managed to plant a huge vegetable garden in her backyard ... in Tonawanda. It was sort of a miracle. Her salads always had a certain fresh aroma. Last night was the first time I've inhaled that particular perfume since I was a child. Sublime. My entree was "bronzini en croute with beurre blanc and tourneed vegetables". Sea bass. It was served in a merengue crust that was delicious. I know what beurre blanc is (a decadent butter sauce) and thanks to my daughter, I know that if it's done properly, it will be light and unobtrusive. And it was done well. The beurre blanc was a sparingly light enhancement, not the center of attention. It was my first experience with sea bass and probably not my last. For dessert, I chose the fresh fruit sorbet. A trio of juicy flavors - cantaloupe, strawberry, and apricot. Very yummy and refreshing.
Where the wheels came off the bus were - of course - with the bread. It was placed on my bread plate. I ate it. The restaurant had gewurztraminer on the wine menu. I ordered it. I drank it.
I am going to put this dinner in the "success" column, because it was such an improvement over what I might have ordered only 2 weeks ago. The interesting observation that I came away with is that you have to pay a lot more money in order to be served portions of food that would not feed half the defensive line on the Buffalo Bills. It's not hard to understand why there are so many of us who struggle with our weight and why people on the lower end of the income spectrum are not going to automatically be thinner because they can't afford to eat well.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Food
I have a lot of issues with food. In my adult life, I have probably lost and gained a total of 200 pounds. Right now, I don't feel as though I'm ingesting huge quantities of food -yet, my weight has reached an all time high. My summer wardrobe is a nightmare to navigate when I'm like this. A year ago, I did what would previously been the unthinkable. I began shopping in the plus sizes for tops.
I know what my demon is. I am a classic carboholic. In particular, I am addicted to sugar and white flour products. One time in my youth, I was bored during summer vacation and I ate an entire loaf of white bread. No butter, no jam, no peanut butter. Just bread. I rarely butter a dinner roll, because I don't want anything masking the wonderful, yeasty taste of white bread. Mmmmm...
I have come to the conclusion that this addiction is really no different than any other. I can't eat just one dinner roll or just a half a cup of breakfast cereal. I absolutely must eat the entire basket or half the box of cereal in a single sitting. Don't get me started on pasta. If I force myself to eat what, for most people, would be a normal serving, I am not proud of myself. It is impossible to feel proud when you are battling a craving that makes your blood sugar go bazurk while your brain is screaming "a little more won't hurt. just a little more....". Meanwhile, the rest of the food on my plate tastes like swill, no matter how well it's prepared, because I can't stop thinking about the rolls or the pasta..... or what bakery confection might be waiting for me on the dessert menu. In the pizza restaurant, I am the person eating everyone's unwanted pizza crusts. Pizza Hut deep dish crusts are divine. At home, Digiorno and Wegmans pizzas have unbelievable crusts. Italian restaurants that serve bread sticks might as well not even give me a menu. Just pass the basket my way and leave me to my devices.
I must quit cold turkey. This (I'm told) will eventually cause my ridiculous cravings to go away. Flour and sugar are officially out. I simply can't handle them in any quantity.
Almost every diet I've tried has recommended keeping a food journal. I find this idea to be .... what? ....... well, basically, something that I have no desire to do, ever, and a waste of time. What does appeal to me is the idea of a diet blog. So here I go. I have already started drinking black coffee - yes, I was that person in line ahead of you at Tim Horton's ordering the Extra Large Triple-Triple. No more of that! I have also decided that I am not going to weigh myself at home. Ever. I will be going to the doctor for a checkup in January. I am determined to change my eating habits and make the change a permanent one, so I will let the doctor's scale and my blood tests do the talking.
Finally, I know that it is no longer politically correct to refer to this as "dieting" and that we are good little soldiers who are aiming for a "lifestyle change." Indulge me on this, readers, and allow me to save keystrokes by using the words "diet" and "dieting". I promise you, I know what the real goal is.
