Bonnie, who makes beautiful Memory Bears for those who are grieving the loss of a loved one, captures the essence of grief perfectly in her blog post. Grief doesn’t end, it becomes part of you as you move on, a changed person. 
My husband and I both have hospice backgrounds, so we have a lot of training and experience in the field of death and dying. We are familiar with the theories pertaining to death and dying a…
I spent last week at a writer’s retreat in New Hampshire. It was a wonderful experience, and just what I needed, to unplug and at the same time, recharge my writing inspiration.
I turned off social media, and turned inward to focus on what I really want to share about caregiving and how I should present that in written form. I also opened myself up to others who were going through their own painful experiences. But there was also plenty of laughter and great stories shared among the group.
Even for caregivers who don’t fancy themselves writers, taking a writing workshop can offer them a supportive stage to share their thoughts and feelings about the caregiving experience, giving a voice to those who are often forgotten or fade into the background.
Our teacher commented at the end of our time together that caregiving will eventually touch most, if not all of us, and that is so true. Even in our small group of memoir writers, there were people who had served as family caregivers and who were dealing with the deaths of spouses, parents and other loved ones after lengthy, debilitating illnesses.
Even if you don’t plan on writing a book, consider taking a writing workshop. There are plenty of one-day or weekend workshops, so no need to make it a full-fledged vacation (though it was a wonderful indulgence for me.) If you enjoy blogging, you may be surprised what the writing prompts at a workshop can bring out. You may be challenged to look at an event from a different perspective, and the feedback you get from fellow writers and instructors can be insightful and useful.
While I know talk therapy works for some people, I’ve never been a big fan of it personally, mainly because I don’t like to express myself verbally, especially when forced to talk about myself. But through writing, I’m able to do that with a greater comfort level. I also like the added bonus that I get some writing done while working through tough situations.
The most important thing of all though is that if you enjoy writing, keep it up! Whether you make it to a workshop or your writing ever sees the light of day, just the physical act of expressing your feelings is so beneficial.
Do you do any writing outside of blogging? I would love to hear about it.
Filed under Awareness & Activism, Memories
Many of us become nostalgic from time to time, especially as we grow older or face uncertain periods of life. High school and even college may seem like a distant memory to many of us, but it can be interesting to flip through a yearbook or photo album and remember the person you once were.
I have no desire to return to those days, but when Ancestry.com sent an email saying it had made available more yearbooks in their collection, I was curious to see if I could find my mother’s yearbook. While I have all of my mother’s school photos because she painstakingly took good care of them, I don’t have her yearbooks.
Unfortunately, there were no yearbooks available for her years, but there was one available for 1950, just before she would have been in high school. I flipped through the yearbook in its entirety, as it was a fascinating snapshot to a different place and time. I recognized the names of some of the teachers, as my mom had told me stories about them over the years. I got to see photos of the school building itself, and places inside the school, such as the cafeteria.
It was interesting to read about the different groups that were popular in school back then, such as Future Homemakers of America and Future Farmers of America. For many students of that time period, education would end with high school, as they would soon marry, have children and the husband would work while the wife cared for the family at home. How much the world would change in a 20-year span.
I wondered about some of those kids, the valedictorian and the ones picked most popular, most athletic and most courteous. What became of their lives? What became of their dreams and aspirations?
My mother’s life did not evolve in such a typical fashion. She left her hometown, became a working woman, then went into the Navy, and didn’t marry and have a child until her mid-thirties.
Mom never made it to a class reunion, but for the most part, I think she would have been proud of the woman she became and what she accomplished.
Filed under Memories, Memories Project notes
My mom on her 77th birthday.
Today would have been my mother’s 79th birthday.
Sometimes I still can’t believe that my father outlived my mother. He was 79 when he died.
It’s also hard to believe sometimes that just two years ago, I was celebrating her last birthday alive with her. I’m glad I made the trip, it’s not something I always did, but at least I did it when it counted the most.
After I passed the year mark of my mom’s death, it felt like a veil lifted. I’m more at peace now and less bombarded by flashbacks of her death and final months.
Today I will try to remember the good things: my mother’s corny but infectious sense of humor, that southern accent she never lost, her generous and kind spirit.
