Running for Mom.

I survived October 12th. The one-year-anniversary of my beloved mother's death, came and went. It was day of tears, of relentlessly texting my sister (were we afraid, both of us, to actually speak to one another? were we afraid the tears might overwhelm us? were we simply, afraid?).
It was a day of trying to distract myself with mindless tasks--searching for new hairstyles on the internet, sorting through monologues to use in auditions (I'd already accomplished that task, but found myself, repeating myself), watching horror-tv (thank you, "The Walking Dead", for the engagement).
I was disappointed when the Chaplain for the Hospice who helped Mom in last weeks of her life, called--literally at the last minute--to say she could not make it to Golden Living in Dunwoody to commemorate my Mom's passing.
I had called and asked her to meet me, as I planned to visit, and to bring goodies to--in honor of my Mom-- the old folks who have no one to visit or comfort them, and she had suggested that we could "...plant a butterfly bush in honor of your Mom." Which I readily agreed to.
So, in her voice-message, she re-scheduled this celebration of Mom's life, for this coming Wednesday...October the 14th.
Which is also a date imbued with tragedy: Five years ago, on October 14th, my beautiful sister-in-law died painfully, just two weeks after giving birth to our sweet niece, Morgan Catherine. Although Morgan Catherine was not due until November 4th (which happens to be my birthday), she arrived on September 21st, because Toni Harris Kwon was in great pain, and doctors induced labor, and delivered our healthy, albeit tiny, niece, to her adoring parents. But what was discovered in this new mother--only three days later (on my own sister's birthday--September 24th)-- was "Stage 4 gastrointestinal cancer, of unknown origin". Although doctors tried mightily to do physical therapy to keep new-mom Toni strong,  Toni was quickly moved from the hospital in Charlotte where she had successfully birthed her daughter--who was now being kept in intensive care for premature newborns.
Toni was moved to Duke University Hospital, where it was hoped some kind of remedy to prolong her life, could be found. But Toni Harris Kwon passed away--and from what my husband told me--it was a hard, violent death. She was trying to breathe, helped by a respirator who forced air through her lungs, in an attempt to keep her alive, and cognizant. She and her husband talked about the baby--the baby she could no longer see, or hold. The baby who was faraway, in a hospital where nurses cried after learning the red-haired mother of this dark-haired, almond-eyed child,  was dying, and there was no hope for that mother. My husband told me, in a phone call at 3:00 am, as I returned from a late-night film shoot in Monticello, Georgia, that Toni was gone.
Shortly after Toni died, I remember being at their home in Charlotte, and while my brother-in-law was downstairs, displaying the purple-cloaked urn with the cremains of Toni, I spoke with Toni's mom, a kind, quiet, petite package of dignity named Cathy, and I asked how she dealt with this, with her daughter, being gone. She said "I run." Cathy looks like a professional athlete, her tiny frame deceiving one into believing she might be fragile....until you notice the sinewy arms and her gymnast-like legs, which course with strength.
I wandered into the nursery--the room we would eventually bring Morgan Catherine to--and I found a package of "Love" brand knitting yarn. Their slogan is "All you need is Love, and time."
Time. The one thing that beautiful Toni, would be denied. The plans to knit baby booties, left at just that--plans.
Four years later, in the midst of a second round of treatments at Cancer Treatment Centers, I remember asking my own Mom, how she dealt with losing her Mom, and she told me, "That was when I started walking, and then, running, on the beach." I asked her if she thought that would help me, when I eventually lost her. "I don't know, but it might."
I responded that I'd write about it, but that I would begin to run, too.
I've begun to run my way, through grief. Through these words.
On Wednesday, I will commemorate Mom. And Toni, we'll be thinking of you too, sweetheart.
Peace, kids.

Ways of Being.

