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A Middle Class Math Lesson

I used to want to be firmly in the middle class. In my mind that meant I had a secure job, a house and enough disposable income to take a traveling vacation if I wanted to. That is most definitely NOT what I think middle class is any longer. I think I personally have a fairly secure job and income, but my husband does not. (He is currently on short-term disability due to his health.) We have a house that we have just over 6 years to pay on. But we also have two car loans–you cannot live in rural Maine and work without a vehicle. We have a TON of credit card debt–which is how we’ve been able to live. Have we taken vacations on credit? Of course we have. Have we paid for car repairs with credit? Absolutely. Have we purchased groceries with our credit cards because we just didn’t have the money that week? Yes, yes we have. But we are, indeed, middle class.

Yesterday, my sister, niece and family friend were sitting around my kitchen table (which, yes, I purchased on credit). We were looking at my white board where I have all of my family’s debts written out–what they are, how much we owe, what the APR is for each loan or credit card, and how much longer we have to pay on the loans or when the introductory low APR runs out for each credit card. It started the conversation about the juggling we all do to keep living. How one person took out a loan from their retirement to pay off some debt but now is repaying that back, but also while working a part-time job in addition to their full-time job. I took out a credit card with a lower APR than one of my loans and paid that off, but haven’t paid off anything else with it because I’m afraid my husband won’t have a job to go back to. And if that happens, there will be many other hurdles including finding and paying for health insurance. In our group of four women, we’ve all been on food stamps at one time or another. We’ve all needed financial help from one another or other family members. And what would we have done without that support?

We talked about how neither of my parents left our family with their houses because they had borrowed against their homes or even had a reverse mortgage because they, too, wanted to live life while they were still here. And sometimes that takes money you don’t really have. Heck, I always thought my mom had money because she was always able to get me what I needed or took me out to eat or helped us when my son was little and my husband was unemployed. But come to find out, she just took out home equity loans to pay for what she or we needed.

I often talk to two of my librarian friends, both single moms, and how much we’ve all struggled financially. We talk about paying for certain things with checks because we know they won’t be cashed right away, and that gives us a few days to get money in the bank to cover it. Or how we pay one bill a little late so we can pay something else or just so we can buy lunch with a friend because we want to feel like we’re fucking living.

Some people may say, “Well, don’t go on that vacation or go out to eat. Just pay your bills and then you wouldn’t be in debt and THEN you could go on that vacation.” You know, I used to think that. But when you live paycheck to paycheck, when are you supposed to get out of debt? Cars break down, kids need clothing and school supplies, food and gas prices go up, and shit fucking happens that you have to pay for. And you know what? Life is so damn short.

Earlier this summer, I saw a news report that said the town my son goes to high school in was buying school supplies for all the students. Yes! There was one thing we didn’t have to worry about. We bought binders last month because we figured that wouldn’t be supplied, but the report mentioned notebooks, pens, pencils, and folders. So the first day of school comes—no school supplies. My kid goes and talks to several teachers and finally the principal and SHOWS THEM the news report because my son is a rock star. They tell him that it was only for K-8, although the report never mentioned that. He was angry and the principal said if we were desperate, they’d help us. I told my kid not to worry, we weren’t as bad off as many people. So off I went to Wal-Mart yesterday afternoon.

The school supply aisle had been cleared out and replaced with Halloween materials. WTF?!? School hadn’t even started in some local schools!! I went back into the stationary/notebook/crayon aisle–no folders, no notebooks.

“It’s ok, Holly. Go to Staples,” I told myself. They were always on sale this time of year. Or…they were until they ran out. Now they were a minimum of $2. That might not seem like much, but the kid wanted 6 notebooks and 6 folders. He really doesn’t ask for much. The folders were also just under $2 each. But the real pisser? There were only 2 notebooks!!! There were many other kinds but they were tremendously expensive. I refused to pay $5 for a friggin’ one subject notebook. Then the poor cashier asked if I found everything I needed. *sigh* I said no and she tried to help me. I told her it was ok, it was my fault, I waited too long. (Although inside I was seething at that god damned news report I wish I never saw.) I was honestly close to tears and I hated feeling that way. But I got the hell out of there, went to the grocery store, bought ice cream bars and coffee and another $2 notebook, then went home to tell my kid we’d find more notebooks next week.

I’m not writing this for you to pity me or for you to tell me everything I’ve done wrong to get here. I’ve made many mistakes, there’s no doubt. But there also have been so many things out of my control that influenced the choices I made. I wrote this more to say that if you’re feeling this way, or feel alone in your ocean of debt, know that you’re not alone. I can’t really help you get out of it, but I can certainly commiserate and empathize. I can offer you a meal or a drink and will always lend an ear.

