A Thing of Beauty 2018

Dear UD,

I've been thinking about you a lot lately. Still missing you. Still miss talking to you. Still missing family parties at your place. It’s Apple Butter Day weekend, and you are not here. In fact, mom’s been ill so much lately, she didn’t even go. I’m still in Florida and busy with too many classes, and it’s crazy that my side of the family wasn’t even represented at Apple Butter Day this year.

Since I started writing you these letters three years ago, I’ve been telling you about the darkness falling in the world nowadays, the darkness in America that’s emerging again. I keep hoping that someday there will be a shift, and there won’t be that much evil to share.

2018 and migrant children are in cages in America.

October 2018 and, along with ten other victims, a 97-year-old woman was gunned down while worshipping in her synagogue. Here, in an American city. While she wasn't a Holocaust Survivor as first reported, she was alive during that terrible time, and she survived and grew and loved and lived until finally taken too soon by hate.

Uncle David, you said wherever we go, God is there. And I know He is. But sometimes when I read the headlines or scroll down my Facebook news, it’s hard to remember His love and goodness. I don’t see how people can be so horrible, hateful, horrid.

November is here again. Four years ago, I wrote that “a Thing of Beauty is combining gratitude with seeing things in a new way and with authenticity; it’s living in the moment and acknowledging what is (good and bad) and reinventing what life gives us.” And now, more than ever, we need to look for a Thing of Beauty. Something that we can reimagine as beautiful, an act of kindness, something we're thankful for. In the midst of the violence, the fighting, the political antics, and the hate that we are reminded of every day in the media, we must find the beauty, the wonder, the truth. And so this year, I will again express a Thing of Beauty, but I will also share a quote or poem to combat white supremacy and hate in all its forms.

“It’s utterly impossible for me to build my life on a foundation of chaos, suffering and death. I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness, I hear the approaching thunder that, one day, will destroy us too, I feel the suffering of millions. And yet, when I look up at the sky, I somehow feel that everything will change for the better, that this cruelty too shall end, that peace and tranquility will return once more. In the meantime, I must hold on to my ideals. Perhaps the day will come when I’ll be able to realize them!" Anne Frank

 “It’s difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality. It’s a wonder I haven’t abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart.” Anne Frank

“I don’t think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains.” Anne Frank

If Anne could still see beauty while in hiding for two years, then I can find it too. Today and every day this month, I will search for beauty, love, kindness, gratitude, goodness…..

Love, Rach

A Thing of Beauty: two years later

“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever” ~John Keats

November approaches again and of late I greet the month with part dread, part joy, part appreciation, and part hope. It's the month of my birth, and, of course, Thanksgiving, so I generally like to share daily notes of blessings during the month. Two years ago, though, I did not feel any gratitude, having lost a grandpa, dad, and uncle in succession within less than a year. Still in deep mourning, I could not find my way to thankfulness. Yet I wanted to try, and, more, I wanted to honor the men our family had lost.

Two years later, and I continue this tradition to honor them.

Two years later, and I still find feeling gratitude difficult, almost a chore, something I know I should do and even something I know is true when it comes down to it. This life is a gift, a miracle, and every minute there are thousands of microscopic reasons to express thankfulness. I know this. I see this. I appreciate this.

And still…

In the past two years, I have lost several more people who were special to me. It’s hard to be in this world without them. We will never again be who we were before losing them, and I feel such a deep sadness, anger, and fear inside now. The sorrow permeates everything in this new world, new normal, new me, and the anxiety is easy to see—too many awful things happening in our country, in the world, all the time now. But I didn’t realize the rage until last week when I was triggered into a memory of the moment my mom called to tell me that my uncle had died. If I think about it, I can still feel that moment and my body’s reaction as if it is happening right now. And, when I thought about it last week, I was livid that UD died, that the doctors didn’t catch it in time and help him, that God allowed it to happen, that we have to live in this world without him now.

Two years later, and I’m still finding my way through this new normal.

Gratitude is an attitude, a perspective that we choose, or not. And I want to choose it. But, how to do so in the midst of the grief, fury, and fear.