Hi kids! I'm endeavoring to write more consistently in this Blog. I am losing affection for the Christian-model of humans. Frankly, I do not think we are created, "Broken", though Life certainly tries to break us. Or perhaps, a more-true thought is that when Life is not lifting us up, it is breaking us down. It rarely is "neutral". There are so many ways to "be" in the world. Sometimes--lately, quite often-- I feel like an Agnostic--someone for whom the very "idea" of God seems too distant, too faraway, too nebulous. A cumulus cloud, fading...and, in the very next breath, I'll find myself remembering watch beloved Mom attempting to pray, (try as she might, she could not speak the words; she was able only to whisper "I can't".) as I comforted (I hope) her, saying "Well, that's okay, Mom, I'll say the words, and you can say them in your head, okay?" She looked relieved and muttered, through a slight smile, "Okay...", as I prayed "The Lord's Prayer" and a "Hail Mary" for her. Earlier today, while scrolling through Facebook and friend's posts, I came across a nun explaining the Rosary being "Sung by Dominicans". It was kind of delightful and my joy at discovering that post, begs the question: Can someone be both ambivalent about God, while actively searching for SIGNS of God? Is it hypocritical to have membership in--and truly enjoy--a group on Facebook known as "Liberals, Atheists, Feminists, and Friends", while simultaneously planning a prayer or meditation session, or going into a church or Mass, to light a candle, for those who no longer, can? I can assure you, I suffer from no "cognitive dissonance". I feel culturally like the same "Cradle Catholic" I've always been: honoring Jesus Christ as a man of peace and good will, but feeling inside that God is "within". That we must fix ourselves, alone. I feel such kinship with the "Humanists" who believe only humans can advance humans, that we must respect all life. So that's where I'm at these days, broken-but-not-broken, a doubter, who believes. Peace, kids.

Countdown on the Calendar.

Hi kids! So, its July, and she has nearly come to the end. I've noticed that lately, I'm tending to personify everything as Female. I'm not quite sure why suddenly, everything has a "gender". I was perfectly comfortable with the neutral "it", and no pronouns, but maybe my constant "feminizing" of all things gender-less, is some not-so-subtle psychological wish to bring the "feminine" back. As in, my beloved Mom. I guess we tend to anthropomorphize our dogs, our companion animals, and I know I do that: endowing our sweet German Shepherds with all kinds of human traits like kindness, generosity, empathy(I suspect the last quality named, is the only absolute in evidentiary terms). Perhaps I am "mom-izing" all things important to me. The calendar, for example. I am headed towards two dates that are so painful to anticipate, that I won't even LOOK at a calendar. Which of course, makes her (the calendar) even more urgently important to me. September 14th of last year, we lost kind, old "Appa K."--Mr. Ho Chang "Big Henry" (he was about 5'3")Kwon, to prostate and bladder cancer. Sort of. He actually perished as a result of pneumonia. And then, exactly four Sundays later, we lost my beloved Mom to (Never-Smoker)Stage 4 Non-Small-Cell-Lung-to-Brain Cancer. So we are inching towards autumn, and all that we lost. All that we still miss. The doors in my house are left slightly open these days, and these solid "girls"- with their white paint, squeaky-hinged, aching for visitors, are waiting for someone to push them back, enter their terrace-level rooms with remnants of Appa K.--his tweed suits, and on the third floor, bits of my Mom--her ankle-weights that were never used, except to steady the walker she so needed, for so many months. Until near the end, when even standing was something she could not do; even sitting up, impossible. And holding her head up? Eventually, that was a faraway dream. Holding one's head up, even as these doors to bedrooms, hold themselves open, revealing only a glimpse of what our loved ones left behind, and reminding us, like women with whispered secrets, that they can be fully opened, or closed, but left ajar, they conjure shadows for me. I'm imagining Mom in the next room, watching the daytime tv she was reduced to enjoying, a quiet request for melon, or ice cream, "Lisa, is there ice cream?" and I picture "Appa K." milling about, asking for a ride to the doctor, and then complaining that the doctors don't know anything. I hear him tell me a thousand times "Thank you; you are a good daughter. I am proud of you." And I carry the ice cream upstairs to Mom, and Hansoo carries his Dad to the doctors, and then I open the door more fully, just now, and no one is there, except Mom's pretty sweaters, fluffy and vanilla colored, they are pretty girls, curled up, as bereft as I am. If they could pray for a wearer, they would. Perhaps they feel as useless as I do. Peace, kids.