And remember, some of those people that you see on social media that you think are living the dream, they probably are–the American dream. In this day and age that means they have a shit ton of debt and most likely are vacationing on credit and probably live paycheck to paycheck, just like you. Or maybe they’re not, and we can envy them and possibly despise them together. 🙂

Hugs to you, my friends.

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Weighted to the Ground

This morning I drove to my hometown to get my hair trimmed. I go every 6-8 weeks and I often find it therapeutic. My dear friend, Lisa, has been cutting my hair for over 20 years. We were co-workers and friends before she began her shop with her business partner, Tanda. So when I get my hair cut and my eyebrows waxed, it’s typically a fun time–a time to catch up and a time for both of them to laugh as I swear and yell as Lisa rips my eyebrows off.

I was listening to my running playlist as I drove towards St. Albans. I had a pretty good run earlier and I wanted to keep my good mood going. Yet just 2 miles after I left my home, one of my favorite songs, “Little Bird” by Annie Lennox began to play. I’ve talked about this song before. It’s one that my brother added to one of two running cds he made me shortly after I started running 13 years ago, and we were both huge fans of both the Eurythmics and Annie Lennox. Since my brother’s death, it’s become a song that reminds me of him. I remember singing it with him in the car, and just this morning, I remembered how we would sometimes run our hands and arms out the car windows like a bird.

I had forgotten that little memory.

And since today is the eve of Phil’s death anniversary, it triggered the memories of that horrible day.

I was in his hospital room again, watching him trying to tear out his IVs so we wouldn’t see him hooked up to many machines. I was at the foot of his bed again with my sister, as we looked at the chart on his wall that showed how little he weighed–just 140 pounds at 6’5″. I was there again, holding his hand, telling him we came to say goodbye and that I loved him and my husband loved him and his nephew loved him. I was there once again, watching him nod his head over and over, like he was saying, “I know, I know.”

And then I was driving. I drove about 2 miles with no recognition this morning. None.

Needless to say, I sobbed much of the rest of the drive.

Yet just before I arrived at Lisa’s, I remembered my mother on that day. At one point Phil’s partner, Larry and I, went to talk to Phil, to convince him that it was ok not to live this way. It was ok to let go because we knew that was what he wanted, but it must have also been the scariest fucking thing to decide. (I remain steadfast in my knowledge that I saw the most courageous act that day when Phil made the decision to die.) Once he nodded his head and made that decision to be taken off of his life support, Larry and I went back to the private family waiting room. I remember my mother looking up at me with what I can only view as hope and saying, “What did he say?” I’m not sure what I replied exactly, but I think it was something like, “He doesn’t want to keep going.” But I do remember Mom’s face crumpling and shaking her head and lowering it to cry.

When I left Lisa’s, I just wanted to be with my mom. I went to her grave which is also in my old hometown. Once I got to the cemetery, I was jarred by the fact that the large, beautiful tree in front of the cemetery was cut down. “What the fuck?” I yelled. I realize the tree was probably dead or dying and would have toppled over and broken headstones. That better be why because it was really upsetting. Without that shade and just the glorious trunk, leaves and branches, the cemetery looks exactly like what it is–a field of stones. If a place like that is possible to get more depressing, it did.

I parked near Mom’s headstone, grabbed a blanket from my car, knelt down in front of her stone and wept. I talked to her, told her how much I missed her and Phil and Dad. I brushed off her stone and laid my forehead on it. I wasn’t there for very long. I just needed to see her name and pretend that she was there.

I stopped at Wal-Mart on the way home, feeling a bit dazed. I walked slowly in, bought dishwasher detergent and Tide Pens and left. As I walked across the parking lot, I saw this guy walking toward the entrance. I started to wonder if his day had been anything like mine. Did he spend part of the morning crying at his mother’s gravestone, laying his head on the warm stone, kissing her name? Did he wish she was there just for a few minutes to hold him, to listen to his worries and his frustrations?

I hope not.

But you never really know what others are going through, do you? Like Lennox’s “Little Bird,” some of those people you see each day may be “a troubled soul who’s weighted, weighted to the ground” and are just not able to fly.

Friends, in honor of my lovely brother, Phil, my “person,” I hope you take a little time this weekend and do something to feel like you are truly alive. Do something you absolutely enjoy, something to make you feel good. In Phil’s last few years of life, he couldn’t do much, but tried to live through food, whether it was making a fun international dish, or just enjoying whatever he ate or drank.

Tomorrow I will be hiking with two of my best friends. Typically, my son and I do something together, but now that he’s 16 with a job, license, and boyfriend, he’ll be working then hanging out with his lovey. We’ll both be spending time with some people that we love and that’s a huge part of what it means to live well.

Please, my friends, take a minute to hug, kiss, talk with or just touch someone you love this weekend, too. (With their permission, of course.) You won’t regret it.

