The Safety in Vulnerability

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I've been reading Dare to Lead. In Brené Brown's book, she talks about the courage to be vulnerable and how it benefits your life and your ability to be a good leader. She explains how being vulnerable allows for feelings of safety and connection. Vulnerability builds integrity and integrity builds trust; trust solidifies relationships and strengthens connections.

It's caused me to think about my own vulnerability. In my last blog, back in February, I was barely hanging on. I was lost in my own anxiety, confusion and panic about feeling like a total failure. I realize, looking back on it, the last several years have been about being vulnerable and about tearing down my walls of isolation. These last five years have been about trusting that I was doing something that was not just in the best interest of others, but also an opportunity for me to grow and learn. This time in my life has been about accepting my failures and my joys of taking on parenting, and it has been about learning to be vulnerable, imperfect, and honest about my struggles. It's also been about realizing that good parenting is about truly putting aside my own need to be 'safe', in order to meet the needs of my children who depend on me - all while trying to figure out how to take care of myself in the process.

I've spent a lot of the last few years crying. Railing against having to trust when it was so damn scary to do so. Railing against having to tear down the walls I spent 42 years building.

I can't say my heart was in a casket, but I was TERRIBLY careful of how much I loved and how close I really allowed myself get to someone. It was easier with friends. Candace clearly taught me about unconditional love, but it was easy with her. With her I had no walls and it was the safest I have ever felt with someone. That connection was not so easy with others. I had another female friend at the time, I thought we were best friends - but in truth, I never really t her. I felt like everything I did around her was 'fine' but the feedback I often got was, "I wish you were just a little different. I wish you'd do XX more and then I'd feel safe around you." No matter how much I tried to please her, I was never able to achieve the coveted status of, "Ok, you've done enough. I can love you now." I've had relationships where my partner had a list of items about me that if I'd change, he would love me more. Again, I never reached the "Ok, you've met my standards, I can openly love you now without requirements." What I have recognized as I have aged, is that those people and those situations came because I didn't feel like I was good enough just the way I was. I chose people who reiterated to me that if I would just change a few pieces of myself, gosh, I'd be lovable after all. Those people in my life made it easy to keep my heart walled off because their hearts were walled off and they mirrored back to me the 'smartness' of being protected.

I could have chosen to stay walled off and been a disconnected parent. I could have opted to not care and put myself first. But for me, being what I personally define as a 'good' parent, meant I had to tear down my walls. It meant I had to be vulnerable. It meant I had to dare to come away from the detritus of my shattered walls, to move forward with who and how I love, and to not scoop up the dust to rebuild my fortifications.

In my life now, I keep only friends that are not, at their base, angry. I don't mean I don't have friends who get angry - I do. They get angry about politics, about our current disastrous administration. They get angry about situations in their past and present where they had no voice - both men and women, and I applaud their courage in speaking up now. I have friends who are fiercely angry and put that anger toward making change in this world for themselves and for others. What I mean is that I don't have people in my life who rage because they drop a pizza on the floor and scream so loudly and so violently, their dog cowers in the entryway begging me to take her home with me as I slip out of their house. In my life now, I have people around me in various stages of their own wall-removal projects. And I love them for it.

I recognize that being vulnerable and being someone who dares to love, means more than just being upbeat or 'nice'. I'm not nice, in fact, I once had a guy I dated tell me so. Thinking back, I wish I had asked him what he meant by that. I don't strive to be nice. I strive to be loving, honest, and live a life of integrity. I don't think those qualities generally make a person nice.

Being vulnerable is hard work. It means knowing I will, at times, be hurt by people I trust. It means having to live my life in integrity. It means looking at why I get angry and being honest with it, instead of letting anger control me. Yes, I have anger inside. It is a part of myself that I work on all the time. My goal isn't to tame it, as anger can be a good motivator, but to recognize it so it doesn't tear me down or apart. I'm working on not using angry self-talk. I spend more time loving myself and less time worrying about being perfect.

I always thought being vulnerable wasn't worth it. The world wasn't safe enough to be who I am. It was full of heartbreak and I was going to be safe from that. But now I know that the world has all those difficult situations, but I'd rather walk the world with an open heart, than a hard one.

peace my friends,

MaryKate

The Power of Voice

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Today marks five years since Candace passed away. I remember that day so clearly, standing next to her and talking to her for a few moments, even though she was in a deep morphine coma. I remember how it felt to see her in her bed in the living room with her family around her and the hospice nurse. Then, leaving with the kids to have breakfast in Sunbury and while eating, getting the phone call that she had passed. Telling the kids, then taking the kids on a drive to look at Holiday decorations because they weren't quite ready to go home.

My grief this year is less, but my anxiety is probably more; I suppose there is always a balance. Today I listened to all the voicemail messages from her I saved - I have four of them. When I hear her voice she is still here. Right next to me. Is it weird I saved her voice? I've kept it on my phone for over five years now. I can feel her presence when I listen to those voicemails, I feel her near me.

It's funny how powerful the voice is. Playing the recording, I'm right back with her. Sitting in the living room, hanging out. Sitting in the hot tub, laughing. But it is so real. So much more real than even a photo. Last weekend, her daughter, my sister, and I took the snow train to Leavenworth. Madi and I sang our hearts out. Candace couldn't keep a note on tune for anything. But she sang with wild abandon. She had fake microphones in her van so she and I could pretend to be pop stars and sing along with the radio. As painful as it was to listen to her sing, it was replaced with the sheer joy she had when laughing along with the music. It's lovely that Madi has such a nice voice. Maybe, just maybe, Madi somehow got that from me.

