Then There Were Four

The familiar hum of the airplane whirs and buzzes around me in spite of the music in my headphones. I’m plugged into my music trying my best to pretend I’m on a large bus or train. I’ve always had a fear of flying but I’ll save that story for another entry. That’s not why I’m writing today. Last night Cliff and I missed our connecting flight to Buffalo, New York. It’s the week of our anniversary and we’re going to see my friend Sue.

Anyway, because of air traffic and mechanical issues, we missed the connecting flight and had to stay the night in Atlanta. There was a lot of time to kill. Like most people, we pulled out our phones and perused good old social media. A few things came up on my feed. There was the usual political ranting, right and left wing, and no holds barred. Advertisements and vacation pictures were in between the madness. Then my brother Mitch scrolled into view. He posted two pictures that still have my heart reeling this morning. For those of you that have flown with me, you know that I’m the chic in Bridesmaids looking for the colonial woman churning butter on the wing. But this morning she’s not there. I’m calm and burdened all at the same time.

My brother and I have a special bond. We always have. Through out child hood we have had experiences that are not for blog posting. What I will tell you is that they were experiences that changed us as people and in my mind they have tied us together more than the average sibling. So when I saw his feed, I was broken hearted. I couldn’t reach out to him to give a hug and I couldn’t call because it was late. Maybe I should have.

There on my phone was a picture of our mother whizzing through the breeze on her scooter. The last few years she needed one because walking long distances became difficult for her. On her hand was what my husband would loving call her “Linus”; her vapor thing that she traded smoking in for. There was a look of joy, peace, and mischief. I remember the day that picture was taken. We were heading to the pool in our apartment complex and my friend Melissa caught her in action. She was up to something and you could see it in her face. Another friend, Lisse, always used to joke that Mom was up to no good. I love that picture. It’s the visual depiction of Mom’s spirit. The caption read, “This is what she’s doing now.”

The other picture that appeared on my screen was a picture of my brother holding her hand while she lay taking her last breaths in the hospital. The caption read, “I miss Mom.” Her manicure was perfect. She loved the way Kevin at the nail salon I would take her to made a French manicure look perfect. I saved both pictures even though I’m sure I have them. My brother and Mom had a difficult relationship and that was the last time he had to spend with her. I miss her so much that it makes my whole body hurt but I had her with me the last three years. In that moment as I looked at that picture  I realized how much I love my siblings. I wanted to take my brother’s pain and sadness and keep it for myself so that he didn’t have to endure it any longer. But I can’t.

As a middle child, I have always found myself trying to fix the problems in my family. In some way or another, I wanted to take care of my brother and my sisters. I still do. I’m not a mother and I never have been but when I see them hurt, I wonder if this is what it’s like. I often heard my Mom say that when we were in pain she was too. Seeing that picture made me feel pain and guilt. I can’t fix this. I can’t mend them.

Then I thought about my sisters. Mom raised four strong willed children. My siblings are very intelligent, creative, and pains in my ass. I mean that with all the love I have in my heart. Through life and through this journey of losing our mother, I have come to realize that even when I’m angry with them or we’re having a good time, I want to take care of them. I want to hold them until they feel how much I love them. Right now I’m not getting along with one of my sisters and in spite of that, I still want to wrap her in love.  Over the years it has been rocky with all of us collectively. Whenever I see other families that get along, I miss mine more and more. There were times that we played together and laughed for hours. I miss those moments.

           

As we surrounded my mother one last time, I knew this was the last time we would all be together as a family. For so long it was just Mom and the four of us against the world. She wasn’t a perfect mother. No one is. But she loved us with everything she had in her. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for her raising us alone. How many nights did she go to bed worried or scared? I never asked her. But now some nights I go to bed worried and scared for them. It’s a weird and I’m aware of that. The worry and fear is really just a reality check. Growing up I always believed that I could make them better. If I loved them enough, I could heal them. As I bump around at 30,000 feet, all I can think of is them.

Our glue is gone. I always believed it was me but it wasn’t. Mom was the tie between us even when half of us weren’t talking to her. She was loud. She was funny. She was a pain in the ass and she was all ours. As I look at those pictures I realize that we all had our own special connection to her. Now that she’s gone, we’re all lost in some way. We’re trying to find our new normal and it’s been tough. Each day seems like a rite of passage now.