Hugs and sloppy kisses.

❤

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Still Kickin’

It’s been over two months since I’ve sat down at my laptop and written with purpose. I’ve missed it. Since writing this blog is often a form of therapy, I ended up leaning on my friends more over the past few months and talking to my therapist about things I just can’t do here. But I’m ready to come back again.

The past few months have been a whirlwind. Here’s a quick and dirty list of what has transpired:

  • Started my new job as the Head of Circulation at the Bangor Public Library. It is seriously a fantastic workplace and job. I can’t begin to tell you how much I love it. Or I might do that in the coming weeks.
  • Discovered I had plantar fasciitis the same week I started my new job. It was so freaking painful and frustrating. Still working through it, but my foot is finally healing.
  • Won the Outstanding Library Advocate Award at the Maine Library Conference in May. It was a surprise and a surreal moment. I won it due to the backing of the Pittsfield Library community during budget season last fall, and because my colleagues are some of the most generous and kind souls that exist.
  • I turned 50 and went on a solo road trip with my goals being to have an adventure, and to be at the Christmas Story House on my birthday. Achievement unlocked! That trip will need to be a post all by itself. It was so dang fun.
  • I officially entered menopause. I’ve looked forward to this for years, and only recently started to dread it. I blame menopause on my body’s refusal to give up the 10-23 pounds I want to lose, but I am enjoying not bleeding every single month.
  • Many of my friends have just turned 50 also or will in the next 6-7 months. Because of this huge milestone in our lives, four of my dearest friends and I placed a deposit on a villa in Belize and will spend a (hopefully) glorious week there next year.
  • Continued to volunteer for both hospice and The Trevor Project. Both are getting a little more difficult, and I can already see myself stepping back from Trevor Project this winter. I don’t always give it the real time it deserves and if I can’t be truly present during my shifts, then I shouldn’t do it. I’m going to work on that this summer and hopefully will be able to continue for a lot longer.
  • My baby boy got his driver’s license and started taking an online college course in American Government. That has given me glimpses of his future and mine. It’s both scary and exciting.

What really has affected my mental health in the past few months has been my birthday. The number itself isn’t the problem. In so many ways I’ve loved turning 50. Heck, I talked to some folks from AARP at the Bangor Pride Festival, asking why I haven’t received anything in the mail yet!

I’ve referenced Sally O’Malley numerous times and listened to Molly Shannon’s autobiography, “Hello, Molly” when I began my road trip. I can, indeed, “kick and stretch and KICK!” Although I draw the line at wearing red polyester pants that would give me a camel toe. 😉

Fast forward to 1:30 to see this fantastic act. Watch the male actors try not to laugh at Shannon’s hilarity!

I’ve given gifts to a few friends that already turned 50 this year and look forward to celebrating next year with some of them. My husband and I bought a spectacular kitchen table and chairs for my birthday, too. Sounds like an odd gift, but one I desperately wanted. We’ll be paying for it for a while, but I’m ok with that. PB&J sandwiches are a-ok in my book!

My problem isn’t my age, it isn’t that I’m now a half century old. The issue is that my dear brother never made it here. He died 11 months before his 50th birthday. I absolutely HATE that I am older than him now. It’s wrong. It makes me angry and tremendously sad.

I don’t just grieve for the fact that I don’t have Phil around anymore to laugh with or to talk with or to read his stories. Nor do I just grieve for my son who battles depression that began with losing his uncle. I also grieve for my brother and everything that he didn’t get to do. To me, this is what a large part of grief is. It’s thinking about what that person lost. To be honest, when I start to think about what Phil lost, I can’t breathe. I start to panic and either take a walk or a run, move around the room, or just shut those thoughts down and think about something else. The latter never works so I usually eat something instead. (My go-to coping mechanism is to reach for food, something that I will probably work on in therapy for my eternity.)

He didn’t get to have a 50th birthday party. He didn’t get to see the Christmas Story House and I know he would have loved it. He didn’t get to see the fucking awesome display of George Carlin’s work at the National Comedy Center. Phil introduced me to Carlin so long ago and at that time I didn’t swear much. Carlin’s routine back then made me cringe and laugh and I thought it was incredible. Phil probably would have really liked to see the “Birthplace of Superman” in Cleveland, which is where Jerry Siegel, one of Superman’s co-creators, lived and created the character. My brother often said that he lived his life with the philosophy, “WWSD”–What Would Superman Do? You can still be good but a bad-ass, too. (Although Phil was really more like Batman. A decent person, but dark and would have lived in a cave if he could have.)

And the books Phil can never read? The stories he’ll never write? The films he’ll never see?

I AM STILL SO FUCKING MAD!