Onward and upward ....
I know what my demon is. I am a classic carboholic. In particular, I am addicted to sugar and white flour products. One time in my youth, I was bored during summer vacation and I ate an entire loaf of white bread. No butter, no jam, no peanut butter. Just bread. I rarely butter a dinner roll, because I don't want anything masking the wonderful, yeasty taste of white bread. Mmmmm...
I have come to the conclusion that this addiction is really no different than any other. I can't eat just one dinner roll or just a half a cup of breakfast cereal. I absolutely must eat the entire basket or half the box of cereal in a single sitting. Don't get me started on pasta. If I force myself to eat what, for most people, would be a normal serving, I am not proud of myself. It is impossible to feel proud when you are battling a craving that makes your blood sugar go bazurk while your brain is screaming "a little more won't hurt. just a little more....". Meanwhile, the rest of the food on my plate tastes like swill, no matter how well it's prepared, because I can't stop thinking about the rolls or the pasta..... or what bakery confection might be waiting for me on the dessert menu. In the pizza restaurant, I am the person eating everyone's unwanted pizza crusts. Pizza Hut deep dish crusts are divine. At home, Digiorno and Wegmans pizzas have unbelievable crusts. Italian restaurants that serve bread sticks might as well not even give me a menu. Just pass the basket my way and leave me to my devices.
I must quit cold turkey. This (I'm told) will eventually cause my ridiculous cravings to go away. Flour and sugar are officially out. I simply can't handle them in any quantity.
Almost every diet I've tried has recommended keeping a food journal. I find this idea to be .... what? ....... well, basically, something that I have no desire to do, ever, and a waste of time. What does appeal to me is the idea of a diet blog. So here I go. I have already started drinking black coffee - yes, I was that person in line ahead of you at Tim Horton's ordering the Extra Large Triple-Triple. No more of that! I have also decided that I am not going to weigh myself at home. Ever. I will be going to the doctor for a checkup in January. I am determined to change my eating habits and make the change a permanent one, so I will let the doctor's scale and my blood tests do the talking.
Finally, I know that it is no longer politically correct to refer to this as "dieting" and that we are good little soldiers who are aiming for a "lifestyle change." Indulge me on this, readers, and allow me to save keystrokes by using the words "diet" and "dieting". I promise you, I know what the real goal is.
Onward and upward ....
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Reflections on the Gifts of Love
Before this past weekend, I would never have believed that a pair of funerals in a three-day span could be inspiring and beautiful. Dark clothing, tears, sadness, mournful eulogies.... isn't that what we all think of when we hear the word "funeral"? I had thought that burying a parent would be one of the hardest things to do in the world. I never would have believed that burying two parents in one weekend could be so much the opposite.
Don't get me wrong. There were tears and there was sadness. But there was also something almost impossible to describe that was almost like a sense of renewal. I was so incredibly moved when over 30 of my fellow singers appeared as if by magic in the choir loft of my church. My fellow mourners and I were treated to the sounds of angels from above and their presence touched my heart in a way that everyone should experience at least once in their lives. I discovered that my best friend and my husband had craftily organized this behind my back, and I wonder if "gratitude" could possibly do justice to my feelings during and after that Mass. I was so amused to hear my BFF and my hubby repeatedly referring to each other as "my Hero", and even now as I type this, I feel like the luckiest person in the world.
Two days later, I was the cantor at my father-in-law's funeral. I had been practicing religiously for a week (which is about six days more than I usually practice in order to cantor at your basic weekend Mass). My mother-in-law had been having a difficult time since returning to the area from Florida. Likewise, my husband was also struggling, although he never showed it outwardly. I coddled my voice, drank tea (bleck!), and tried mightily to pamper my persnickety sinuses which occasionally sabotaged my vocal efforts. My efforts were rewarded, thank you God, and I was so happy to provide some sort of solace to my family members in a way that perhaps nobody else could. It's hard to explain how a vocal performance could be so difficult yet so easy at the same time. How often does a vocalist know with total certainty that the sound he or she is making is ...... just perfect.