The online dictionary defines gratitude as “the quality of being thankful; readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness.” I am ready to “return kindness” when I can find it. Yes, I know that there are still many kind people out there, but in the past few years, acts of kindness appear few and far between. UD had a spirit of love and a kind, giving heart, and we all still miss him so much.

In my blog entry two years ago when I started this tradition, I wrote, “A Thing of Beauty is combining gratitude with seeing things in a new way and with authenticity; it’s living in the moment and acknowledging what is (good and bad) and reinventing what life gives us. This reminds me of Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem, “Valentine for Ernest Mann” where the narrator sees beauty and connection in the eyes of skunks. This I feel I can do. I can look at what is, whether I like it or not, whether it’s ugly or bizarre, and find beauty or create meaning out of the muck. Like a lotus flower, I can find a way to blossom out of the mud….A Thing of Beauty is just that: to approach life with the “openness” and sense of “wonder” in order to reveal meaning.”

And last year, I wrote of how I needed this, needed to focus for a few minutes every day on something positive, on seeing beauty, noticing blessings, and acknowledging kindness.

So, once again, I will find “a thing of beauty” each day to share. I pray that it revives my spirits and that it influences others along the way. I invite you to find a thing of beauty in your life and share it with us. 

Holiday Blues

Dear UD,

I stand here, looking at the next month and a half, and I am paralyzed. All that’s left of 2015 is the holiday season, and for us, that means my birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Lexi’s 21^st birthday and New Year’s Eve, not to mention several other family birthdays.

Flip the calendar back one year and the landscape changes drastically. 

A year ago today, I prepared for our much anticipated trip to visit Lexi, and in many ways, you were part of my unforgettable birthday celebration and our adventures in Manhattan. We experienced a NYC Thanksgiving, five people and a toddler scrunched around the table in a kitchen the size of a closet. Dinner was delicious, and the whole day was lovely and perfect. That evening after watching a movie in plush recliners, we walked to 85^th street and took pictures of the apartment where you lived for years, right on the edge of Central Park.

A year ago, we planned and packed, selling or donating most of our furniture to return home for the holidays. Christmas on the farm with family, surrounded by loved ones. Photographs with Dad for the last time. Huge meals, stockings and presents around the Christmas tree, kids jumping on the trampoline in the cold, games of Spades, Bridge, Cribbage, and Scrabble, 10 siblings, 20 cousins. 

A year ago, Lexi’s 20^th birthday and New Year’s Eve celebrations with you and Britt. You treated us to opening week of Into the Woods at the movie theater, and we all loved it. Afterwards, we ate birthday cake and played Broadway around your dining room table until the ball dropped. We clinked glasses, sipped our sparkling apple cider, and welcomed in the New Year with kisses and hugs. Love and laughter. The first day of 2015, we woke up to family and you, cooking omelets for each of us.

I didn’t know then that it would be the last movie with you, the last time we’d play the game you created. I didn’t know then that Dad would be gone in just four days. Yes, he was on hospice. Yes, he was shrinking and struggling for breath, but he hid how bad the pain was, and we thought we had more time. More time with him and definitely more time with you. I didn’t know then that you would leave us, suddenly, near the end of April.

Last holiday season….so many memories that I cherish. I look back and smile.

I look forward and weep. How do we move forward into this first holiday season after such loss?

Just yesterday, someone mentioned decorating Christmas trees, and suddenly, I remembered the I love NYC ornament that I bought for you last November and gave you last year for Christmas. Gut-punched, I realized that you would never get the chance to put it on your tree.

I talked to a sister and cousin, both also missing you so much. The prospect of putting together a family calendar without you is unthinkable. How do we do this?

Instead of Christmas songs, I’ll put on some Muddy Waters and B. B. King. Eric Clapton and Etta James will sing me a bedtime lullaby. And, I’ll think of you and Dad.

The activities, the busyness, I can do that. I can continue on, do the traditions, but the emotional part, the joy and peace and love that belongs to this season, I don’t see how I can get there this year.

What I can do is choose my focus.

A new baby in the extended family, and what a sweet blessing.

A sister off the streets, on a bus headed home for the holidays.

Gracie, a calico kitten, purred and bounced her way into my sister’s home. 