I will never be ok with the fact that my brother died at the age of 49. Never. I know it’s been said that we were all fortunate enough to get him for that long, because he was never supposed to make it to 18. But I don’t really care about that. I still want him here and you can’t tell me to feel lucky that I got to have him in my life for 44 years. It should have been longer. My parents certainly believed it should have been longer. I often wonder if both of my parents would have died just two years later if Phil had lived.

So….what now?

I keep on living, I guess. I will remain pissed off that Phil isn’t here, but I’ll also keep talking about him and re-telling stories to my son about his dear uncle, and about how much my boy is like him. I’ll keep reading books that I wish I could discuss with him, and I’ll continue to call Phil my big brother. He can’t be any other way to me, no matter my age or his.

And I’ll try to continue to “Kick, Stretch and KICK!” all without breaking a hip.

Hugs and sloppy kisses, friends.

❤

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Change=Grief

Tomorrow is my last day at the Pittsfield Public Library. I get a bellyache when I think about it. Am I excited for my new job at the Bangor Public Library? Yes. Absolutely. It’s like a career change! A larger library, new colleagues, new patrons, new policies and procedures and problems. It’s a new adventure for sure.

Will I miss my old job? Of course. My colleagues, my patrons, my friends, and honestly, being a big fish in a little pond can be fun. But I won’t miss the politics, the building maintenance, and a few other things and people that I won’t mention.

Two days ago, as I drove to work, I started to think about my brother. He had been a patron at Pittsfield–I have many memories of him there. As I got closer to the library, I started to cry. So much so that I couldn’t breathe. You know the kind of sobbing where you can’t catch your breath and you start to gulp for air? Yeah. That.

I feel like I’m losing Phil all over again. I’m losing another place that holds memories of him laughing and pointing out books he’s read or listened to or films he’s watched. I’m losing a place where he existed.

Once I got to work, though, I was able to calm down and just do my thing. The Friends of the Library threw me a farewell party, so I cried often throughout the day as people stopped by to wish me well.

You know…I feel a little lost. Working at a place for 17 1/2 years is a lifetime. I’ve watched so many kids grow up and have kids of their own. I’ve attended funerals of many of my beloved patrons, have given baby shower gifts to others. I will miss so many of these beautiful humans. I’m tremendously sad that I won’t see some of my favorite littles grow up, and this might sound odd, but I’m also upset I won’t see some of my favorite people die. I will no longer be a part of their lives and I’m having a hard time with that.

But, like the sweet notebook these folks gave me says, love is letting go. And it’s time I do that.

I’m trying.

So…if you’re reading this and you’ve been one of my Pittsfield Library patrons, I want to thank you for allowing me to be part of your lives. It’s truly been an honor and gift to be a part of your journey all these years. You’ve also been a part of mine. So many of you have watched my boy grow up, have been with me as I tried to live in a world without my dear brother and parents, have watched me struggle with my husband’s health, but also have watched me become a runner–something I wasn’t when I started at the Pittsfield Library. You’ve watched me lose over 50 pounds and gain nearly 20 since I became director. You’ve also seen a variety of hair lengths and styles and eyeglass frames. Thanks for being with me through so many of my life’s changes and being a witness to this latest one.

Keep reading, my friends, keep being kind, and please keep visiting that great library of yours. Continue to let the powers that be know how much the library and staff mean to you and your community.

And thank you, from the bottom of my heart and soul, for all the love. ❤

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Courage to Change

I am shocked to see I have not blogged since January 1st. Admittedly, these past three months have been filled with…a lot.

In January, on my way to a 9-day vacation in Mexico with my beautiful friend, Becky, I got caught in an ice storm in Texas and was trapped there for nearly 3 days. While there, I read a fun mystery involving Bernie Sanders. I left it in the airport, hoping its liberal sense would permeate through the conservative air. I don’t think it worked. 😉

My time in Mexico was lovely. Visiting with Becky was the highlight, but also seeing iguanas in trees, attending an authentic Mexican rodeo, eating apples with lime juice, and drinking margaritas on the beach with my toes in the sand while chatting with one of my dearest friends. Of course, losing my glasses in the ocean wasn’t great, but being able to try out contact lenses was life changing. Next week I finally get fit for a proper pair of contacts and I’ll be able to wear sunglasses while I run. Exciting!

Another “event” that happened in Mexico–I used a Nespresso machine. This might not seem like a big deal, but oh my word, I fell in love with it–the taste, the convenience, the recyclable pods, all of it. Before I left Becky’s home, I ordered one for my house so my vacation could continue indefinitely. It’s truly a fantastic way for my day to begin.

Once I got back home, it was back to reality–work, committees, home chores, volunteering, all the stuff. Unfortunately, just a week after I arrived back home, my husband was off to Florida to help care for his father. It was a bit of a rollercoaster ride for my husband–navigating the hospital and family, lack of sleep for days, plus emotionally exhausting. He came home after 10 days, but my father-in-law entered into hospice care the very next day. He was able to go home but died from lung cancer just two days later.