In the aftermath, I felt an overwhelming sense of calm and happiness. This was so unexpected, and I just could not figure out why I felt this way after the funerals of two parents. Finally last night, Bill said something to me that made it crystal clear. He said "I have to apologize to you. The music at my Dad's funeral was so much better than the music at your Mom's funeral." Huh? I thought that my ears were playing tricks on me, and I pretty much told him that he was delusional. Nope. He repeated himself again a couple of hours later. Yes, indeed, in both of our minds, the music at our parent's funeral was absolutely perfect, not only because it was beautiful but because it represented our love for each other and the love of good friends.
I really am lucky.
Don't get me wrong. There were tears and there was sadness. But there was also something almost impossible to describe that was almost like a sense of renewal. I was so incredibly moved when over 30 of my fellow singers appeared as if by magic in the choir loft of my church. My fellow mourners and I were treated to the sounds of angels from above and their presence touched my heart in a way that everyone should experience at least once in their lives. I discovered that my best friend and my husband had craftily organized this behind my back, and I wonder if "gratitude" could possibly do justice to my feelings during and after that Mass. I was so amused to hear my BFF and my hubby repeatedly referring to each other as "my Hero", and even now as I type this, I feel like the luckiest person in the world.
Two days later, I was the cantor at my father-in-law's funeral. I had been practicing religiously for a week (which is about six days more than I usually practice in order to cantor at your basic weekend Mass). My mother-in-law had been having a difficult time since returning to the area from Florida. Likewise, my husband was also struggling, although he never showed it outwardly. I coddled my voice, drank tea (bleck!), and tried mightily to pamper my persnickety sinuses which occasionally sabotaged my vocal efforts. My efforts were rewarded, thank you God, and I was so happy to provide some sort of solace to my family members in a way that perhaps nobody else could. It's hard to explain how a vocal performance could be so difficult yet so easy at the same time. How often does a vocalist know with total certainty that the sound he or she is making is ...... just perfect.
In the aftermath, I felt an overwhelming sense of calm and happiness. This was so unexpected, and I just could not figure out why I felt this way after the funerals of two parents. Finally last night, Bill said something to me that made it crystal clear. He said "I have to apologize to you. The music at my Dad's funeral was so much better than the music at your Mom's funeral." Huh? I thought that my ears were playing tricks on me, and I pretty much told him that he was delusional. Nope. He repeated himself again a couple of hours later. Yes, indeed, in both of our minds, the music at our parent's funeral was absolutely perfect, not only because it was beautiful but because it represented our love for each other and the love of good friends.
I really am lucky.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Regrets and New Beginnings
On the eve of my Mom's funeral, I am finding myself with a lot of time to think. I'm not necessarily convinced that this is a good thing. Mostly now I find myself thinking about Wednesday night. After we met with Father Mike to finalize the funeral plans, I headed over to my brother's house. We had my Mom's urn and and an electric engraving pen. The plan was that each of us would engrave a message to Mom on the urn.
I was having trouble coming up with something to say. What element of my relationship with my Mom was the most meaningful and enduring? Then I remembered something that my very good friend had said to me, not too long ago. So, I wrote this on the urn: "Dear Mom, Thank you for gifting me with your independent spirit. Love, Tina."
Looking back over my life and my relationship with her, I feel as though I was raised to be in the periphery of my family, and when I reached adulthood, it was very difficult for me to be honest with my mother about how I felt about that. "I love you" were three words that were not easy for any of us to say over the years. Looking back, we were busy raising our own families, but we always made time for Mom. The question I have for myself now is - is it enough to "make time" as though it were some terrible chore? Shouldn't I have willingly wanted to spend time with her? Was I an unappreciative, ungrateful child, or was I the product of my upbringing? Am I the prototypical selfish American child?
