Tag: #NewBeginnings

The Grateful Observer

I was blessed this past weekend to attend a bookend event. The Boss Who Loved Me shared with me the wedding celebrations of her sacred daughter. Her beloved son was married at the beginning of the pandemic, and it sparks hope that this special occasion for her daughter, The Doctor, might help bring it to a close. It was kept quite small and cautiously included only those who were vaccinated. After all, she has fought long and hard to keep her parents safe. This declaration was an act of love.

I wrote about the first event just earlier this year. The pandemic and my father’s health challenges slowed my ability to find adequate words.
https://beethelight.blog/2021/03/12/love-is-viral-an-anniversary/

Two days of events were required for this glorious new beginning. The first evening was a gathering of loved ones to partake of the traditional 10-course Chinese meal, and to stand witness to two sacred traditions of stunning significance. First, the Hair Combing ritual, and then the Tea Ceremony. The first, symbolic of the blessings of the parents upon the Bride and Groom, for a long and healthy marriage and an abundance of grandchildren. The second, an opportunity for the Bride and Groom to honor the Parents, the Family Elders, and the Ancestors… as they pour out tea as an offering, they are bestowed gifts in return, that symbolize abundance, longevity, fertility, and prosperity. Once again, the blessings were spoken in English and Cantonese by the parents of the Bride. After all, they had family attending via Zoom from Toronto and Hong Kong. And through this magical medium, the elders who could not travel due to Covid restrictions, were able to also bestow their blessings.

I love these traditions. They are so meaningful and powerful. In Western tradition, the Father ‘gives away’ the Bride, and somehow, that just doesn’t seem enough. The newlyweds may have the opportunity to say thanks in a speech, but that seems so lacking, when we are talking about the transformation of enormously formative relationships, as well as the beginning of new ones. Plus, symbolic sacred ceremony, to me, speaks the language of the soul. Not only are their hearts and bodies now joined, but so, too, are their eternal spirits – through the undying love of their ancient ancestors.

In my past life, you know… in the corporate world, my role was rather isolating and solitary. I supported executives in human resources, and so became a secret keeper. Therefore, the people to whom I was closest are those I was blessed to serve. There is a depth of bonding there through the hardships we survived together, as well as the great accomplishments that may not have been recognized by many. As one who held space for two special leaders through a successful CEO succession, and painful ‘staff adjustments’, all requiring the sacrifice of personal and family quality time, through to retirement, it is my great pleasure in these ‘after-years’ to hold space for their great joy.

He called me when he learned of my father’s passing, and though I hadn’t seen him since his youngest daughter’s wedding, reconnecting with the Boss Who Needed Me at the ceremonial dinner felt as if no time had passed in our connection. He and his wife have been very busy traveling around the country to nurture seven sacred beings, in the form of beautiful grandchildren. He’s been retired eleven years now, and we can’t believe that much time has passed. He once told me, as we prepared for his retirement, “Mel, I feel like I’m getting a second chance.” He was referring to the way that his career had taken so much of the time his family deserved. And I glory in knowing that, this time, he has his priorities in order.

I still feel this sense of isolation in my current life, and I suppose attending a wedding alone, adds to that feeling of walking alone in the world. I was purely an observer at the wedding on the second day of events. I really only knew the parents of the bride, though there was much warmth felt between myself and the family and extended family I met at their son’s wedding last year. So, this is what I witnessed, as a mindful observer.

The day was overcast, which can be a blessing in Florida. It was warm enough for our sleeveless dresses, but not too hot. We were facing the setting sun, but were not blinded by it. This was the first blessing.

The Bride was stunningly beautiful, and completely unfazed by the gentle rain that began to fall as her wise father walked her down the aisle. In her vows, she shared her sense of joy and relief in having finally found her darling Groom, after a length of being told to “be patient”, and “he will come when you least expect it”. She exclaimed that she actually had to go get her Prince (they met electronically, as many happy couples do in this age), and she was so glad she did. That the universe keeps providing ways for us to manifest life altering relationships feels like the second blessing (or maybe that should be the first).