Supporting someone who is grieving can be difficult, but living with that person is even tougher. I don’t know how my husband survived living with me as I grieved my brother and parents. There are never any right words or even actions, except to listen–which I’ve done, but I always think I should do more. Maybe it’s because I just want to take the pain away, but I can’t. I have learned to step away and leave him alone when it seems best but made sure he knew that if he needs to talk or hug or just be in the same room with me, that he tells me. I don’t want to hover, but man, that’s not easy. I’ve had to tell my son all of these same things because I all I want to do is stick with him and constantly check that he’s ok. I have to step back, take him to therapy, spend time with him, talk with him, and just let him know that I’m here.

Throughout these past few months, as my family has been navigating another loss while still trying to work and go to school, balance all of life’s responsibilities, and even visit a college my son is interested in, I’ve continued to hope for a positive adjustment in my life. I haven’t just hoped but have started working towards some changes. And now it looks like a major one is coming to fruition.

In my last blog post, I mentioned I need to change my work–either make changes at my workplace or look for something new. Amazingly, the Bangor Public Library, a large public library (large for Maine, anyways!), has hired me as their new Head of Circulation. Their current head of circ is retiring after 36 years–that is so much institutional knowledge I will never know, but I’m tremendously honored to have the chance to work for this fantastic institution, alongside their equally fantastic staff.

This is a tremendously bittersweet moment for me. My work as the Director of the Pittsfield Public Library (and previously as the Circulation & Catalog Librarian) has led me to people I’ve come to know and love as my family and friends. When I started there in 2005, I was still trying to get pregnant, I was 30 pounds heavier, and all my family was still alive. My brother and both of my parents used to visit me at the library. I still have specific memories of all of them in that building—the library even has several dvds that my brother donated. My son also spent many, many hours at that library. During one program, I had my boy strapped to my back as I walked around the library. When it was time to unstrap him, I couldn’t do it and a lovely older couple had to help me (the wife is still my patron–we still talk about that day).

I’m proud of the work I’ve done in Pittsfield. I’ve worked with dozens of organizations and helped connect them with community members that needed their services, I’ve matched patrons with books they’ve fallen in love with, and I’ve advocated for the library and the staff within the town government by inviting community members to tell their elected officials what the library means to them.

But it’s time for me to go. I know I can do more at the Pittsfield Library, but I need a new adventure. Working at an urban library will be a huge change and challenge, and I’m looking forward to it. I still have another month in my beautiful, small and rural library, and I hope to make the best of it.

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The Beginning

“The beginning is always today.”–Mary Wollstonecraft (feminist/writer)

My worry and laugh lines are embedded, but I’m still smiling.

A new year, a new you. Resolutions, beginnings, fresh starts. It all sounds marvelous, doesn’t it? And right now, at this moment, I have high hopes for 2023.

Like the past 5 years, 2022 had its challenges and health scares for myself, my family and some of my friends. A few friends suffered devastating losses of partners or parents, and others are waiting for those things to happen in 2023.

Although I expect some awful events to happen this year, I’m attempting to hope for the best and soak up many, many good moments that happen.

On New Year’s Eve, my husband, son and I talked about our goals and wishes for the upcoming year. The husband’s goal? Stay out of the hospital this year. (This is also a wish for him from my son and I!) My son has a few wonderful goals like getting his license, continuing to get fit and to be more of a leader within his LGBTQ+ community. My goal and wish were basically the same: to make and experience good changes this year. That’s a nice broad, vague goal, isn’t it? 😉

I made some significant changes to my life in 2022, including adding two major volunteer positions to my weekly schedule. Each is a 2-3 hour commitment each week, but I enjoy both of them and feel tremendously better about myself as a human being because of the work. I feel like I’m finally paying back the kindness shown to me over the years by paying it forward to those that need it right now. People often say how selfless volunteering is, but for me, it’s really selfish. There’s a high involved when you help others, and it can feel a bit like the running high. Typically, acts of kindness can increase your oxytocin and dopamine, which gives you a feeling of euphoria. This is actually called the “helper’s high.” Isn’t that awesome?!?

I’ll continue my volunteer work this year, but I’m also ready for some changes to be made within my career. I don’t know what this means yet, but I know my stress level at work in 2022 was higher than ever before. Some of that was due to staff shortages, but I also tend to spread myself too thin. That has to change this year. I’ve always told other library directors that your work is not your life, so sometimes you just need to leave this stuff behind, but I did NOT take my own advice. I just wanted my library to be better and better, and it is, but I don’t need to be involved 24/7. For my own wellbeing, a lot has to change there–more delegating, more boundaries, and maybe even a career change. I don’t know yet. I just feel like something big has to change in order for me to continue wanting to get out of bed each morning to go to work.