My daughters, intelligent and talented, bold and beautiful—together for this holiday season. 

So, I reach my way through paralysis and take a small step.

UD, I will sing a song for you and Dad, raise a toast to you, play a game you taught me, think of you…always.

Love, Rach

Tectonic Plates

Dear UD,

Last night I dreamt of you again, and of Dad, and the family farm, the rolling beauty of the Ozarks—

snatches of dialogue, mirror distortions, only pieces, images remain

yet I wake up heavy with sadness,

longing to hear your voices again.

Everything reminds me of you or Dad or you and Dad. Everything.

Even dreaming because I think of the first sentence of your favorite book.

From Rebecca: Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

Last month we went to the World Premiere of “Sherlock in Love” at the Cocoa Village Playhouse, so of course, I thought of you who loved anything to do with theater and of Dad who loved anything to do with Holmes. I wanted so much to call you up, afterwards, so we could do our thing. Analyze the play, the acting, the scenery, the atmosphere. Dissect the writing and costume and ending. Share the connection, the moment.

I hadn’t realized how much you brought to my life, how much I relied on you, how much I’d miss you. You were a huge part of my creative process for writing, teaching, living, and I don’t know how to fill the void that opened when you died.

Last night, Halloween, I watched one of the movies about a massive earthquake that destroys so much in one terrifying day. Scariest movie I’ve seen in a long time, partly because it’s too realistic, but also because it shows what so many are going through right now.

Tectonic plates shift shift shift. We don’t even know. We can’t see or feel anything. Until it’s too late. Until the earth shifts again and breaks apart, displacing and demolishing everything in its path.

I’ve heard of so many friends and family and even strangers who have recently experienced this devastating rearrangement in one way or another. For me, in the past two years…

My ex made a decision that impacts me and our daughters. Shift.

Grandpa died at age 96, leaving land and legacy. From my earliest memories until May 2014, he was part of my life, yet now he’s gone. Shift.

Dad died on January 4, 2015, leaving us without him and his knowledge and brilliance. Our roles in the family transformed. Shift.

And then you, Uncle David, on April 28. Another shift and my world broke apart, displacing, annihilating, obliterating.

Everything in pieces.  

We are left to put the pieces back together, to rebuild, restore. It’s been six months now, and I’m trying, working, processing. But it’s difficult to do it without you, to sort the pieces, to process the emotions.

Like this morning, UD, when I realized it’s a new month, and I turned the page of the last family calendar that you will ever make for the family. That hurts. Then, I turned the page of the Lexi-Laina calendar that you made special for us, and I see the November images you chose, the photographs I took of Lexi and Laina during our trip to New York City last Thanksgiving. The girls smiling in Central Park with the backdrop of autumn leaves. The girls huddled together against a brick wall in Uptown NY. The girls standing in front of the strong iron gates of Columbia College where you earned a Masters in Clinical Psychology once upon a time. The memories are bittersweet. Lovely because the three of us were together. Lovely because you were part of our vacation in many ways. Lovely because we will always have our NYC trip. Sad because it’s a year later yet you are not here anymore.

November is my birthday month, and I can’t help thinking of last year when I was in NYC with my girls, and we had the most magical day. It began with a special breakfast of coffee and gluten-free muffins that Erin fixed for me. After that, Lexi, Laina, and I rode the subway all the way to the end and took the Ferry to Staten Island and back, viewing Ellis Island, the shorelines of Manhattan and New Jersey, Brooklyn Bridge, and the Statue of Liberty along the way. Next, we took the subway to Greenwich Village where we ate lunch at Jekyll and Hyde, which I loved and which was possible thanks to your generous birthday surprise. After our delicious meal, we walked around the area until Lexi had to return to school for class. Then, Laina and I went to Chambers Street where tourists asked us for directions. We walked to Wall Street and St. Paul’s Cathedral and visited Ground Zero and the 9/11 Memorials and Museum. I teared up just walking to Ground Zero, and being inside the museum was challenging. 

We ended the day by eating NY pizza at Kesté Pizza before taking the train back. I will never forget that extraordinary birthday and how loved I felt because of you, my girls, and my friend.