"The Past is Never Past"--William Faulkner

Hi kids! It's been a few weeks since what would have been, my Mom's Birthday: May 28th, 2015, came and went as a day for tears and what-could-have-beens. I miss Mom more every day; it's not true that you "get used to", or somehow feel less pain the further away you get from the time she died: it's just not true. I find myself "reviewing" all the decisions she made, the decisions my sister and I made, etc., etc...the sense of wistfulness remains unabated. And yet. I can--at times--take comfort that we did everything humanly possible for her. Everything I could conjure to show my love, my thankfulness, my joy for having been gifted with her, as my Mom, I conjured. Grateful-Fors too numerous to list, but the laughter she gave me, the untethered thinking and raw, aching wit that I inherited from her, are just a few. Her warmth, her grace, her "all-in" sense of family, this was my Mom. The tears come up, when I write, the tap-tap-tap of keys, a reminder of the sound of her fingers, tapping away, late at night, as she emailed this relative, or that, or checked in at my blog, to "see what Lisa has written...". Peace, kids.

After the Ashes, Fire...

It's been three months since our beloved Mom--Demetra Allender--died. I was substituting "transitioned" for "died", but the truth is, she died, passed-away, left this world. I thought the days immediately following, would be the hardest, but there was soooo much to do: paperwork and bills which Hansoo and I had to take care of, a very-brief "family-only" viewing, her eulogy and other pieces to write, her funeral to plan, etc., etc...and lots of travel to accomplish all that. My lovely sister--Tina--was an integral part of the funeral planning process. She made beautiful cards (she even included words from a poem I wrote, for Mom--on the Memorial Cards!) for everyone, arrived early at Sacred Heart Cathedral where Mom's funeral was held, and set out "Kisses from Heaven" (Mom's favorite was Hershey Kisses Milk Chocolate with Almonds) for everyone to enjoy. Tina and Breaz also selected the verses they read from the Bible, and Tina situated the beautiful floral arrangements we received, into a pleasing configuration. She and my sweet niece--her daughter Breaz--read at the funeral, just-after I read Mom's Eulogy. The graveside service was actually exhausting, because even though it was October 24th, a Saturday in Autumn, it was swelteringly hot and sticky. Once we were seated, I stood up to read two poems: the first was formerly-called "For Mom on Mother's Day, 2003", but I re-titled it "Mom, I Can See You". The second poem was from playwright Tennessee Williams, it's called "Heavenly Grass", which Mom heard me read at ol' Theya Helen Hartley's funeral, in Savannah, in August 2007. Our dear Daddy (he and Mom had been divorced over 30 years) had arranged for the cooling/shading-tent for us, chair set-ups, and paid many of the fees. Tina and Tom found a gorgeous Mother-of-Pearl Urn for Mom's Ashes to be placed in. I am mentioning some of the particulars, because I think this kind of "delegating" of duties made it far, far easier on each of us... And, because all of this was so coordinated, the funeral actually went as well as one could expect this sort of thing, to go.... I was definitely heartened to see so many folks who loved Mom, come out to "pay their respects". So, when were the hardest days? Well, um, that would be....Now. Immediately following Mom's funeral and Ashes-Interment, I knew I would address the many items I'd wanted to--but had absolutely NO time for, during the past two, nearly three years (Mom was only diagnosed in May, 2013, but, before Mom got ill, I had begun working as POA for Daddy, who was very, very sick with Stage 5 Kidney Disease; before that, there were numerous illnesses of a serious nature throughout my husband's family). On the short-list of my To-Do's: *Submit poetry for work-shops. *Submit poetry for publication. *Complete a New Voice-Over Demo, specifically for Animation/Gaming. I accomplished all three tasks--not within three months, but within...three weeks. I went to see my fabulous Talent Agent--Jana VanDyke, and she is patient with me, and yet is encouraging me, to ready myself to begin-again, auditioning for TV/Film. I am also completing writing my play which will eventually become a screenplay, "The Taste of Shapes", very soon. So, the next few weeks, I'll be writing until my arms ache, and my eyes bleed. I'll be checking in here with you, kids, and much more often than these past few months. Because as hard as this is, writing about this, it's much harder, when I don't write. Just ask Jessica Handler, author of "Braving the Fire: Writing through Grief and Loss", which is quickly becoming my guide for Living.... My personal message for all of you out there in Blog-o-sphere, in Facebook-land, in the Twitter-verse: When you are filled with Joy, write. When you are devastated, write more.... Peace, kids.