How do you mark the birthdays of those who are gone?
Sometimes, I think Mom departed the planet at just the right time. When I look back over the past year, I think of all of the horrible tragedies that have happened, the numerous, deadly terrorist attacks and mass shootings that have taken so many innocent lives.
My mom did not understand all of the politics and history behind international terrorism, but a mother crying over the death of a child in a market bombing? My mother could connect with that based upon a universal sense of humanity and compassion.
Mom never understood why anyone would choose to act out of hate, instead of love. I sometimes was dismissive of her simplistic attitude, but we could certainly use a bit more positive thinking in our world right now.
At the same time, there is deep division in America, as we find ourselves mired in an ugly political season and having to face serious issues that don’t have easy answers. Perhaps those who have already departed are the fortunate ones.
Still, there is much to appreciate about America, and what the country has been able to accomplish over its history. When a terrible event occurs, the outpouring of compassion and generosity that occurs offers a glimmer of hope for our country. My mom always focused on the good in people, and I’m going to try to adopt a bit of that attitude in her memory.
My parents loved America; my mom served in the Navy and my dad immigrated from his beloved homeland of northern Ireland and became a U.S. citizen. Hopefully that sense of pride is not lost forever on future generations of Americans.
Today, I hope you and your family are able to enjoy time together, however you mark the day.
Filed under Memories
It was an emotionally exhausting week to be a journalist, with the mass shooting in Orlando yet another example of America at its worst. But as always is the case in these national tragedies, stories emerge that show America at its best: brave, compassionate, able to put aside differences to help others in need.
A father in Seattle talking to his 8-year-old daughter about the Orlando
incident was surprised when she innocently asked, “Do the fathers still get a Father’s Day card?”
That spurred a project where 49 Father’s Day cards were created for each father of a victim in the Orlando shooting. The city got involved and over 300 people signed the cards.
It’s a difficult Father’s Day for too many families struck by senseless tragedies.
It’s a heartbreaking Father’s Day for those who have recently lost their fathers.
It’s a bittersweet Father’s Day for those with fathers who have Alzheimer’s disease.
But somehow, somewhere, we have to dig deep and be grateful for what we do have. So I am grateful for a father who has been freed from the prison of Alzheimer’s, who loved me and was proud of me and for all of the old photos and mementos I have of his life that I will treasure forever.
If you celebrate Father’s Day, I hope you are marking the day in a way that is meaningful for you.
With the death of Muhammad Ali, I couldn’t help but think back on Dad’s love of the sport. I never got into boxing, but I remember Dad watching the matches available on network TV (before they moved to pay-per-view, as we never had cable.) He would light up and was as enthusiastic as he was about watching his beloved Notre Dame team or watching a soccer match. As a young man, he even started writing a novel about a boxer, which he never finished.
I’m pretty sure Dad was an Ali fan. I don’t know if he supported all of his viewpoints, but I think as an Irishman, he could appreciate Ali’s showboating. Also, as a northern Irishman, my dad could appreciate someone from a minority group who was being marginalized and brutalized taking on the establishment. I can hear my dad’s voice imitating the crowd when Ali came to the ring, chanting, “Ali, Ali, Ali.” I remember my dad becoming very animated about describing one of Ali’s historic matches.
Even if you are not a boxing fan, it’s worth checking out some of the old interviews and matches with Ali. The way he handled himself, not only as an athlete but as a citizen in this world was unmatched. Yes, you could call him arrogant and egotistical, but part of that was his persona, and alongside that, there was a sincerity and genuine concern about the world. The way he challenged the status quo as a black man in the 1960’s was remarkable and courageous. He stood by his religious beliefs, being banned from his profession for three years. He was no saint, of course, with multiple marriages and a penchant for affairs, but he never claimed to be, only saying he was the best he could be.
After boxing, he could’ve just rested on his laurels, especially after being diagnosed with the debilitating Parkinson’s disease, but he chose to walk the walk when it came to humanitarian causes. He traveled the world, set up foundations and did what he could to ease suffering and support the downtrodden.
