Tumbled Words

Please note: This letter is not written to me, but shared with me by my friend who just lost her mother. The letter was written to M, a Hospice nurse.

Why am I sharing it? You know me, I had so many reasons listed here, but unlike me, I deleted them all, but this one: The letter is beautiful - in heart and intent.

It brings tears to my eyes and warmth to my heart — and her mom reminds me of mine… but it is posted because: it is a beautiful example of one human being connecting with another.

The words in {} are my changes for her privacy. Printed with C’s permission.

I wish you all human connection - and to make a difference to someone.

May 13, 2008

M,

Since I never know when or if I’m liable to see you again, I wanted to add a few things to my rambling tonight (without so much of the rambling).

First and foremost, thank you…for being you, and for doing what you do. I don’t know exactly what it is about you that got to me the most – maybe it was that on our first night there, your simple, direct manner, and saying, “Tell me about your mother…I’d like to know her”, was exactly what I needed to hear. Everyone there is wonderful and dedicated, but I think I felt the greatest connection to you. There are the “beamers” (those whose faces seem to glow when they talk about my mother’s ‘journey’), the “touchers” (those who look concerned and caring and always rub you on the shoulder or hug), the “business” types who are more like the nurses and doctors I’ve known from the hospitals. You don’t quite fit any of those molds. They all have their place and have all provided reassurance and comfort. Sometimes I need to feel emotional, and sometimes I need grounding.

You ground me. It’s obvious that you care, but you’re also pragmatic, down to earth, and have a knack for making me smile. Sure you weren’t a therapist in a previous life? You remind me this isn’t the end of the world, but a tough and natural time. You poke me when I need poking, listen when you think I need to be listened to. B said to me the other night, “If M’s on duty, be careful that you don’t stay too late shooting the sh*t with her, because it’s what I’d do.”

I also didn’t want to leave you with the sense that ours is a completely dysfunctional family (OK, we do have our issues). This has been a particularly poignant time for all of us. B dissects facts; I dissect emotions. My mother would have been so happy to see B and I pull together through this. One of her greatest wishes was for the two of us to be close, to have each other to lean on, and we have. I’ve been pleasantly surprised at his dedication…never would have guessed it. When I don’t want to strangle him, I’ve actually mellowed towards my father. I’ve watched his heart break, even heard him whisper to my mother while leaning over her bed, “I should have treated you better.” The day after I arrived in {their town}, I was with the two of them during their last night together in their apartment (where they’d been for 20+ years), watched them holding hands on the sofa, then had a last slow dance in their living room. It was obvious my mother was already very sick, but it was an incredibly tender moment and I was happy to see it.

I didn’t come to {their town} out of a sense of obligation. My cross to bear is that I didn’t realize how much I loved my mother until she became ill, and I truly have been devastated by it. Sure, there’s been guilt, regrets…and I’ve experienced the full gamut of emotions I knew I had and never knew I had. Bottom line is that I finally realized what a wonderful person she was, how much she had done for me, and I wanted to give back.

I was the light of her life. She loved all of us, but I know her times with me were particularly special to her. She reminisced about the simplest things…a time we went to a movie, got an ice cream cone, just spent time together. She never ceased telling me how proud she was of me, that I was “a beautiful person inside and out”. Those cards stacked on her bedside table are all cards I looked for the other day and found I’d kept for years…cards she picked out carefully for their meaning. The poem in the Lucite frame plays “You Are My Sunshine”…a gift she once sent me.

She taught me that the littlest things in life are usually the biggest, and that’s quite a lesson. It’s taken a long time, but she also taught me how to say what’s in my heart. So if there’s any good to be found in this experience, it’s that it pulled our family closer together, cut through the crap, and caused me to largely forgive, if not forget, the more difficult periods, or at least put them aside to be with her during what has become a sacred and intensely personal time for me.

Thank you for being a part of that. It’s been a privilege knowing you.

{signed by C}

Tags: appreciation, Hospice, letter, thanks

And so, Mom, how goes it up there? Is it what you expected? I assume you are still looking down on us and I figured our traveling across country twice would have gotten your attention, you so wanted to travel more. I tried to get a condo on the beach since I know that was your dream - and is one of mine, too, but that will have to wait, too many condo associations are going under, people are paying their mortgages if they can and not their association fees.

I know at times it probably seems to you I don’t miss you, but hey, I hear your words so often it is almost like you are here - and yeah, I know how proud you are of your grandsons. And I know you probably had something to say to the “powers that be” about not being around to see your great granddaughter. I bet he is still having second thoughts about that decision - assuming he decided - you know you and I don’t see eye to eye on that one.