When the vows had been shared and the rings gently placed, the Bride and Groom were announced, at last, to be Wife and Husband. This observer took note that at that moment, an Osprey flew across the sky, just above Mrs. and Mr. This is what I learned about the third blessing: the Osprey is a portend of profound change as one comes into their power, guiding them to manage with grace and ease the remarkable transition that lies ahead. They also mate for life, and symbolize abundance and victory. Weddings do remind me of victory, as we all know how much work has gone into the culmination of this celebration.

The fourth blessing came through the rain. Both the wedding ceremony and the reception were held outdoors. A Florida wedding in November is preferable to a summer affair. When the rain came, it arrived as a gentle kiss, and a fleeting one that would come and go. It arrived along with the sweet-flowing emotion that the element of water represents. It came as every witness held back tears to see the Bride make her ‘march’, and it came again as loved ones offered words with a toast.

I loved the way that it was welcomed as a part of life, a part of us. No one ran from it. Into every life a bit of rain shall fall. How we perceive it determines its blessing or its curse. It is said that rain on your wedding day is a gift of good fortune. On this day, you have chosen to ‘tie the knot’ with the one you love. A wet knot is nearly impossible to unravel. And of course, to me, the element of water is cleansing, healing, and loving. It seems that when one finally finds the person who has filled any sense of longing or emptiness previously felt, with comfort, trust, and surrender… a gentle rain is the universe affirming that healing is complete.

Those who came together in celebration were fully present and delighted in the joy found between this loving couple. Both the Bride and Groom were surrounded by life-long love, in the form of parents, siblings, aunts and uncles, cousins, neighbors, and friends, both life-long and journey-long (as in the arduous journey the bride took to become a doctor). I am certain that the glow one could see emanating from the newlyweds was partially the light of love that flowed through them and around them.

Though I saw myself as the unattached observer, it was not a sorrowful seclusion. There was nothing in the way of my clear view. All that I could see in the committed couples present and the individuals moving in delighted festivity, was a sense of reverence, kindness, connection, happiness, and pure joy for the momentous gift of standing in community to say to the Sacred Couple : “We, as your beloved community, are committed to supporting you in your togetherness. Tonight is all about you, and about how the two of you add something extraordinarily special to all of us, through your devotion. Thank you for sharing with all of us, the light of your love.”

As for me, I got to see, once again, the manifestation of joy in the life of the Boss Who Loved Me. She’s been retired less than six years, and she is doing a fine job of replacing those work-related heartbreaking moments, for which we held space in the corporate world, with happy, joyful, gloriously fabulous ones. Everyone is healthy. Both children are now married. Her first granddaughter arrived this summer, and all is right with the world. I am grateful.

I found myself, while making my morning gratitude pour-over coffee, reflecting on that sensation of aloneness. Last night, there were so many happy couples dancing in celebration (including the Bride’s parents who will have their 41st anniversary in January), and I wondered if I will always be the observer in this life. It may truly be that what I am meant to accomplish in this lifetime must be done on my own. Perhaps feeling a sense of joy in my own ONENESS is the whole point. Witnessing the blossoming in love of others does not diminish the love in my own life. I already have so much. (I mean, how many people recognize three of their bosses as great loves of their lives? I have been quite lucky in love. They each loved me when I didn’t know how to love myself – validating my worth until I figured out I didn’t have to earn it.) How could there possibly be more? But I do wonder… what if there is another point on the horizon of new beginnings. I guess I’ll do what my father taught me… I’ll keep showing up and I’ll wait right here.

Thank you for walking this path with me,
and for sending your blessings to the happy couple.

The ‘After’ Life – Life After Dad

The absence of my father is such an odd reality. For 3.5 years, he was my primary focus. He was my purpose. His care, his survival, his wellness, his presence were up to me to preserve. A month and a half into life without him, I no longer go to bed worrying for his comfort and safety. He no longer suffers. He is safe. He will not call in the middle of the night requiring my assistance and care. He will never ask Alexa to ‘call Melissa’ again. My phone will never inform me that ‘Dad Needs You’ again.

I miss him. I’m glad he doesn’t need me. I had forgotten what that was like, until I started looking through old photos. There was a time, long ago it seems, when he could not only care for himself, but he also did a great deal to care for others. I’m grateful for the reminder that old photos provide. My swiss cheese memory invites me to live in the moment, rather than living in the past. I had been so focused on our current reality that I had forgotten about our past… his past.