So much change has happened since she passed, and so much change is still coming. One child is off to college soon and one child will be starting high school next year.  I try to stay with my head above the water and love the journey. I never expected this journey. Never expected any of this. But I remember five years ago when I kissed her forehead as she passed and told her I would take care of them and how much I loved her. And it would be okay. I knew it then and I know it now. It will be okay.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss her. This summer, we were at Disney. Madi was handing Grant some lip balm. For a brief moment, Madi looked so much like her I gasped, same hands, same mischievous grin, same vocal tone. The two went off to ride a ride and I sat and had some coffee and basked in the energy of her. I knew she was enjoying Disney as much as I and the kids were. And, I cried.

This isn't a long tome to her, I've written so many of those. But this is a tribute to her voice and the power I feel when I hear it. And so, today, I thought I would share it. I apologize it is so clunky, but there is no other way to upload the file here :(.

Love you too, friend. Love you, too.

https://vocaroo.com/i/s0vgjKO1mWdw

Love to you all,

MaryKate

Finding Fabulous at Fifty

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I turn 50 at 11:47pm tonight. I thought somehow I'd feel different. But I don't. I still got up this morning, had breakfast (they forgot my bacon!) and went to work. I had lovely presents on my car from a friend, and presents at school from friends and from my sister. Oh and I got a 'join us' card from AARP. Am I old enough for AARP?????

My life is really good right now. I'm just riding the wave of two teenagers who can't decide on much and keep shifting around what and who they want to be. I'm learning to just smile and let it go, even when it hurts my feelings, stabs at my heart, or when I get attached to something that is gone the next day. Pretty typical life with kids. I wonder sometimes, how my mom and dad did it. How anyone does it... I mean, how do any of us survive parenting?

I realize, however, that something has changed in me - my tolerance for being around people who are unhealthy. My tolerance for misery and melancholy. We all go through struggles. I have gone through crying myself to sleep every night for months. But in terms of having people in my life that are chronically negative, or tear down the things that bring me joy - I'm not able to navigate it anymore. I can deal with depression and I can hold someone's space through trauma. But when it is pretty much a chronic state, when I find I start to feel bad about who I am because of someone else's unhappiness... well, I realize I need to step away.  I'm not sure if that is a good thing or not a good thing. Does it mean I have lost my patience? Or that I have lost my compassion? Or that I am a bad friend for walking away? I honestly don't know.

What I do know is that I still love fiercely. And I am still kind. And I will have your back at the drop of a hat if you need me. But I'm far from perfect. After all, my cup says "almost" perfect (thanks, Rachel!)

The next half of my life is going to be focused on being happy. On finding my joy. On being with people who bring me joy - I couldn't even begin to list them all here. Today, two friends from my past showed up on facebook! How wonderful! It's a joy that people I love and have loved for a long time are still in my life, showing up, being present and sharing their sorrows and their excitement about their adventures. Maybe I'm finally realizing at fifty, no one is going to make me happy. I can share my happiness with others, but I have to make my own joy. This next part of my journey I am going to pursue finding those qualities - even if finding those qualities in my life means great change and moving out of what makes me comfortable. I'm going to pursue connection and community, and I get excited even contemplating what that means.

Don't misunderstand, I don't actually know what pursuing love, pursuing happiness, pursuing joy and pursuing connection is going to look like or what it is going to mean, but I am excited to see where my newfound determination leads. 

Maybe the biggest gift I am giving myself this year, is that I am going to stop pursuing perfection. And I am going to stop pursuing the search for all the answers and feeling like I have to be in control to feel safe. Because sometimes, I think maybe I am asking the wrong questions anyhow. And maybe, just maybe, this year I'll learn to be a little kinder to myself. I'll learn my own value and maybe, I'll start to listen when people I love tell me my value... maybe I'll believe them - instead of doubting them and their honesty.

Thank you all for loving me. For being kind. For being patient while I move into who I am all the while continuing to stumble while I learn. We of the Meyer line live a long time. So I'm looking forward to at least another 45 years of life on this planet <3.

Peace and love this holiday season,

MaryKate

Just the three of us, building castles in the sky...

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Yesterday, I went to court to get full guardianship of my daughter's brother. My daughter, my lawyer, myself, the Guardian Ad Litem and my daughter's brother stood before the judge and said this is what we all wanted. My daughter spoke about how she felt like part of her life had been missing and how glad she was that her brother would have better opportunities now.

I would like to say that everything has gone as easily as that court date yesterday, but that wouldn't be true. Heck, even the court date was delayed a month because the docket in March was full.

Having a teenage boy here has been perhaps, one of the biggest challenges of my life. When the two were babies, my (at the time) goddaughter was colicky and almost everything made her sick. I remember holding her above my head and lifting her up and down under the ceiling fan to calm her so she could finally fall asleep. Her brother was an easy baby. Hardly cried. Cuddled a lot with Candace. Candace once told me that if she had had her son first, she would have thought she was a natural mom. That mothering was easy. She said that because she'd had her daughter first, she'd been humbled. That she understood how hard being a mom could really be. For me, I've had the exact opposite experience with those two. Having my (now) daughter come live here was a natural flow of our already close relationship. Not that it was all easy, but I patted myself on the back and told myself "You got this." I listened when people told me what a great mom I was.