Eulogy for Mom--Demetra Leonora Allender, May 28th, 1939-October 12th, 2014.

So it ends. The life of the person who birthed me into this world, the person whose life I fought to save, for the past 17 months, has left this world. I must write the Eulogy for Mom, for her funeral, very soon. I've already written background-info for the priest (she's having a Roman Catholic Funeral). I've listed who she is "survived-by", and written a brief bio for the funeral home which handled her cremation, because they are posting that info, as well as announcements of the arrangements, etc., on their website for us. And now? The Eulogy.... How do I begin to describe Mom? Well, she was gorgeous: a dark-haired, doe-eyed Greek beauty, with olive skin and defiant, curly black hair. Hair she often despised, as she found it "unmanageable". I'd say her hair was like Mom: untamed, and un-tame-able, Mom lived her life by her own rules. She exited childhood and leapt quickly into marriage, a marriage that although it didn't last forever, lasted a good long while, a marriage that even Mom would later say was "a good, strong marriage". A marriage that provided her with two daughters who adored her. Mom was not afraid of hard work, or getting sweaty, or dirty. Her love of the gym, running, jogging, bicycling, and gardening, all delightful for her. In a word, "Work-out" describes Mom, because in addition to the obvious act of working-out, Mom gave us all a mental-workout, as she was always up-to-date on world events, and politics. She loved all things CNN, and MSNBC. Lived for Anderson Cooper, and Chris Matthews. "Meet the Press", and "Face the Nation". Mom was active in campaigning, too. I asked my sister, Tina, if she could name one word to describe Mom, what word would she use, and she immediately said: "forgiving", and, 'sacrifice', because she made sure we always had everything we needed..." Tina's correct. Mom's forgiving heart meant we could come to her, even if we'd made a mistake--unafraid, knowing we would be unconditionally LOVED...and her total commitment to providing for others may well have been her biggest flaw, in that she often neglected her own needs, choosing to help her family, no matter the cost. And Mom welcomed us with her faith, always. For me, a person who for decades did not have a sense of God, her patience and example of selflessness deeply affected me. Eventually, I returned to the Church, and Mom, then-employed by The Jewish Center in Dunwoody, Georgia, as I discussed my flourishing curiosity about all things spiritual, remarked "You know, Lisa, if I weren't Catholic, I'd be Jewish...I love the rituals, the food, and you know, Jesus was Jewish..." Shortly after Mom was diagnosed, she said her faith was strong, but she wondered if it was 'strong enough". I saw her whip through day after day, week after week, month after month, of Radiation Therapy, and the bi-monthly Chemotherapy, and the attendant acupuncture to improve her balance, the physical therapy to help her walk a bit, the extra supplements she had to swallow, often painfully, and I saw a woman, undeterred, determined, and brave. We attended Mass together, in Newnan. We saw Mom get stellar results from her treatments that as her physicians stated, "only 1% of cancer patients receive." And when times got tougher, she was able to find joy even in the darkest of moments, by painting, or attending a drum-circle session, playing Bingo, or enjoying gelato. One day when Mom was especially tired, the Chaplain at CTCA, Newnan, came by and left a book for us, outside our door. Knowing Mom needed her rest, I brought the book, entitled "Jesus Calling" inside, setting it on a table out of her sight, as she was already falling asleep. When she asked "Who was that?" I answered simply, "Why, it was Chaplain Lawanda, she brought "Jesus Calling". "Well, tell him I'm not ready", was her curt reply. Such was Mom. Inclusive, loving, always-quick-witted, and always there for us. Sunday before last, Mom was ready, and I watched her fly away to a place of peace. We Love You, Mom.