My father was a man of integrity and unconditional care. Aside from our family, he cared about his beloved Unitarian Church community for 50 years, the wellness of his clients throughout 30 years of Vocational Rehabilitation for the State of Florida, for underprivileged youth in The Boy Scouts of America, and for those who beheld his visage and saw the manifestation of Santa Claus. But all of those things had fallen away over recent years.

He let go of his career at 62, when the stress of his job invited an increase in epileptic seizures. He let go of his Commissioner role with the Boy Scouts at 77, when his mobility challenges and a move to be near his daughter made release necessary. He let go of being Santa at 81, when December arrived and he was in the hospital and rehab after a fall. He let go of walking when he was 83, after the fifth fall in a week resulted in a broken hip.

Long before I ever dreamed of becoming his caregiver, when I was still in Elementary School, Pop placed an ad on an actual bulletin board in 1701, a local comic book shop, seeking others interested in playing Dungeons and Dragons (it was the late 1970s). My father was the Dungeon Master to a number of teenage boys (including my brother and cousin), who would later tell me stories of how the days spent with Pop in his scripted fantasy world were among their favorite childhood memories. He provided a safe space for a group of young people who craved a sense of belonging.

I love that my Dad was a geek. I never had to suffer through the annoying noise of a single sporting event. Our adventures included attending Star Trek Conventions (that’s what they used to call Comicon and the like, back in the day). I had a pair of Enterprise dangly earrings, and a color glossy 8×10 photo of Mr. Spock playing his lyre. We saw Star Wars in the theater, though I can’t say if it was opening day (I was only 8, after all). I can, though, recall being really WOWed by the opening credits, let alone the rest of the film – perhaps my first image of a ‘strong female lead’.

Sometimes, he went along for the ride on things that my Mom wanted me to experience. He stayed in the hotel room, after driving two hours from home for my benefit – while Mom and I attended my first concert (I was 9 years old). We were there to see Andy Gibb, live in concert. Oh, how I adored Andy. Oh, how I adored my Dad.

I wasn’t really a ‘Daddy’s Girl’, though it might surprise you. He and I didn’t really have much in common while I was growing up. He was always there, and I always knew I was safe and loved… but I think he and my brother had more in common, as members of the Central Florida Atari Club at the birth of home computers, while my mother was taking me to concerts and igniting my passion for travel.

As I reflect on the last few years of our lives, I feel enormously grateful for the gift of every little thing that transpired since 2014. My parents bought a house up the street from mine. My father’s mobility was in decline. In 2017, I left the corporate world and was later introduced to 72T, the IRS loophole that enabled an early retirement.

In 2018, I was fully present to recognize the signs of the need to step into a more active role in managing the lives of my parents. The prognosis of a friend with cancer led me to the discovery of a path of study for End of Life Doula. Dad started falling down and needing help up. I was able to be there. I was able to acquire the tools we needed to serve his needs. I gradually learned the intimacy and sweetness of washing his hair and helping him dress. I took him to every doctor appointment, every ER visit, every transfer into and out of Rehab for recovery from falls and infections.

In 2020, when he broke his hip and found that he could no longer stand or walk (which had long been a struggle), I asked him to let me care for him as he had cared for others throughout his 30 year career with spinal injury survivors. And… in 2021, this July, when I finally had a weekend of respite, and he decided he was ready to go to the hospital… saying to me, “I just don’t know how I’ll get out of here.” Well… we all know how he got out of there. Sigh…

Last week, I took Mom to lunch with her Salon group. These are a remarkable group of women from the church, where my parents have been members since I was 2. I seem to recall that they formed during the last Bush Administration, to share fears and frustrations about politics, among other things. Throughout the first year of Covid-19, before the vaccine, they met weekly on Zoom, to discuss current events, politics, and how everyone was surviving life in pandemic. I went along as her driver, but was invited to stay.