That has not been my experience now. People always look at me and say, "Oh, you'll be fine, you're such a great mom, you got this." But I, most decidedly, have days where I do NOT got this.

Having my life shift so much has pushed me to limits I didn't know I had. Pushed me to the edge of patience, and frustratingly, sometimes beyond it. I've been tremendously hard on myself. Forced to create boundaries for a young person who has really not had many, I feel like often I am more of a drill sergeant than a parent. I've had to deal with anger and anxiety in someone that brings forth my own anger and anxiety. I've had to figure out how to move past my own shortcomings to try to be a better person... and often I feel I come up short of the mark.

If you've read my blog, you know I struggle with being kind to myself. I struggle with honoring my own needs, often putting others before myself. Perhaps that is part of being a parent, putting the needs of children above my own needs. But I think, when I put their needs above my own too often, I lose myself in the process.

At times, life here is sunshine and happiness. Two kids curled up on the sofa talking, me curled up with a cup of tea laughing, and all of us feeling like a well tuned family - working together for the best of all of us. I treasure those moments, and lately they come more often.


But just as often I feel like I am living in a tempest. I have to push through the outright denial of being a family. The denial of connection that comes from the fear of belonging somewhere. The push against being loved. I have had to face my own trauma and learn how to manage it when surrounded by someone else's. I've read and reread this article. I've found it both comforting and confronting, both at the same time.

Often my supportive and wonderful friends will say to me, "Oh, hey, typical teenage behavior! Welcome to parenthood!" And then I feel even worse.  I think to myself, omg, I can't even handle typical teenage behavior! But that isn't accurate. It isn't typical in my world and while I know every parent of a teenager has difficult moments, the uncertainty mixed with tremendous loss in my situation, makes this not some 'typical teenage behavior." I know friends are being supportive, I know they are trying to help and I am grateful for their love and support. I also know I'm the only one in my situation and I shouldn't diminish my experience or myself for feeling at times like I fail at parenting over typical teenage behavior.

There is therapy, there is assessment. There is no way I could do this on my own. I'm consistently and constantly amazed at how supportive the people around me have been. The people at work, the people that are my friends, the people in my family. I'm lucky to not be alone. I don't know how a single person could do it alone. For those single parents raising kids, my admiration knows no bounds.

But what I am realizing, is that it's okay for this to not be perfect. It's okay for this experience to bounce back and forth between delightful and difficult.

I know I am doing the best I know how to do. And I am learning to take my life one moment at a time to the best of my ability. I know no matter how this experience turns out, I am growing. I am becoming. And I am already not the same person that agreed to bring another child into my life. It's been humbling and I'm certainly learning how much I still have to learn.

I am looking forward to what comes next. I'm also scared and nervous. It's unknown, and I'm not always good with the unknown. But I know I will emerge from this story with many new stories of my own to tell. And I believe all of us in this story will do some healing, some learning, and some loving together to emerge from this story even better than when we stepped into it.

peace my friends,

MaryKate

Because you can never predict love...

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All day long I've wanted one thing. To go to sleep. Went to bed at 9:30. Couldn't shake the feeling I was forgetting something. Finally remembered I needed to put a warm pack on Yannah 's incredibly swollen face. She's sleeping at the foot of my bed, so I got up, warmed a washcloth and prepared for drama.

Instead, as I placed the wash cloth on her face and gently talked to her, she just looked at me. Three times I reheated the washcloth and three times she let me press it against the hard, swollen lump just behind her eye. She never resisted, never whined, just looked so sad and sick. But even feeling incredibly hurt, she still was patient with me and didn't doubt me. She still let me do what I needed to do. And I got teary- eyed.

Because she isn't demonstrative. She isn't overly affectionate. Sometimes I'm pretty sure she isn't even that thrilled to see me, truth is, she kinda likes guys :). But at the end of it all, she knows me. And I know she's hurting. And I know I love her, and she'll get through this just like she did last time. And I know she knows her pack.

But beyond her, I realized tonight my daughter and I couldn't have a better third family member- she's patient, tolerant and other than some chewing issues? The most unassuming member of this clan. And I know now, that while I'm sad she never became a guide dog, I can't imagine my life anymore without her.

I think I can finally sleep.

Peace,
Marykate

That Gingerbread Man that smelled so sweet...

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Tonight the traditional Gingerbread-cookie-making ritual begins. I'll make the dough, tomorrow we'll bake them and ice them. My daughter and I have been making these cookies every single year since her birth. I do not think we missed *one* year. Sometimes I would experiment with different recipes... and sometimes I'd be exhausted and buy the pre-made dough, but for 12 years, I flew to Ohio to make cookies and to spend part of the holidays with Candace and her family. Wow. I think I even made cookies two years ago when she passed away. A tradition is a tradition.

Last year was my first year with M out here, living with me. My cookies weren't very good. I made them with gluten free flour and a lot of stress. This year, I am making them from scratch - using real butter, real flour and almost no stress. How things change in a year.

How things change in 14 years.