I plan to continue to run and train for a marathon again. Why the hell not, right? If my body goes kaput, it goes kaput. I can already feel something happening to my left ankle, so I doubt a marathon is in the books just yet. But I’ll still give it a shot. I hope to at least run 500 miles this year. Again, I’ll try but do my best to not be disappointed or discouraged if it doesn’t happen.

I’ll be traveling more as long as the universe allows it. Visiting my dear friend, Becky, in Mexico at the end of this month. A work trip to Wisconsin in April. Hopefully a drive out to the Christmas Story house in Cleveland this summer. Now I need a short trip for this fall. Or another summer trip to North Carolina to see my friend, Monica, and sea turtles hatching?

This year I hope to treat people a bit better or…differently. We just don’t know how long we have on this planet, right? I’m starting to treat some folks like it’s their last year. It may sound like a morbid way of treating others but losing people I love and working with hospice patients has made me look at my world in a different light. During my brother’s, father’s and mother’s last Christmases, I didn’t KNOW it was their last. Did I ever snap at them or lose patience with them that day? I hope not. Did I show them just that little extra dash of kindness? I don’t know. If I did, I wasn’t aware of it.

So, I’m digging deep to find a bit more patience and goodwill for my loved ones. Well, I don’t always have to dig deep, but sometimes it’s necessary. But within that good treatment of others, I’m defining boundaries for myself and for my relationships. I tend to love others with everything I have and I’m not sure I can continue to do that. Or maybe I can. As I’m writing this, I’m thinking about the people I love fiercely, and I can’t imagine loving them any other way. It’s dishonest to do so. It doesn’t feel right not to love them with my whole being.

Huh.

Maybe some things won’t change after all. ❤

Happy New Year to all of you. May your resolutions, hopes, or dreams be fulfilled. If none of those things happen, I hope you feel loved and appreciated. Because seriously, just feeling those things certainly feels like a dream coming true.

Hugs to you all.

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The Letter

It’s been 5 years since I wrote my family’s annual holiday letter. Since my brother, Phil, died on July 23, 2017, I’ve had no desire to write a happy holiday letter, or any holiday letter at all. My favorite time of year became the time of year I dreaded.

I no longer dread Christmastime, but I also don’t look forward to it like I used to. I enjoy the music, the lights, the gift giving and receiving, the stories, and the movies (I’m an absolute sucker for holiday romance films). Yet all of those things blend with loss and longing for the people that are no longer here.

I’m currently in my kitchen typing this with cookies cooling on the counter and George Michael crooning a Christmas tune about heartbreak. This is my element, folks. Yet my stomach and chest are tight from all the withheld tears I just refuse to shed today.

Phil should be here right now. I should be slapping his hand as he tries to steal a cookie. We should be drinking tea at this very kitchen counter, gossiping about one of his friends or editing his latest erotica story. Instead, I keep looking beside me, just fucking wishing for him to appear.

*deep breath*

I do understand why I’m feeling this grief so intensely this week. Besides it being Thanksgiving (which my brother came over to my house every Thanksgiving), I stumbled across a bunch of photos from the last Christmas we had with Phil. At first, I was just in awe and was enjoying seeing his face. Then I became across this photo:

This is my then 9-year-old son, leaning over to kiss my brother on the cheek. They were both enthralled with the new Yoda my son received, and honestly, they both just loved each other fiercely. When I saw this photo, I gasped because I forgot its existence. Then I sobbed. And sobbed. I rocked my body and just sat in that feeling of immense, overwhelming grief.

I took a long break from looking at any photos, then I dove in once again last night. This time, I came across a few short videos of my son as a toddler and my brother’s voice or laughter is in them. There’s one video in particular that my entire family knows and we’ve all watched it probably countless times just to hear Phil’s voice and laughter. He’s reading to my toddler and it’s sweet and funny and wonderful. My now 15-year-old son came over to me as I started to go through the videos, and he asked to watch and listen to that one video a couple of times. “I haven’t heard his voice in years, Mom. But it’s like my chest lit up when I heard him!” This kiddo of mine then thanked me and asked for a hug. ❤ I’m a really lucky mom.

So….that letter? I really thought this was the year, but I guess it’s not. I’m realizing now that I may not be able to write it again. Each year I did a bit of a recap of what was happening in all of our lives, and although we’ve made some wonderful memories in the past 5 years, we’ve also suffered so much loss that it’s difficult to do an annual letter without talking about who or what we no longer have.

Maybe a January letter about what we hope to accomplish in the new year? Maybe.