They had all been expressive about appreciation for the care I had offered my parents. I was asked if the online studies had prepared me and served me well in caring for Dad. The truth was, the actual caregiving seemed to come naturally. I had never been a parent, and I had never been trained in any form of nursing, but somehow, I acquired the skills I needed, in order to keep dad safe and at-home. Much of it was initially terrifying. I worried about failing him, a lot. But, when I had no idea of how to change a diaper for an adult, or how to get someone into a sling for the hoyer lift, Pop and I watched a YouTube video, and set to the task of mastering the art of whatever was at hand.

I do feel, though, that the End of Life Doula studies did serve me well. The required reading alone, helped me shift my perspective of death from something to fear to something to honor. I was consciously walking my father through the end of his days. Each day that I arrived to serve my father, I was fully aware of the honor and privilege I had to do so. That I was financially free to dedicate my time and full attention to his care was a blessing I woke and spoke gratitude for each day. Having the capability and desire to give him the love and compassion everyone deserves at the end of life was a gift to him, to myself, and to my whole family. There were times when the stress of it all was overwhelming, but I was very careful not to wish it away. Not to… wish… him away. But when it was time to let him go… I knew how to respect his wishes and had the strength to do so.

I had trouble finding tears during those difficult days. I suspect my consciousness didn’t want the universe to find me ungrateful. I often found myself aching for his suffering, rather than my own burden. With so many health issues and physical limitations, he was pretty much always uncomfortable. Either from osteoarthritis or neuropathy. It was difficult to witness his suffering without being able to fix it. All I could do was hold space most of the time. But now that he’s gone… the tears come with grace and ease. I cry daily, even if just for a brief moment. The release is a relief, and I almost hope it won’t stop. It feels good to feel.

His 84th birthday has come and gone… without him. The one month anniversary of his death arrived unbidden. Just like so many of my friends and loved ones who lost beloveds before me… we are facing a whole calendar of ‘firsts’ without him. Meanwhile, we wonder if we will find the files of stories he started writing for me a decade ago, after he, Mom and I attended a journaling workshop at church. I told him that I would love for him to write down stories about his life, that I might have when he was gone. Mom reported that he was really into that project, and when he couldn’t type anymore, he ordered software to help.

In recent years, I asked him if he knew where I would find those files, and he never had an answer for me. I did have a moment of clarity after he broke his hip (I’d always heard it said that people don’t live very long after this particular event), and recorded a couple of hours of him answering my questions and telling stories from long ago. I haven’t played them back yet. I’m a little afraid to hear his voice, I guess. I miss his presence too much. I’m not sure what his disembodied voice will feel like inside my broken heart.

I still walk up the street to my parents’ house… Mom’s house, a few times a day. Mom doesn’t require the same level of care that Dad needed, and she’s been trying to make me feel like she can do things on her own, so that I can have a little more of a life of my own. But, its hard for both of us to let go. We are still working on developing our new normal. I have noticed that sitting in his vacant chair feels unnatural to me, even though it is better for my neck and back to do so when Mom and I watch a movie. I am still holding space for him.

I have had canvas prints made and they now hang in her living room and mine, to ensure his image remains present, even when his body is not. I talk to him and ask for his support each morning and evening… reminding him to show up in ways that I can understand. I speak his name to the wind (Daddy-Daddy), and remind him that he is missed. And sometimes, I feel him near.

A month ago, I woke to find that my phone had sent two text messages to two different friends. They were likely messages I had sent, but never went through… but the timing and the messages informed me otherwise. The first one was to a friend who had asked how we were doing, and I replied about my gratitude for a little extra care Pop would soon receive. The second message was brief… “I love you more.” Without a doubt, my father found a way to communicate, in a way that I could understand, his gratitude for all I had done to care for him, and exactly how he felt about me.

Mom and I are slowly getting to the other side of phone calls and paperwork to ensure Dad’s death benefits for her are secured. As we do so, she is moving toward ensuring the same for my brother and me, when she is gone.

But we are being gentle with ourselves. There are days that one task is handled, and then naps are had. Mom reminds me that she could drop dead tomorrow, and I insist that would be very inconvenient… and I am pleased each morning to receive a note on messenger that simply reads: “UP”. Keep them coming Mom! I’ll wait right here.

Thank you for walking this path with us. We love knowing you are here.