I think my favorite year was when she was about eight. Her brother was just a toddler. Candace had her house decorated - she had even scavenged a live tree because she knew how much I loved them. I told Candace not to tell the kids what day I was coming. I got to the airport, rented a car, stopped briefly at Kroger, and pulled in the driveway laden with gifts from home and ingredients for gingerbread cookies. The moment I parked the car, the dogs started barking inside the house. Candace had left the back door unlocked knowing I would be coming. I walked in and called out, "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

Little M came running in from the other room screaming, "MK!MK!MK!" and gave me the biggest hug ever - I think she had tears in her eyes she was so excited. Her little brother came toddling in behind her and hugged my leg. I could barely set my luggage down and hobble into the kitchen.

There is something to be said for tradition. For ritual. It is the time of year for it. And while tradition can be something that holds people back, it can also be the foundation from which we build our lives. Making gingerbreadmen is a tradition I will follow every year I have my daughter with me, and even into the future when she goes on to college and then someday shares the holiday not just with me but with her own version of family. The smell and taste of gingerbread will always be something that grounds me and reminds me of blessings I have in my life.

Speaking of tradition, I'm watching 'White Christmas' with Bing Crosby and my favorite Irving Berlin song just came on:

Traditions can be amazing blessings - if you feel so inclined, share some of your blessings and traditions with me, I'd love to hear about them!

Many blessings to you all this holiday season - so many it is difficult to count! May your own traditions warm your heart and ground you as you prepare to enter the new year with all the joy and resolutions to come!

Peace,

MaryKate

Weighing of the Heart

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Do you know the Egyptian story of the weighing of the heart? Let me give you the short version. The Egyptians believed that upon death, the soul or "akh" would, using the Book of the Dead as a guide and often Anubis as well, work through the 12 gates of the Duat on the journey to the the Hall of Judgement. Once in the hall, the initiate would recite the 42 confessions in front of the 42 judges. Then, the heart would be put on the scale against Ma'at's white feather of Truth. If the scales didn't balance, the akh would be thrown to the crocodile god Ammit and the soul devoured. If the heart was not 'heavy' and the scales balanced, the akh would be welcomed by Osiris to the Field of Reeds - where the akh would rejoin family and loved ones.

My birthday is next week. I'll be 47.  The number doesn't bother me, I'm not sure I look my age, and I'm pretty sure I don't always act it. 

Joseph Campbell said, "Out of perfection nothing can be made. Every process involves breaking something up.”  I feel, around my birthday, like part of me is breaking away and something new is evolving. Around this time of year, I seem to find myself re-enacting my own "Weighing of the Heart" ceremony.

I don't throw myself to the crocodile god if I feel I haven't lived by my truth during the proceeding year, but I do find myself evaluating where I was a year ago, and where I am now.

Last year at this time, I was in my fourth month of being a full time mom. The path had turned rocky and the honeymoon phase was definitely over. I worried if I was doing the 'mom' thing right. I felt unsure and I did a lot of questioning of myself. This year, I have a full year under my belt. Even with some of the changes and upheavals over the last year, I feel more confident I am doing the 'mom' thing okay. I still make mistakes and sometimes I still question if I have any idea what I am doing. December is a hard month, but I feel like the ground under my feet is more stable, and I feel like, as a family, things will be okay.

Last year at this time, I was not single. I did not expect to be so this year. However, I have found a new strength in getting to know myself. I still stumble at times with knowing who I am outside of being a 'mom', 'sis', 'daughter', 'friend', 'teacher' and 'partner', but I think I'm learning. I am finding my voice. It's not the 3 octave range it once was, but it is strong and clear and I am grateful for it.

Last year at this time, we had just moved to a new building at work. It was a big shift for everyone. The transition took some time, but I have settled into my new digs and I like being able to look out the window and see blue sky and trees. I still wake up every day loving what I do and where I do it. Teaching is one of the constants in my life and I am fortunate to find joy in what I do.

Last year at this time, I was 35 pounds heavier than I am now. I am proud of the running I did, and frustrated by the knee injury that has stopped that progress. I am also proud that I haven't put that weight back on and that I have continued a path forward to reach the goal of wearing one of these in Mexico!

I have changed over the past 12 months. I think I have become more centered, more connected and better in touch with what I want in life and what I don't want. In other ways, I feel like I have fallen in my goals of writing that great novel and my continued goal of letting go of perfection. I still haven't mastered the art of distinction between which pieces of my life I should hold on to, and which pieces need to be released. I second guess myself and, at times, I make choices from a place of fear, versus a place of centeredness.

It's a process, right? At this point in my life, I am not heavy-hearted; I feel light-hearted and joyful. I see such potential in the upcoming year!

It's my birthday and I am looking forward to celebrating. Because beyond it all, I am deeply grateful for each day I am on this planet. Each life I touch and each heart that reaches out and touches mine, changes me. Each moment I am here, each moment I am alive is a profound gift I treasure. I'm continually reminded that even when I forget about the magic - the magic doesn't forget about me.

Peace,

MaryKate

Those Weirdos are your Tribe!!

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I learned this week, again, what family means. And what it doesn't mean. It was another hard lesson that I seem to continually draw into my life.

Michael J Fox once said,  "Family is not an important thing. It's everything."

I realized this week how true that is.

Family has very little to do with blood. Although in my case, I am incredibly fortunate to have such a wonderful and supportive sister and father and extended family. I am also amazed at what a tremendous daughter I have now in my life.