I can’t make it better but what my siblings don’t know is that right now as I sit on this flight, they have taken care of me. I’m consumed with love and worry for them. I was able to type this blog through most of the flight. I feel them in my heart in this moment. I can’t take their pain away but I can love them right here and now regardless of disagreements that we may have at one time or another. I love with more than my heart and soul. I love them with my whole being.

Moving forward...The journey is not easy

Missing Mom has not been easy. It feels wrong. I feel guilty and then I feel sad. Then, I feel a rush of sadness again and then I cry. I thought at this point in my grief I thought that I would stop crying every day. That hasn't happened. My car is my favorite place to cry. Someone told me that when their mother passed away, they cried every day for a year. I don't want that to be me but I am learning that most of the time, it's not my choice. It sneaks up on you. It hits you in the stomach, upside the head, and then straight to the heart. I feel crazy and my body hurts. Another bonus of grieving I have been experiencing.

I'm not letting it stop me. Some days I just want it to consume me. I want to lay in bed and sob, then sleep, then cry some more. But the fighter in me, the voice that wants to make Mom proud, won't let me. So I get up early and I go to my workout class. Then I get ready for work. The day is ahead of me. I set weekly goals in my Passion Planner. Sometimes my goals are simple: meditate. Sometimes they're more complicated: Write, work on your book. But I'm trying. It's not easy. Everything reminds me of her. I mean EVERYTHING. I still gauge the quality of a restaurant by whether or not she could use the stairs to get into that building. In the time she lived with us, I unintentionally programmed myself to check out all of the handicapped parking. My husband and I attended a wedding this past weekend and I remembered our wedding and Mom. If I close my eyes and pause, I can hear her singing and playing the guitar. She's everywhere. It's comforting and heartbreaking. 

It's funny the things I think about at night. I wonder if she's watching me. I can't be certain because I'm in the phase of not being sure what to think about all of that. I wonder if I told her I loved her more if that would bring her back. Of course it won't but the 5 year old inside of me misses her Mommy very much and wants to know anyway. I lost my sounding board. Parts of me are still the same but there is this new person who doesn't have Mom anymore. There is a new element of me and I'm trying to learn who that is. Grief can often shake a belief system, especially when it was already in question. 

I'm embracing this journey of moving forward and trudging through the slog that is grief. What choice do I have? My bed is comfortable and my tears are cleansing but I do have some life ahead of me. I promise I'm doing everything I can not to get mired down by grief. There are opportunities in my future and if I don't take them, she'll haunt me  ( if she is a ghost ). I wish I could say that it has gotten easier. It's not easier. Reality has fully set in and I can either wallow in it or do my best to live with the hole in my heart. I have dear friends who have made this journey. Most have said that the journey continues, you just learn to navigate it. I will miss her until the day comes that someone will miss me too. I love you Mom. 

Mother's Day...Sigh

For the last three Mother's Day celebrations, my husband Cliff snuck out of the house and bought flowers and a card for his mother-in-law. Then he'd trek over to the grocery store and buy groceries with the intention of making a lovely meal for Mom. We hung out with Mom and spent time. She loved her flowers and enjoyed the meal made by Cliff. "My favorite son-in-law!" she'd say. This Mother's Day has been quite different. 

Cliff made his usual trek to the grocery store to get groceries for a lovely meal but two things are missing; flowers for Mom and Mom. This is the first Mother's Day that I'm not celebrating with Mom. At least not in person. I feel the loss more heavily than I anticipated. We're still doing dinner in her honor. My sister, Jodie, is here to celebrate as well and I'm so grateful.  We'll have a great meal and then we'll all sign a card that we'll burn. We're still making this most of this day. 

At first the Mother's Day advertisements didn't bother me at all. I'm sure in some ways I intentionally ignored them. I pretended I didn't care. Then I went card shopping with Cliff. We still had to send his mom a card. So there I was standing in the card aisle at CVS watching him and other customers pick out cards. Out of nowhere it hit. Bam! Mom is gone and I can't pick out a card. I started sobbing and I freaked out half the customers in the store. It's not like I fell apart in the middle of the sales floor. I wasn't screaming or yelping. I simply sobbed. I felt more empty and alone even though I was surrounded by people. That's the thing about grief. It isolates you without meaning to. It just happens. You're the only person in the room in a fog. I looked at Cliff and I noticed he wasn't picking cards out anymore. He held one out to me and with held back tears said, "This one's for your Mom. We'll burn it and have a glass of wine." I smiled through the tears. Mom and I used to share a glass of wine some evenings. 