Until then, enjoy these pics of my dear big brother. If you watch the video, I hope you can see why I miss him so much. (And you can see what an annoying mom I can be.) Phil brought us so much joy and I am certainly grateful we have at least this video to refer to so we can see and hear him whenever we want. Obviously, it’s not the same as having him here with us, but it’s something.

Hugs to you all, my friends.

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Take a Seat

For the past few weeks, my work has taken over my life–something I’m always telling other librarians NOT to do. But in this case, I was fighting for the library I work in and for the community it serves. It was a battle worth fighting and it looks like things might be ok. In another month the town’s budget will be voted on, and we’ll see how things turn out. The community has spoken and have shown their support for the library, its services and its staff. It was an amazing thing to see the community come together and show their love for this institution and for the work we do.

After this long, exhilarating yet exhausting week, I was looking forward to a weekend at home, reading a few books and getting some cleaning done. Yesterday morning I decided it was time to change things up. We have a sectional couch in our living room, and half of it has had some issues for some time. It was time to get rid of it.

As I pulled the cushions from the couch, I listened to Anderson Cooper’s podcast, All There Is. (Thanks, Anne.) Cooper begins the first episode of the podcast with cleaning out his mother’s apartment after she has died. This included finding some of his father’s and brother’s things. His father died of a heart condition when Anderson was 10, and his brother died from suicide when Anderson was 21. Most of the episodes talk to other famous people who have faced tremendous loss in their lives.

I had my earbuds in, listening to Anderson’s voice break when he discussed his dad, sometimes cry when he talked about either of his parents or brother. While I listened, I found myself really getting into tearing apart this couch. I took a sledgehammer to part of the wooden frame, I cut the fabric in places and other times I tore at it with my bare hands. At one point I found myself crying on the floor, thinking about my brother sitting on this very couch with me. How we would sit side by side and watch a movie and drink coffee together or talk about our latest read. I thought about my mom’s last Thanksgiving and how my son sat between us on that couch as we watched a Christmas movie together.

I was angry that my brother wasn’t there with me, helping me tear that fucking couch apart. I was angry that my mom wasn’t truly my mom for so many years before she died and devastated again that she had to die in a god damned nursing home.

And then….I wasn’t angry. Just achingly lonely. Although I have my family and my friends, sometimes the people I want are no longer here and I just feel so lonely without their presence, without their conversation and laughter and love.

Yet, what could I do at the moment? I could pound the shit out of that couch. So, I did.

This morning, though, as I drove my son to school, he turned to me and said, “You know what I realized this weekend? Right after I left work, my first job, I realized that I couldn’t share that first with Uncle or Grammy.” I nodded my head and sighed, “Yeah,” then rubbed his arm. We sat in silence the rest of the ride and told each other that we loved one another as he left the car.

As a parent, I celebrate so many of these firsts my son experiences–his first steps, first word (“no” by the way), his first ice cream cone, his first plane ride–and now I celebrate and grieve each of his firsts, and I have since my brother died 5 years ago. I just never realized that my bright, beautiful boy did, too.

When my brother, Phil, died, I was not available to my son. I thought I was to a point, but when I think about it now, and the fact that I didn’t realize that my kid would be missing his family just as much as me, I realize that I fucked up.

Yet I know I couldn’t have done anything different. During those dark days, there was a time when I was ready to die myself. I didn’t know how to live in this existence without Phil being here, too. To help my son was pretty much impossible at that time. I know I did try to listen to him and spend time with him, but once my mom moved in a few months later, my kid couldn’t count on me.

I truly hope that I’ve done better by my son since then. The amount of grief he’s had to experience would be insurmountable for some adults. He’s had to see me go through this loss while going through it himself, and literally having to pick me up off the floor. (I fainted after my mother’s funeral while he and I were home alone.)

I’ll do my best to keep the memory of my family in the present. We’ll keep acknowledging all of those firsts and talk about how proud the family would be, or what hilarious jokes my brother would tell. And I’ll keep taking my child and myself to therapy so we can continue to heal or at least function.

After all, we only have so much furniture we can tear apart.

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The List

“If everyone else comes first, you won’t last.”

As I continue my hospice volunteer training, my knowledge about both the dying process and ways to make those that are dying comfortable, seems to grow exponentially. For instance, the pain and suffering that some people go through as they die actually anchor them to this world. Yes, they will still die eventually, but with good symptom and pain management, you can lift that anchor and help them sail on to wherever they need to go. Of course, I will not be helping in the pain management portion. As a volunteer, I’m there to listen, give comfort in my presence (I hope) or maybe even help around the house. If I can do anything at all to provide assistance to someone in their last days, or to the families that are dealing with their grief, then I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

My training and my husband’s health has prompted some overdue conversations. My husband and I talked a lot about the heavy hearts we’ve all been carrying lately. Our son and I are always on alert when we walk into our home, wondering if we’ll find my husband dead. Although my husband doesn’t want to die, he’s not afraid to. He has his faith, so what worries him more is the journey in-between life and death, the pain and suffering that often accompanies that. I talked to him about what I learned, and hospice care is all about helping with that journey, to make a person dying more comfortable and to improve their quality of life while they are still here.