What I was reminded of this week, is that family is a space in your heart. It is feeling safe. It is feeling loved. It is fighting. It is knowing you can tell the truth - even if your truth is wrong - and be loved. It is knowing when things get difficult, you have someone who loves you and will stick with you. It is crying under the kitchen table and having your dad not know what to do - and having your mom say, "Just let her cry honey. There isn't anything you can do, but let her cry. She'll be okay."

I am so loved. And I can't believe every single day how big my family is. I move through my life trying to emulate what it is to love and as a result, the people I choose to have in my life love me - and if they don't? Then I guess it is better that those people get weeded out, however that happens.

Because in the end, my family are the people that stand by me. They are the people who work through the hard stuff. They are the people I come home to. And it isn't always easy. Families have fights. Families struggle. Families have financial difficulties and personality conflicts. My daughter once said about her brother, "I don't care if we sometimes don't get along, I got his back." And I think that is what it means to be a family.

And maybe family is a poor choice of words. Because there are many unhealthy families in the world. Many families who punish each other instead of supporting each other. Maybe, like the quote below, the best word is tribe:

And sometimes, people I think are part of my 'tribe' or my family, turn out not to be. They choose to leave. They choose to not want to work through the hard stuff. The complications. They don't think working through the challenge is worth it. And that is okay. I have had that same experience where I know working through the struggle isn't what is in the cards. Sometimes you have to make the difficult choice of walking away. It hurts and it is complicated but that is when those who do want to be part of your tribe become even more valuable.

I just know that for me, true family isn't about blood. It is about love. It is about honesty. It is about finding people that honor my heart and journey - and want to share their journey with me. It is about people who are as happy to be part of my life as I am happy to be part of theirs.

So, if you are part of my tribe -  and if you read my blog consider yourself part of my life - then thank you. And know I love you. And when you are done reading, remember to appreciate the people in your tribe. Call your partner,or mom or dad or best friend or sister or brother or son or daughter or niece or nephew or or or...

Because as I have been reminded again this week, there is nothing more valuable than family. Nothing. And there is nothing more valuable than telling the tribe you love, how much you love them.

Peace,

MaryKate

When A Bag is more than a Bag...

Candace's Bag
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When Candace’s husband asked me what I wanted of Candace’s, I didn’t hesitate. I asked for the bag hanging in the garage. This bag. This large, blue and white, 15 - 20 year old Land's End bag that says "Candace" stitched in cursive.

It may seem like an odd thing to ask for a bag. I, of course, don’t see a bag. I see a trip. I see almost every trip we ever took together. Thank god this bag can’t talk. If it could, the things it would tell about our excursions might make me blush in mixed company...

Some of our earliest trips were to stay overnight at my dad’s ‘cabin’ in Marblehead, Ohio. Calling it a cabin made it sound so romantic. It was a trailer. An old trailer. A 1978 trailer. A comfortable middle class trailer with a room built on and an air-conditioner stuck in the window. My mother had chosen to cover the kitchen floor with carpet that had strawberries on it. God I wish I had a photo of that carpet. Sometimes it was just me and Candace. Sometimes? It was Randy. And sometimes it was a dating weekend with her boyfriend (later husband – Mike) and my boyfriend at the time. Sometimes it was a girl’s weekend. There was almost always skinny dipping involved. Oh yeah, we were wild women in our 20s. Later as well got to know each other that trip was ‘couples weekend’. Steve and Ellen, Mike and Candace, Hans and I. We lived like we had all the time in the world to be happy. And we were. Candace eventually married Mike, Steve and Ellen eventually married and Hans and I remained friends, even after all these years. They were good times. Some of the best times, and I am pretty sure Margaritas were almost always involved.

In my early 30s, I moved to Seattle. I told Candace I would only be out there for 5 years. - then I’d be back. I did move back later, but never again would Ohio be my permanent home. I remember the day I left. Candace took me to the airport. In the back of her van this bag sat full of summer stuff she hadn’t removed from her car yet. She hugged me, I made my empty 5 year promise and we cried. And we cried. She told me once she cried all the way home. Then cried for several days. I did the same. I knew I was leaving a part of myself behind. It wouldn't be long after that she started her family.

Candace and I talked on yahoo instant messenger almost every day. We talked on the phone, although I really don’t like talking on the phone – she loved it. Sometimes she’d call just to talk and I wouldn’t answer the phone. I feel bad about that now. I feel bad that I didn’t take the time to connect. It never bothered her and I don’t ‘regret’ it, just think today how much I’ll miss that. Even towards the end of her illness she'd call me and her voice was full of joy. I will miss that more than anything.

Candace and I made the trip across the country from Ohio to Seattle five times together. I can’t even remember the details of all the trips. She desperately wanted to make that trip one more time with the kids, but that didn’t happen. I remember on one of the trips, we decided we were going to stop at every cheesy roadside attraction. We saw the giant statue of the Jolly Green Giant, The Corn Palace (which was to become a favorite stop), the Spam museum (inside some strip mall at the time, we almost didn’t find it), Wall Drug (of course the signs lured us in) and The Badlands. One trip we affectionately named “eating across America”. It was not our finest hour, although we did learn the joy of fry bread tacos and I learned NEVER to take Candace to Dairy Queen twice in one day.