I miss Mom. My sister and I talked about that a lot this weekend. It's good to be spending time with her. It's been hard grieving without family. Cliff has been such a rock through all of this but sometimes it's comforting to grieve with a sibling. So today instead of being sad and angry that Mom isn't here, we're celebrating the woman she was and the fact that she was our Mom. Happy Mother's Day, Mom wherever you are. We love you.

No longer a daughter...

The last words my Mom said to were, "Can't breathe.." over the phone. Her voice still rings in my ears since that day. I was working on my first client of the day when she messaged me that she needed help. In those few seconds, I knew this was it. We had called 911 and been subjugated to time in the ICU twice before. I was worried and stressed both times but I knew it was different this time. I foolishly told her to call 911 and let her know I was on my way. I called Cliff and told him to get home and I called my sister to let her know she needed to get here. Then I called 911 from my car because I had that feeling. I made a mistake. I should have called first. My mind was already in driving mode. I was desperate to treat this like the routine it had become. I should have listened to the feeling and called right away. It was a difference of 5-7 minutes.

I arrived at my house to an ambulance and a fire truck. Cliff greeted me in the driveway. "It's not good," he said. "She's not breathing and her heart is stopped." Panic set in and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see anything but tears. I can vaguely remember the sequence of events. They all sort of go together. There was text messaging to people in my acting class letting them know I wasn't going to be there. There was a hurried phone call to my sister. At some point I made my way into the house. There in my living room floor surrounded by police and paramedics was my mother. They were doing compressions and injecting something that I can't recall. She was blue and lifeless as they made every effort to literally pounded her heart and life back into rhythm. At one point they asked me to leave the room. They had to and I can't blame them. In that moment, the fear was so great that everything went blank within my mind and my being. I was outside of myself watching Mom die.

 I couldn't hear well. I couldn't see well and yet I was more aware than ever. I had often imagined what this moment might be like and I still wasn't prepared. You never are.

We followed the ambulance to the hospital and sat in the emergency room forever. Minutes pass very slowly when facing one's fear. Cliff made all the phone calls to family. I sat holding my mother's lifeless hand in the emergency room. Machines breathed for her as the doctor explained what she thinks may have happened. The only thing I understood was that her heart had stopped and they finally got it beating. I think that was what the paramedic was explaining to me as well in the waiting room. That whole day was a fog.

Through out the next few days, we knew Mom wasn't going to wake up. My brother arrived and after lots of tears and family strife, we all pulled together to let her go. Prayers were said. We let her know how much we loved her. And then she was gone. It was quiet and it was heart wrenching. To say that we were heavy hearted is an understatement. I don't know if you can describe truly what that moment feels like. Mom was always our mom. She had taken care of us. There were times when it was just the four of us and her against the world. Now it's just the four of us.

For the next few weeks, I was in a fog. I'm still in that fog. The hardest adjustment is that she isn't here. She lived with me and Cliff for the last few years. She was a part of the every day routine in our house. Every morning before I left for work, I let Benny ( the family fur baby ) into her room. At night we had chats about anything and nothing. She drove me crazy on a daily basis and yet I loved having her here. It's weird isn't it? I'd get so frustrated with her and then we'd share a glass of wine. I miss all of it every day.

It took me several weeks to be able to come into the house by myself after work. I was afraid to go in for lots of reasons. For one, she always greeted me when I came in, no matter how late. And two, every time I tried to walk in, I was paralyzed by the fear of seeing her in the floor with the paramedics. We ended up rearranging the living room and getting new furniture. It helps but there are still days that I don't get out of my car right away. I also don't spend time in the living room unless Cliff is home. I try not to look at her bedroom door either.