As many have pointed out, there is some irony in the fact that Ali got Parkinson’s disease, a condition that stripped away his physical beauty and his famous “Louisville Lip.” Was God teaching him a lesson for being an arrogant big mouth? Ali took the diagnosis in stride, and didn’t shy away from society. Instead, he used it as another teaching moment.
Ali was brash, talented, controversial and courageous. He was truly one-of-a-kind. I hope he’s free of his broken body and that his spirit continues on somewhere, floating like a butterfly.
On another note, there was also another boxing connection this week. A relative of mine reached out on Twitter, the grandson of Dixie McCall, who I’ve written about before. He was my aunt’s husband. Social media has its faults, but it is so neat that we can make family connections via a tweet.
Filed under Memories
While some may feel empathy is not something that needs to be taught, but is something that should come naturally to human beings, I do think people need opportunities to experience empathy.
A unique class for high school seniors in New York is doing just that. Simply called “hospice,” the students learn how to take care of the dying and a whole lot more.
I was moved by the students’ experiences, and how they learned to cater to the resident’s needs, both physical and emotional.As anyone knows who has cared for a dying person, it is usually the smallest of actions that mean the most. A student helps a woman who was a speech pathologist but now ironically battles frontal lobe syndrome do a word puzzle. Another student rook time to read a memoir that a resident had written about his life, to get to know him better.
Sometimes the students experience death, up close and personal. It even hits close to home sometimes, as one student enrolled in the class has to deal with her dying grandmother who has been admitted to hospice.
The students shared what they gained from this most unusual of courses. They liked the fact that it was non-competitive, and it was a reality check that we are all going to die someday. Another student liked the class because it wasn’t competitive like most of his other courses; it’s simply about helping other people.
While I say kudos to The Harley School for maintaining such a course, and there may be similar classes elsewhere, I would like to see this become a more widespread movement. We’ve heard about the “scared straight” classes that send troubled teens to the morgue, and while that may shock some into choosing a better path in life, I think being around those who are one step away from death is far more valuable.
Today has been the day I have been eyeing on the calendar for quite some time. My mother died one year ago today.
It is hard for me to believe one year has passed since that moment that I dreaded so much, yet brought some peace and stability back to my life. I didn’t want my mother to die too soon, but even more so, I didn’t want her to suffer.
But today is not about mourning. I have done enough of that over the past year, and rightfully so. Today I decided to make about gratitude.
As I’ve mentioned previously, my mom always showered kindness and appreciation on those she encountered in her daily life, from the convenience store clerk to the shuttle driver to her doctor. But it was those in the service industry, those who are often overlooked or taken for granted, that my mother really connected with. Sure, sometimes I would internally roll my eyes when Mom would talk my ear off about how the her favorite convenience store clerk was having surgery on her knee and a granddaughter on the way.
But it floored me that when Mom was in the hospital recovering from surgery, not only would she remember the CNA’s name, but her granddaughter’s name as well and that the kid was going to be in a spelling bee. I couldn’t even remember the nursing assistant’s name!
So today, I visited local businesses in my community and handed out thank you cards. For whatever reason, I felt a little silly, but when I saw the smiles light up the faces of the employees, I felt good. I think Mom would be proud that her daughter is carrying on her torch of goodwill.
It’s still a work in progress, but here is a link to the scrapbook I started for my mother.
Thank you, dear blogging friends and followers. Your support means so much to me.
I’ve mentioned before how I started a scrapbook to organize and protect all of my father’s old photos, documents, and newspaper clippings . The project began with a rational purpose but I found myself enjoying the process. While scrapbooking is sometimes mocked, it’s really a creative process that allows you to tell the story of a family member.
I finished the scrapbook for my father, and now am working on one for my mother. I have found the process to be cathartic and therapeutic.
As we move into the digital age, scrapbooks in physical form will probably become passé, replaced by highly efficient, customized digital renditions. But for those of us documenting the lives of loved ones from past generations, scrapbooks are treasured keepsakes.
More scrapbook photos can be seen in this Google photo album.
Do you scrapbook? I would love to hear about your experiences.
Filed under Memories
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The Memories Project receives 2 Sunshine Awards!
The Memories Project 