This bag went with us on our RV trip to the Grand Canyon. On that trip we filled it with pamphlets, AAA Guides, books from the library with all the places on Route 66 she wanted to find and National Park guides. (We always tried to take national park trips, but usually ended up taking photos out of our car windows.) On our Grand Canyon trip, Candace had just had her hip replaced because the cancer had eaten through her bones. She had barely recovered from the surgery and her doctors told her she shouldn’t go. Thank god she had an adventurous spirit. Because every single moment of that trip – all of them will be part of my shared history with Madalyn and Grant. I thank god I had the support of people around me – both financial and emotional to make that trip happen. Even the plague of locust in Oklahoma has made a memory that will never be forgotten.

Of course, this bag, if I look closely, still has sand from our trip to Put in Bay. Last summer we went one last time together. Madalyn, myself and Candace – she drove up to the lake and met me, I drove her back. Just the drive up to the lake exhausted her. Looking back, I realize letting her drive was nuts, but she endured. She brought this bag - only this time it wasn’t full of towels and sunblock, it was full of medicine. She needed an entire canvas bag to hold all of her medicine. Later, after our trip, when we returned to Columbus, she was so exhausted she slept for two days without waking up. She didn’t take any of her medicine. Two days of missed morphine was two too many. That was when I realized, for her, it wasn’t ‘better living through chemistry’ but simply ‘living through chemistry’. But the day we went on our trip to the island? It was sunny and beautiful. I rented a golf cart and Candace, Madalyn and I laughed, went to the winery and drove around the island over and over and over – none of us wanted to leave. We even went junking! I had rented a hotel room by the water. At the end of the day we took the ferry back from the island and went to our favorite restaurant – Phil’s Inn and ate spaghetti. During dinner, Candace got the call that her grandmother Gwen had had a massive brain bleed. Gwen was much more than Candace’s grandmother, Gwen was Candace’s mom, her joy, her love. Hearing that Gwen had a massive brain hemorrhage and likely wouldn’t recover, I asked if Candace wanted me to take her back to Columbus. She said, “No, Gram would want me here by the lake. It was our favorite place. She loved it here and would want me to be here. I can’t take all the drama there. Here, I can make peace with everything.” She cried and cried, but I have no doubt Gwen was the first one to greet her last Sunday. Gwen died the next day. Candace often said that it was the hardest day of her life. Last Sunday was the hardest of mine.

When Candace died on Sunday, there was no funeral. She wanted to be cremated and there were no showing hours. I was with Grant and Madalyn when she died. When I told them, Madalyn asked me to take her to Put-In-Bay. I called the ferry and it was running but the lady at the ferry told me that nothing was open there this time of year. Everything is closed. No golf cart rental, no lobster bisque, nothing. When I told Madalyn, I promised her I would take her this summer. She and Grant and I will go to Put-In-Bay together and rent a golf cart and drive around. Sometime before this summer, her husband Mike and the family are planning a “Celebration of Life” party where everyone can come and share their stories of her. I hope I can make it.

I’ll make sure to bring the bag. I’d hate for it to miss anything.

Tending to the Heart

On Dreams and Other Things...
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I had two dreams last night - both of my closest friend, Candace. In the first dream, she was sitting on the couch in her living room. She was trying to talk to people because she had things she wanted to say. Everyone was gathered around her, and she was telling people how much she loved them and how she was going to miss her family and her friends. She was getting tired but we listened as she spoke to everyone individually as best she could. Then she got sick. She fell on the floor and I covered her with my body and held back her hair and she vomited - over and over. She said she was tired of being sick and I told her I love her - that everyone did. And I held her while she cried.

In the second dream, we were out shopping for Christmas gifts for her children. Grant and Madalyn were with us. Madalyn wanted a specific pair of shoes and we were in our third store looking for them. Candace looked at me and said, "Wow, look at you all getting me out shopping. You always gave me energy when I didn't think I had any". I looked at her and I said, "Honey, you know you aren't really here, right? I mean your body is back in that bed." And she looked at me and she smiled. I fell to the floor sobbing. I said, "How am I supposed to go on without you? How do I do that, because I don't know if I know how to do that." And I full-on, open-heart-chakra started wailing. She waited a moment, smiled at me again, touched  my head with her hand and said, "MK, my body is full of light." And I knew she'd be okay, I just wasn't so sure I would.

For the last two days I have watched as my best friend slowly drifts away. She has not been lucid. She has simply slept while hospice gives her medicine every few hours and people come and whisper their "I love you's" into her ear. I have tended to the kids, and let others tend to the things that needed tending. There has been a lot of 'tending' going on. I have tended to everything... everything except my heart.

I'm sitting in my hotel room right now; my beautiful goddaughter sleeping next to me. I'm trying to cry quietly so I don't wake her up. My bff hasn't eaten or had anything to drink for 4 days. It won't be much longer now.

But in my dreams? She is a ball of light. She is smiling. And she is full of love. She is the long-haired, hazel eyed, cheerleader. She is joy. And my heart knows that even as she transitions to another place, she is not so different there than when she was here.

ETA: 3 hours after writing this blog, my best friend died. I wanted to say she 'transitioned' or she 'passed' or any of those other euphemisms, but her body simply gave out. Her spirit did not.

What's Next?

88/100

I've been watching people change their facebook icons to photos of their mom. My mom died long enough ago that I don't believe I have any digital photos of her. I always think about my mom on days like today. About the good memories and the difficult ones. I wish I knew where the eulogy is that I wrote for her. I thought it was beautiful and I remember I sang at her funeral. She died on my sister's 30th birthday. It was a difficult time for all of us, she had suffered a long time and in many ways we were grateful she passed so she could find some peace.