I know that she'll always be my Mom but I deal with the reality that she no longer exists in this world. I know she's in my heart and I have all of my memories with her. I hear that all the time. It's a great sentiment but it doesn't fill the hole that I carry, the hole we all carry when we lose a loved one.  I literally have a hole in my heart that will be empty for the rest of my days. It will get better with time but time just hasn't passed enough yet. Some days I still feel her. Someone asked me if I felt like an orphan. I don't think so. I grew up with a parent that I knew and loved well. I feel like I'm not her daughter anymore and that makes me feel lost.

The week following her passing I had a dream about her. I have only shared this with a few people but now I'm sharing it with all of you. In my dream she woke up. She was still in the hospital bed and there was a beautiful soft light all around her. Her eyes were full of  color and light. Her hair was perfect and she smiled at through her lashes. I told her, "Mommy you scared us." She smiled again and I felt warmth. Then I woke up. I've had dreams about her since but thats the only one where we really had any connection.

I'm doing my best to move on and live life. That's what she wanted. In fact, one of her requests was not to have a funeral. She wanted a big party that celebrated her life and we did just that. I will grieve and I will continue to cry a lot. But I am determined to live the life I dreamed of and the life that she dreamed for me. But still..it's one day at a time. I love you Mom.

This is one of my favorite pictures with the four of us and Mom. We got those outfits from Santa.

Our first selfie together. She had just had her first food truck experience. 

Mom and Benny

Im not sure how old she is in this photo. Possibly her twenties. 

Memories and Magic

"OK now be quiet and sit still," my mother said as she instructed us to take a place on the couch. "He'll be here any minute." We were so excited. The biggest and most important celebrity in all of kid-dom was paying a visit to our house.

My mom had to be very creative during the holidays. As a single mother of four children, we didn't have much and resources were limited. The holiday season was a special time for my family because my Mom found a way to make the magic of Christmas come alive in our home. This year we were going to get a special visit from the Big Guy himself.

"How come he is coming early," one of us asked.
"Well," Mom replied, "He is trying to get ahead this year I guess. All I know is that
I heard he was coming early so I put in a call to his elves and we got lucky."

We sat patiently as Mom put the cookies and milk out on the dining room table. She used my grandmother's good China and a fancy napkin; nothing but the best for our special guest. We whispered with hushed excitement to one another. The possibilities of what we might get were endless. Mom checked the peephole one last time to make sure that he hadn't arrived yet. Everything, including the four of us, was ready.

Like a mist creeping under the front door, he appeared. "Ho, ho, ho!"
There we was in a glorious red suit. He carried a large bag and and had an elf following closely behind him. Santa arrived at our house and he was more than jolly. He was the first and most important celebrity that I would ever meet in my life and he was delivering presents to us personally. Wow!

After we settled down, my Mom escorted him to the dining room table. He ate the cookies and milk while he answered all of our questions about the elves, the sleigh, and Rudolph. No matter what we asked, he had the right answer. His eyes twinkled and his laugh filled our home with love and magic. He was enchanting and everything that my six year old mind had dreamed of. Santa had come to town and we were among the privileged few who had a quiet visit.

He reached into his big bag and pulled out a present for each of us. Laughing with excitement, we opened them in a flash. We each got identical sweatsuits with E.T. on the sweatshirt; my brother's was blue and ours was red. E.T. was very popular then so we were over the moon with joy. Then Santa had to leave. We said "Goodbye" and "Thank you soooo much!" "You're welcome and be good. Remember, I'm watching." With a wink and smile, he was gone. I am sure that I heard the bells from his sleigh as he made his way to the next house.

Years later, I asked my mom about that night. It turns out that Santa and his elf was a nice couple who wanted to reach out to their community. They put an ad in the paper saying they would deliver presents for free. My Mom wasn't sure who they really were but she trusted them anyway. She left the gifts by the door so that he could bring them in when he made his grand entrance. Anything could have happened that night but instead it was a night where two people gave their time and love to strangers. They wanted to make Christmas special. The magic I felt that night was real. Miracles happen in all kinds of ways.

I miss that time so much. I can remember the last time I had Christmas with all of my siblings. I'm sure my mom can't remember either. I love my family and in spite of whatever we have done or said to one another, I miss them and hope that the next miracle is all of us together on Christmas one more time. 

Peace and Love to All

In Loving Memory...