Of course, we hope he still has years left, but we never know, do we? We’ve talked about having to apply for disability because we’re not sure how much longer he can work. He’s never fully recovered from his ventilator/coma horror show in 2020, but after last year’s heart attack he’s much worse. BUT he does have good days, and today was one of them. We’re in a good space today, so we’ll take it.

Besides my hospice knowledge increasing, do you know what else has grown incredibly? My bucket list!! Wait, no, my “Life To Do List.” If you have a better name, please tell me. I’m not loving the list names I’ve found so far. I chose this name though because my list isn’t all adventures or traveling. I have things like: Learn CPR and First Aid, Take Swimming Lessons, Make Homemade Pasta. But also, of course, I have: See the Grand Canyon, Go to NYC at Christmastime, Walk the Berlin Wall Trail. And within some of my activities or adventures, I have the people I want to see or spend time with. I LOVE spending time with myself, but some of these things would be so much better with people I enjoy being with. Because ultimately? Those people are what really make my life joyful. Vacationing on an island would be rad, but what would really make it spectacular is to do it with my girlfriends. Seeing the Boston Red Sox play is an experience I only want to do with my sister, and I can wear our father’s Red Sox cap and eat a hot dog in his name.

Will I get to do everything on my list? I doubt it. Even if I have the opportunity to get really old, I’ll never have the funds to do it all. Also, I have “Run a Marathon” on my list. Yeah, that shit might not ever happen. Since my distal pancreatectomy surgery, I still can’t run over 4 miles. Yet I also haven’t been training as much so….who knows, right?

Look how damn happy I am when I run or walk! This is a genuine smile. Maybe I can do the Jeff Galloway run/walk method for a marathon? I don’t know. We’ll see. In the meantime, I’ll keep on adding to that list. And I’d love to hear what’s on your “Life’s To Do List.” If Visit Maine is on your list, I have a couch to sleep on or a tent to sleep in. I got you. ❤

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Grappling with the Past

I woke up thinking about my mom this morning. Actually…I woke up thinking about everything I did wrong with Mom during the last two years of her life.

I just began training to be a hospice volunteer. Much of our homework is reading about dying and watching videos about hospice care as well as the dying process. In just two weeks I’ve learned a lot about what actively dying looks like (which I witnessed with Mom) as well as what all of the signs actually mean. For instance, when someone seems agitated as they are going through the dying process, the person could have a full bladder, could be in pain, or maybe the music being played in the room reminds them of a particularly bad time in their lives.

I was with both of my parents as they lay dying. Much of the literature and information I’m consuming reflect my own experiences. Stories of people dying who talk to a dead loved one or reach out to something that you can’t see. (Dad saw his grandfather.) Stories of people dying after their spouse leaves the room or once their adult child finally made it to the hospital after they flew across the country to see them one more time. (Mom died less than 5 minutes after I left the room. My sister said it was because she was trying to protect me one last time.) As I work through the coursework, I feel like this is all in my wheelhouse–bereavement, dying, extensive grief, hospice care–these actions and feelings have defined my life for the past five years. I feel like I’m ready to listen to others now and be present for those families that are suffering and for that person in hospice care. And to be honest? Although I’ve set some boundaries in my life, I know at some point I may need to be my husband’s caregiver as he continues his congestive heart failure journey. That journey may end in hospice care. I want to be prepared and help him prepare for what that involves.

This morning, I started to doubt my hospice volunteer readiness. I watched two hours of videos yesterday about the dying process and Mom’s birthday is in two days, so of course she’s on my mind. But I felt sick thinking about Mom being in the memory care unit of the nursing home. I know she had many, many good days there, and I know I was not able to take care of her. (I tried but was not successful.) But what about once she went into hospice care? Why didn’t I bring her home? Could I have taken a leave of absence and taken care of her here? Would she still have died just three weeks after she went into hospice care, or maybe she would have lived longer?

I’ve been doing exactly what I tell people not to do. I have no idea how things could have been. She could have died sooner, or what if she lived even longer? Could I really have afforded to take a leave of absence? (I already know the answer is “no.” And if you’re one of those people who say, “If that was my mother, I would have stayed home with her,” then congratulations to you for not living paycheck to paycheck.)

Don’t second guess yourself, I tell people. I want to say I did the best I could with what I had, but I’m not sure that’s true. Tomorrow I may feel differently. I may be ok with how it all went down.

But today I’m struggling.