I remember about a year before my mom died, when she was still mostly lucid, she told me about a dream she had. In it, she was dressed in a beautiful ball gown. There was music playing and she told me there were candles everywhere. She told me that God came up to her and asked her to dance. She told me she refused and walked away. "By god I sure showed Him who was boss!" I remember her saying. She wasn't ready to die. In fact, I remember my mother said that she wanted to be cremated an put on the fireplace so she could watch everyone. I think she was only half joking.

I think a lot about that. About her fear of dying. About her anger at God for asking her to dance. It makes me sad. Sad for all the pain and sadness that came after that dream. That long year that she, all 82 pounds of her fought, raged and ultimately lost the battle with death.

I remember when I was learning to do journey work (sort of a form of meditation). For some, journey work is about going outside of yourself to connect with forces to get insight. At first, that is what I thought it was as well. Going to speak to my guides to get 'answers'. Because I somehow felt some entity outside myself actually had answers for me. Now? When I look at journey work, I realize it is to go inside myself. To look at my own mythology, my own patterns, my own stories and find my own answers. In training, one of the first journeys we did was to create a 'garden'. A 'sacred space' in our spirit that we could go to grow and learn. I loved my 'sacred' space. All the items I found there were items that had personal meaning to me. Once we learned about our sacred space, we had other journeys to learn different techniques, etc. During the second round of training, I remember one journey in particular. I think about if often. In the journey, we were to seek the 'boat' that would come for us upon our deaths. One that would meet us at our sacred garden space and take us forward into the journey of death. One that we were not afraid of, one that was sacred to us. It may appear different to everyone, but one that we knew was there to help us with our crossing.

As I've aged, I've realized how terrified of death many people are. I'm saddened a bit that as a culture we don't have some 'death' awareness that eases the fear and anxiety that the thought of dying engenders. I met a friend recently who told me he had plans to live until he was 120. I smiled. I listened. I could hear his determination. He had THINGS TO DO. He asked me how long I wanted to live. I said... "oh... as long as I live I suppose. But not over 100. That doesn't really sound appealing to me. Maybe 90 or so. As long as I am healthy, that's fine." He couldn't understand why I didn't want to live as long as possible. I couldn't answer him but to say that I want to be healthy, I am taking better care of my body, I am spending more time with spirit, but I have no desire to live forever. Not even close. I see my dad watch all the people he loves pass away, and I think to myself. I don't want that. That isn't the end of life I want. I don't want to fight like my mother did. When death comes I want to feel like I have lived a full life and that I'm okay to leave it for whatever comes next. If death comes suddenly? I want to know that everyone I love knew that I loved them. I tell them all the time and I know if I love you? You know it. I don't wait for a special day or a special moment, as if  love is some 'limited commodity' and I can only share it on given days and in given ways. Love is a gift and one I give of freely.

My best friend Candace has a gift. She can sit with people while they die and hold their space for them. I don't know how else to explain it. She talks to them, encourages them, comforts them. Even if they are in a coma or in a medical haze, she has the capacity to surround them with love. She can look at their feet, look at their eyes and tell you how soon they are going to cross. I wish she could get paid to simply sit with people and help them make the transition between living and passing. It is a rare gift and I cherish it about her. I wasn't able to do that very well with my mom and I hope, when the day comes, that she will hold my hand and comfort me while I cross into whatever I find to be next.

For me? I like knowing in my spirit that there is something next. I'm not sure I understand the people that insist that when you die, that's it. Game over. I do not claim by *any* means to KNOW what is next with some absoluteness, but I do believe there is something. What a long life it would be to think.. well I live this and then *poof* I'm worm food. (Or in my case, fish fertilizer. I'd prefer they just burn and scatter me on the lake somewhere. I see no reason to bury my hollowed out skin that has been pumped full of toxic chemicals that will pollute the soil around for an extended period of time. Ew.) But I wonder, if there is nothing more, if I do simply die, where is the harm in having lived a life where I believed there would be more? If I'm dead and now fish food, I won't know so it isn't like I'll have some big regret that I was 'suckered' into thinking there would be more, right? I guess it is a mystery to me.

I didn't think I would be writing a Mother's Day blog on death, but in some ways it turns out that is what is on my mind lately. I certainly don't want to die, I have such a wonderful, fulfilling, happy, frustrating, delightful life. I'm not ready to be done with it. But? I don't live every day fearing it might be over tomorrow. Fearing I haven't left my 'mark on the world'. My life is what it is and where it is. I don't believe I let life live me, I believe I live life. Sometimes I take silly chances, sometimes I play it safe, but no matter how I play it, I am grateful for it. And when the end comes? I hope I can die with some grace. I want to meet my boat and feel a sense of contentment and joy that I was fortunate to have walked on this planet as long as I walked.

I hope my mom found peace and joy in her passing. I want to believe that 12 years ago, God was there waiting, and this time, she took His hand and smiled and said, "Why yes, yes I would love to dance."