It's been three years since my father-in-law passed away. He left quietly on the morning before Thanksgiving. We had all been taking care of him around the clock for three weeks. Cliff and I drove in every weekend to relieve his mother and his aunt. Hospice came in and helped but I didn't realize that they weren't there all the time. This wasn't my first experience with death and losing a loved one, but it was the first time for me to see "the light fade". I know this is going to sound crazy, but that holiday season and that time are something that I cherish.

I met my father-in-law when I was twenty. I had been dating Cliff for a few months and I was nervous about meeting these people. I already knew that they were different from anyone I had ever met. They were country folks and I was a city girl. I had talked on the phone with Johnnie ( later he was Dad to me ) only once. He seemed funny and he liked to talk...a lot. He told me that when Cliff was a little boy, Cliff screamed with terror before he got a spanking. In fact, that was how he got out them. I almost didn't understand him through his laughter as he recounted the story to me. I was already struggling to make out what he said. He had a crazy Cajun/East Texas accent combo that made it hard for me to understand him. I don't remember much about the first time I met him, only that he was funny and I laughed a lot.

On our wedding day, he wore his first tux ever in his life. He smiled and strutted with pride, He looked good! During our first kiss, he told Cliff to, "Give her the tongue boy!" Dad was always saying something off the wall. That's who he was and he didn't apologize for it. He just let it all out. He had already been through so much in life that he probably thought, "What the hell?" He was the recipient of heart surgeries and back surgeries. Over the years that Cliff and I were married, I witnessed many episodes of hospital stays and moments that we thought were his last. That stubborn old goat pulled through every time but it was clear that he was on borrowed time. We all knew it but he understood it. Looking back, I suspect he knew when he was in the last year of his life. I wish he would have clued us in but death is funny that way. It's quiet and sneaky. Death can lurk for months and whisper, "I'm here," while we are all busy living life.

I had an amazing relationship with Dad. He had become another parent to me. Whenever he and my mother-in-law stayed with us, he and I would sit up late at night chatting away. In the morning, he made sure we had coffee. Whenever we went to visit them, he was usually my first hug. It as customary for me to climb into his lap like a little kid and hug his neck. When we took road trips, he was my co-pilot. My dad is far away from me so to have another loving dad close by was a blessing.

The weeks leading up to his death, I read over the literature that the hospice care people left behind. I wanted to make sure that I understood what was happening for my family and for myself. That literature gave me the strength to keep it together. Dad knew he was leaving and I wanted him to see that we would be OK, that I would be OK. It may seem unusual for a daughter-in-law to cling so closely to a family she married into but you have to understand, I was 20 years old when this man came  into my life. I had been married to his son for fifteen years at that point. Dad watched me and his son become thriving adults together.

Now don't get me wrong, like every family we had our issues. It wasn't all sweet memories with roses and butterflies. If I was reading a book, he got frustrated with me. He didn't understand why I would want to do that instead of spending talking to him. He used to give me lots of shit because Cliff and I had not had children. It made me angry that he continued to abuse his body with cigarettes and bad eating habits. But that's family. That's what happens and I had to accept him for better or for worse too.  At the end of the day, he was my buddy. He was my other dad.  He is still part of my heart.

The morning he took his last breath, we were all exhausted. Another thing I learned about death is that while it's on its way, the soul it's coming to get doesn't keep regular hours. They are up and down often and they need pain medicine. They need support to go to the bathroom. The body shuts down and everyone has to be there to help it. Some nights, I just held his hand while he slept or hallucinated. Believe it or not, there was laughter and love through the whole process but it was exhausting. I'm not a nurse and now I appreciate what they do.

He drew his last breath around 8:00 AM. My mother-in-law, Cliff and I were quietly talking and joking to try and lighten our spirits. There were no lights on. The sun barely cracked through the curtains giving just enough light in the living room.  The living room was the only space big enough for the hospital bed that Dad slept in. My sweet niece, Jessica,  was in the shower. I have to give a shout out to her. She was 20 years old at that time and she had been there every weekend taking shifts to help care for her Grandpa. She showed more maturity and love than I ever could have at that age and I am so proud of her. I can't imagine what that experience was like for her and she did an amazing job stepping in.

Dad breathed in and out one last time. We all looked. It was like we didn't know what to do. Cliff got up first and went to Dad's side.