During the last 10 years of her life, my mother lost all of her filters and it felt to me as though every critical thought that she had been harboring during my adult life came tumbling out of her mouth unchecked. My weight, Mandy's weight, Bill's temper and his sloppy work habits, and increasingly, Dick and I spending way too much time on things and causes other than her. My lack of domestic skills were one of her favorite targets. If I am going to be totally honest, she was always outspoken, but her final years were over the top, and it is extremely difficult to remember her being any other way. I wonder now if that was unfair to her. And the answer to that question is that I just don't know. I have told my daughter repeatedly not to hesitate to tell me when I start sounding like my Mom. The truth is that if I were to start acting like her, I would not blame my daughter for just "making time for me".
Dick's words on the urn?... "Thank you for the unconditional acceptance." I had an idea of what their relationship had been like when my parents first married, but seeing and hearing these words felt like someone bludgeoned me with a club. Sally echoed his sentiments (because she, too, received unconditional acceptance from my parents), but all I could do was sit there with my mouth open. I wanted so badly to be able to echo his feelings, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. After an awkward silence, he said "of course, my circumstances were different than yours". All I could say was that she had high standards and that I think I lived up to most of them.
The fact is that I did get my independent spirit from my Mom. I didn't use it in the same way that she did - most of the time I completely stifled it - and that was probably at the root of her many disappointments with me. By the time that I even knew that I had this spirit, I think it was too late for us and our relationship. The question becomes - where do I go from here? What do I do with it now and for the rest of my life?
I was having trouble coming up with something to say. What element of my relationship with my Mom was the most meaningful and enduring? Then I remembered something that my very good friend had said to me, not too long ago. So, I wrote this on the urn: "Dear Mom, Thank you for gifting me with your independent spirit. Love, Tina."
Looking back over my life and my relationship with her, I feel as though I was raised to be in the periphery of my family, and when I reached adulthood, it was very difficult for me to be honest with my mother about how I felt about that. "I love you" were three words that were not easy for any of us to say over the years. Looking back, we were busy raising our own families, but we always made time for Mom. The question I have for myself now is - is it enough to "make time" as though it were some terrible chore? Shouldn't I have willingly wanted to spend time with her? Was I an unappreciative, ungrateful child, or was I the product of my upbringing? Am I the prototypical selfish American child?
During the last 10 years of her life, my mother lost all of her filters and it felt to me as though every critical thought that she had been harboring during my adult life came tumbling out of her mouth unchecked. My weight, Mandy's weight, Bill's temper and his sloppy work habits, and increasingly, Dick and I spending way too much time on things and causes other than her. My lack of domestic skills were one of her favorite targets. If I am going to be totally honest, she was always outspoken, but her final years were over the top, and it is extremely difficult to remember her being any other way. I wonder now if that was unfair to her. And the answer to that question is that I just don't know. I have told my daughter repeatedly not to hesitate to tell me when I start sounding like my Mom. The truth is that if I were to start acting like her, I would not blame my daughter for just "making time for me".
Dick's words on the urn?... "Thank you for the unconditional acceptance." I had an idea of what their relationship had been like when my parents first married, but seeing and hearing these words felt like someone bludgeoned me with a club. Sally echoed his sentiments (because she, too, received unconditional acceptance from my parents), but all I could do was sit there with my mouth open. I wanted so badly to be able to echo his feelings, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. After an awkward silence, he said "of course, my circumstances were different than yours". All I could say was that she had high standards and that I think I lived up to most of them.
The fact is that I did get my independent spirit from my Mom. I didn't use it in the same way that she did - most of the time I completely stifled it - and that was probably at the root of her many disappointments with me. By the time that I even knew that I had this spirit, I think it was too late for us and our relationship. The question becomes - where do I go from here? What do I do with it now and for the rest of my life?
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