Peace,

MaryKate

All Too brief
74/100

Today I found out that a student at our school perished in a car accident. Details aren't in, but I don't suppose they are important to this blog, or, in the end, to the pain people left behind are experiencing. I don't care who the young person is, or the story, any death of a young person feels tragic. This young man however? Was simply a delightful young man. He was a young man with a scholarship to a fantastic university next year for lacrosse. He had an incredible smile. He was dedicated and was working so hard at his studies to make it in college. He was focused and a bright light to everyone that knew him.

When I heard the news, the first thing I thought of wasn't him, but his parents. How do you wake up one morning and everything is amazing, then wake up the next morning and nothing is? Yet you have to somehow keep going forward when a part of your heart, your spirit, your soul is absent. I have no children, I truly can't imagine the grief. But I can hold the space of those two people who will wake up tomorrow where nothing is amazing.

I have no story of my own past grief to tell. I suppose I could tell about the day I found out my mom died. But there is no comparison. There is no way to begin to touch the grief that family is experiencing. I will not try. That would somehow take the grief that belongs to them and make it my own. I didn't have him as my student, but I find myself crying for the loss I feel and for the teachers I know who deeply respected and cared for him. I cry for the family and friends that somehow have to wake up tomorrow morning and face the shining sun, the clear day and the beautiful weather when everything in their world is a storm of terrifying thunder and darkness.

I will say a prayer tonight. For the family, for the friends, for the teachers, for the crossing of such a bright light. And I will say it again tomorrow night. And the night after. Because, like my father having a heart attack, things came into focus for me today. I got some needed clarity about what is important. There is no joy coming from a situation like this, but it does remind me to hold close those I love and appreciate every moment of life I have with them.

Peace,

MaryKate

Home again home again jiggedy jig

64/100

I leave to return to Snohomish on Thursday morning. I have to admit, I can't wait. I've been bone tired lately. I don't think I realized how exhausting anxiety is. However, anxiety aside my dad is doing well and I am glad I was here to spend Christmas with him in Ohio.

It made me realize that there are words in my life that have changed meaning as I mature. "Love" is one of them, but I'll save that for another blog. Lately the word I realize has found new meaning in my life is the word "home".

When I was younger, home was always 410 Spruce Dr. Easy. I knew that when I had to go 'home' that meant getting on my bike, or the bus, or a car and going 'home'. Home is where my sister, my dad, my mom and my brother lived. Home was chaotic, but I knew what it meant. I knew where my 'home' was - it was where I felt most myself.

Then I went to college and moved out of my 'home'. Suddenly, that word didn't mean the same thing. I began to develop a 'home is wherever my suitcase is' philosophy. I tossed the word around like it was candy. I was in a hotel for work? No problem, that was home base for a while. I moved a lot, fell in love and eventually created my own 'home', then 'homes with others'. I went through different homes, different loves, my mother passed away, my father moved up to the lake... and all the time I called wherever I was staying 'home'.

But not having a solid 'home' in my life is no longer acceptable to me. In the last 7 years I have moved 10 times. That's CRAZY. It's no wonder I feel adrift. I think I've become afraid to 'settle' down because my life has been so chaotic and I haven't felt safe in my 'home' for at *least* 10 years. I haven't felt like I could really settle into a place and make it my own. For a while I desperately wanted to buy a house because I thought that would 'fix' my ache to have a place to call my own. To feel safe. To build a foundation. I mean, isn't that the real drive to 'own a home'? To have a place of respite where you feel safe? Some small piece of the world you know is yours?

This trip back to Ohio I realized I split a lot of my time between Ohio and Seattle. But my dad's house? Isn't my home. I may still use that term when I talk to dad,  "Okay dad, let's finish at the store and go home..." but it isn't my home.

I was worried I was going to have to move from the place where I now reside. I was having serious stress about it. I talked to the owners of the house and they assured me that even though they want to sell their house, they have no intentions of selling the house where I now live. And while I understand that life changes and people change and there is no way to guarantee 'safe', I realized how relieved I felt when I knew they weren't selling 'my' house. I want to stay in this house where I now live. It's possible I might buy it some day, but then, who knows, I may fall in love and run away to some exotic place with the new love of my life. (It could happen people, don't rain on my parade *lol*). However, in the meantime I want to stop preparing for moving. I want to unpack my boxes, clean out my garage, buy some nice bedroom furniture and settle in. I mean, over the last 3 years specifically, I have been afraid to buy furniture or create a beautiful house because I knew I would be moving. My 'house' didn't feel safe or a place of respite because there was too much tension and stress. I desperately wanted to feel safe and centered when I walked in my front door and I didn't. I changed the things that didn't make me feel safe and I realize that now? I have finally found a place I can call 'home'.

And because I'm ready to 'settle' into the house where I am living, I want to create a space that's safe and comfortable. I live near people I adore, I am close to work, no water view, but I can see the horses and the area is quiet. The house is perfect for me, if not a little big - I have a fireplace where I can curl up close to at night, I have an amazing cat that purrs and loves on me continually, my sister is nearby, I can go swimming any time I want, I have a hot tub and a nice large yard where I can have chickens if I want. I want to plant a garden next year and I have friends who love me and help me when I get called away to come to Ohio.

I have a 'home' and I find when I use that word now? It has a meaning it lost a long time ago. I have a place. A solid base of reference. I have a foundation from which I can move forward from with confidence. Yes, life can be unpredictable, but that doesn't mean I should fear creating a safe, warm and loving environment for myself. I can allow myself to trust again and hey -

Looks like I've finally come home.

Peace,
MaryKate