"Dad?" he said quietly. Then Mom got up and went to his side. I sat in the chair just to the side of him and watched, holding my breath. Cliff felt Dad's chest first and then lay his head down to listen.

"He's gone," Cliff breathed.

"I love you, baby," Mom whispered.

Just like that, death had carried him away. There were no tremors. Trumpets didn't sound. It was just quiet. There is nothing more silent than when a soul has left and the light has gone out. Of course in those moments after, the scene from a dark comedy played itself out. Dad had requested that his false teeth be put back in after he died. He wanted to be buried with his teeth.

"I'll do it," Mom said.

Cliff helped open Dad's mouth and mom started to insert them. Cue the comedy...

"You're putting them in sideways!" Cliff exclaimed.

"No they go in this way!" Mom informed.

"Are you sure?" Cliff asked.

"I'm sure" she answered. She should know, she had her own set as well.

This moment was Dad. Dad loved to laugh and I'm sure he was somewhere laughing at us. Only this crazy family would be debating over how false teeth were supposed to go in. Dad was a funny guy so why wouldn't he have a last laugh at our expense? There was still sadness but at least the tension had broken. That's how this family works. In spite of sadness, they all get through it. When they were planning for the funeral, my husband asked about a used casket so they could get a better deal. I know this all sounds morbid, but the one thing I have learned from my in-laws is that you really can laugh through your tears.

Yesterday when I was driving into work, it hit me that it was the anniversary of his death. How could I forget? He left this world at a time of year when we're all supposed to be thankful for what we have. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. I would have pulled over but  I was on the freeway. That's the funny thing about grief. You don't get to decide when you're going to do it. Sometimes, it just happens. I allowed myself to cry and let it all out. After that, I went on with the rest of my day and celebrated life in honor of Dad.

I miss the old fart. I miss him terribly. He was the father I didn't know I needed. He was loud, funny, annoying, and goofy. I will always remember his laugh and I will miss hugging his neck. My advice; hug your loved ones. Love them with every fiber of your being. We're not promised tomorrow and today is we all have. Happy Thanksgiving!

I love you Dad Frazee.

Reflections

Wow! I can't believe we are halfway through November. The holiday season is upon us and I find myself in a funky way. In the last few months I have tried and worked my tail off trying to grow as an actor. I have also spent time growing my business and promoting my book. I have been busy. I had hoped that one of these posts would find me bragging about another acting job booked or that I had become a best selling author. However, I'm still successful even if I feel like I'm not.

The acting thing is something I will never figure out. I am trying and I study my craft hard. This month I am doing a character study on the late Ann Miller, a famous tap dancer who made her way into Hollywood during it's Golden Era. As part of my study I have been watching hours of footage. I have also been taking tap lessons from Kate Evetts, owner and instructor at Lonestar Dance Studio in Pflugerville . Tomorrow I will present Ann to the class. So even though I am not booking and I haven't auditioned in a while, I'm enjoying the work and all that comes with being an actor. I still get sad about not being on set more but that is life.

My book is selling well but I learned that Amazon is blocking some of my good reviews. That's annoying. I had a reader reach out to me with her review because Amazon wouldn't  post it. Oh Amazon! You are the devil we know. Of course I am still pleased that I published a book and that I will have another one on the way.

In the midst of busy salon life, the owners of the salon I work at parted ways. One moved on and one kept the place going and I am so grateful. The last thing I wanted to do was change locations during the holidays with my crazy schedule. Without going into details, the split has been emotional. Things have been said and feelings have been hurt. The only thing I can say is that I am grateful for my salon family. Change is good even when we can't see it. My biggest take away is that if I allow myself, I can be spiteful and angry. These last few weeks taught me that I need to breathe and let go. I also need to respect the people around me no matter what. This too shall pass.

Mom and I are making progress. Every day I try to make sure that I am talking to her and having good conversation. I once had a friend tell me that she wished she could have one more conversation with her mother after she passed. I'm trying to do that now, you know, fill each day with love and a chat with Mom.

This season I am going to be grateful. I am blessed and I am lucky. Life is so much out of our control. The only thing I can control is myself and what I choose to watch on Netflix. Plus I can hug Cliff. These past months have taught me that I am susceptible to wallowing in self pity. I need to let that go and take life one day at a time. Yesterday is over and tomorrow does not exist. I only have today.