At this moment I’m not looking forward to this birthday or the upcoming holiday season. Too much loss. Shift. Shift. Shift. Too much change, and the tremors shake us. Another shift, and we stand amidst the ruins of our lives and wonder how to go on.

Everything is different.

Thus, I am led to the awareness that part of reconstructing and renovating the devastation in our lives is to create new traditions, new relationships, and new ways of processing. The problem is where to start. When I stand here overlooking the destruction, I am paralyzed.

I feel alone and lonely. Like if I let go of the grief I will be empty. As if the void left from these losses will fill me up until I am nothing. No one.

The truth is I cannot do it alone.

So, I surround myself with others who understand. For instance, I talk to my cousin every week because, like me, she knows loss, and like me, she knows you, UD. We have that bond, and nothing can break strength that emerges from a battlefield. Also, I joined a grief share group where I can leave behind my responsibilities and roles, where I can simply be a girl who lost her grandpa, dad, and uncle, where I can lament and learn new ways of coping.

The truth is that I must rebuild on a solid foundation, on something that will never be destroyed, will never be taken away, will never leave me.

My faith leads me to that foundation as I turn to God and the promises in His Word. Like the promise to “never leave nor forsake.” Or the hope we can have because of Him in this life and the next. He is a God I can count on even if I don’t understand the whys or the ways. His love is fierce and forever. And, He is here, close, and all I have to do is ask. “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.” Matthew 7:7-8. So, God I ask you to heal my heart and restore my life.

The truth is that I need a change in perspective. From negative to positive. From masks to authentic self.

I know this, though it’s hard to do right now. Too many triggers snap me back to deep sadness or throw me into anger or fling me into heartache. Underlying everything, I am exhausted and stressed—emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually.

Enter November, the month of thanksgivings, the month where I normally join others in 30 days of gratitude. I can’t, or won’t, do so again this year. I’m not there yet, though I want to be. I miss you and Dad too much. I miss me with you guys in this world, in my life. And if I am going to rebuild in this new world, the one without you, then I need new ways. I am rebuilding not only my life but also myself.

Therefore, I am going to start a new November tradition in honor of you, Dad, and Grandpa. Grandpa had a sweet spirit and always looked for the best in everyone and everything, and you and Dad both loved life in unique and interesting ways. So, I am going to look for and share a thing of beauty every day this month.

A Thing of Beauty is combining gratitude with seeing things in a new way and with authenticity; it’s living in the moment and acknowledging what is (good and bad) and reinventing what life gives us. This reminds me of Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem, “Valentine for Ernest Mann” where the narrator sees beauty and connection in the eyes of skunks. This I feel I can do. I can look at what is, whether I like it or not, whether it’s ugly or bizarre, and find beauty or create meaning out of the muck. Like a lotus flower, I can find a way to blossom out of the mud.

As Anne Lamott says in Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, “Think of reverence as awe, as presence in and openness to the world. Think of those times when you’ve read prose or poetry that is presented in such a way that you have a fleeting sense of being startled by beauty or insight, by a glimpse into someone’s soul. All of a sudden everything seems to fit together or at least to have some meaning for a moment.” A Thing of Beauty is just that: to approach life with the “openness” and sense of “wonder” in order to reveal meaning.

Lamott also writes that “It’s like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can’t stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship.” My heart and spirt have been battered by this earthquake in my life, and my hope is that this activity will renew my heart and spirit and touch others in the process.

UD, I think you would love this idea. I can imagine what you would say, and this month, I will hold you and Dad close as I choose A Thing of Beauty each day. My first choice is the memories I hold of you, Dad, and Grandpa. I’m smiling as I remember enjoying family events at your house, fishing in our pond with Grandpa, or watching road movies with Dad. One of the last movies I watched with Dad was About Time, and the protagonist shares that “We're all traveling through time together, every day of our lives. All we can do is do our best to relish this remarkable ride.” As I focus on these positive memories, I am filled with contentment and love in this moment. All three of you taught me so much, and I have become who I am because of you. I consider it a privilege and am grateful. Your love enfolds me and stays with me no matter what, and that is A Thing of Beauty. 

Love, Rach