So, do they have golf up there for you and dad - or have you chosen a new hobby? Or did y’all just revert back to Scrabble and Rummy? I’m sure you and Dad had catching up to do since he died so much before you. I bet you had something to say about that, too, but then it was amazing to see you grow into your new role of a woman on her own, learning to survive… Good lesson for those observing - we can do it, not that we have to like it. But I am NOT dealing with Medicare, Medicaid, and all that stuff — you had patience for it, I don’t. So, pull some strings, OK?

One more question. Can I assume you are still braver than me? I mean, I have caught up a bit! But, I’m not wielding a golf club to protect someone doing laundry in a backyard at the end of a dead end road that bordered the woods when a known rapist is hiding in the area! I would have told your brother to forget the laundry getting done - do it himself if he wanted it done. But I understand that his employee didn’t feel she had that option and you were just protecting her…. That was in the 1950’s though, Mom, but you know, nothing’s changed in that respect, still a lot of woman would have felt obligated… a shame…

But it did make a great visual, your little five feet with that golf club way out there by the clothesline watching the woods around y’all so she could get the laundry hung up. Of course, back then I was too scared to appreciate the irony of it. I was mad at you, too. I thought it was stupid to go out there just to hang up laundry… and guess what, I still do, though I admire you for helping her!!

Gotta go, I’ll write more — just, you know I get lost in reading and my poetry — and in bugging Leon. Say hi to Dad. Tell him I’m still glad I didn’t become an accountant — but I wish I had taken the computer programming courses and stuff. I love html and css, what little I’ve played with. With his IQ and knack for detail, I bet he would have loved it… born a century too soon, I suppose.

And yeah, I’m gonna post that picture of you in your bathing suit from before I was born. You’ll get over it! Or maybe the one at the pool where your tongue is stuck out… Or did I post that one already? I want to post one of Daddy, too, but I did the one of him on the ferry. OK, just like on the phone, I still can’t hang up.

Later!

Love,

Marcia

PS, Happy Birthday tomorrow! 87 earth years you would have been. You and Dad have fun up there. By the way, any more hole in ones on the golf course? And if you run into Leon’s mom, say hello. Tell her if she hasn’t looked down lately, she might want to, “he’s done her proud.” Oh, and tell her I have not laughed at him at a hair salon any more since that day… but then he hasn’t had to get another perm for a stage play role. And don’t tell her I still laugh at the thought! She didn’t have to threaten to kick me out of her shop though…. grin.

Tags: , birthdays, letter, Mom

Mr. Murphy
Murphy’s Law Corporation
Universe, Universe

Dear Mr. Murphy,

Please understand I do value your worth. I realize you have a job to do that many would find unpleasant and I am quite sure you must take a certain amount of abuse over it that may, at times, not be warranted. Also, some would say we have to have downs so we know ups when they occur, but I do not agree. However, my agreement or not has no bearing on it, really, does it? For you will continue to do your job of making things go wrong for someone.

I do feel, though, the need to suggest you spread it out a bit more evenly across the universe.

Now, that is not saying that I selfishly want less visits from you, for, in reality, I probably am one of the lucky ones that you skip over at times. I mean you probably thought we were not worth the effort since so many times, the week you broke something, was the only week we had a few extra dollars to spend. There are many who seem to be at the receiving end much more often than I of your mischievousness, I mean, job. Your recent decision to ban the sale of our house for a ridiculous length of time has not yet stretched as long as that of many. HOWEVER, your causing the Santa Fe’s air conditioning to break on a Friday afternoon in South Freaking Florida when the dealers cannot take it in — on the very weekend we are going apartment hunting and heat being my worst enemy, I would say that was going too far, but, no, you also chose to do it the only year in the last 30 plus that Leon had to use our car for work all day long - and it is the only car we have. You know heat makes me sick and that Leon’s only chance to cool off after walking neighborhoods is to run the A/C a few minutes. How dare you stoop that low! His sweat may offend innocent people.

And did you have to pick the same time that our bed, an 18 inch high air mattress borrowed, sprung a leak? Lucky for you we have a smaller one of our own that we carried all the way from Washington because I can’t handle the new chemical smell. It is somewhere in this little apartment, so you screwed up on that little caper didn’t you? You thought we had nothing else to sleep on! (And don’t think about trying to influence Leon or our son into thinking it was my falling into bed at night that caused it, either. I have more excuses to prove that incorrect than you have ideas.)

You are on notice. I am requesting the entire known universe put in their heads that you have served your purpose well over the years and you want to retire. You will hear it so many times, you will make your retirement happen - with no replacement found!

Cordially yours,

Marcia

And don’t play “Mickey the Dunce” and ask Marcia, who? - You know.

Tags: letter, Murphy's law