Ho Chang "Big Henry" Kwon

On September 14th, hubby Hansoo and I received an early-morning call from the Rehabilitation Center in which both Mom--Demetra Allender, and Hansoo's Dad--Ho Chang Kwon, have been living. Mom has been there for over two months; "Appa Kwon" for only eight days. I remember fearing for both my husband, and for myself, and I admit to--with great shame-- feeling a prayer forming in my heart "Please don't let it be Mom." When I heard my husband say "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God." I knew that meant that my wonderful father-in-law, tiny Mr. Kwon, had passed away. "Appa K" was a funny, smart fellow with a quick smile, and an even quicker wit. Although he fought valiantly in the South Korean Army during the Korean War, it was the war of both prostate and bladder cancer, which took him. I was honored to have he and "Omma Kwon" come live with us, way back in September of 2010. I used to tread cautiously, because I knew there were generational, and cultural differences, and I knew that could (possibly) be a problem. I needn't have worried. "Appa K." treated me as if I were one of his own brood, and that means he held me accountable if he didn't like something, and he heaped generous praise on me if he loved something. What he hated: my "way" with our pampered doggies, "You're spoiling those dogs," he would say... What he loved: my cooking: soups, stews, and especially, my Greek Potatoes, and my Sour Cream Pound Cake... What I'll miss: His bright smile, inquisitive nature, political and spiritual discussions (we often disagreed, but he was always respectful), and his deep love for his family. My prayer is that "Omma K"--my sweet mother-in-law is able to find peace amongst all this grief. I'm so grateful to have had both of them, in my life. I plan on talking "Omma K" into taking a course with me, at Jo-Anne's or Michael's, as soon as she is able. Give the older adults in your life a hug today. And any older person you see today, give them a smile, and a kind word. Do it in honor of "Appa K". Peace, kids.

Missing Mom....

It's cold and rainy and gray, and it's March and I'm missing our beloved Mom--Demetra. She was here for a few days, just five weeks ago, and before that, she was here for several months, but I miss her. I miss her. Mom is at the home shares with my beautiful, kind, sister and bro-in-law, and I know she prefers being home, in the warmth of south Florida, over the unpredictable weather here in north Georgia, but still, I miss her. I wonder sometimes how I will ever deal with the loss that all of us must face: that of forever losing a parent. I have been shy about even mouthing these words, as it hurts to even imagine such a scenario, yet nearly everyone currently in my life, has lost at least one parent, while my sister and I, are blessed with BOTH of our parents, living, and thriving, despite their harsh, individual, diagnoses...Sis and I are both also blessed with both of our "in-law-parents", too. I have been shy about mouthing these words, because in our American culture, denying death is something we do, every single day. We deny our death, our mortality. We all---perhaps especially me--live as though we have "forever" to accomplish tasks, to meet up with dear friends, to finish writing our play, or finish editing our two books of poems....I try to live by Carpe' Diem--I really do, but the inertia and I suppose--a kind of darkness that has swallowed me up over the past 15 months, has blunted my repeated attempts to feel...indeed, TO BE...productive. I'm hoping Mom will be back up here, before her follow-up in late April, with Cancer Treatment Centers of America. I know this for certain: I felt productive, caring for her. The poetry, was in the doing, in the loving act of cooking for her, assisting her with walking, laughing as we looked over old photographs, crying at the movies ("12 Years A Slave", which we saw shortly after it debuted at a nearby theatre), talking about our old beaus (mine, and hers!). The rain has stopped, but it's still not warm enough here for Mom, yet. I'll light a fire, until she comes back. Peace, kids.

PASSING OF CASANDRA.

UPDATE ON ROBYN CASANDRA SMITH's DEATH:
I was told today that Casandra's continual refusal to see a doctor(I'd been trying for many years, to get her to go for a check-up) came to an end when she stopped in at Hudson Grille (her watering-hole of choice) in Brookhaven, ordered a glass of white wine, and then, because her skin had (apparently, repeatedly)begun to crack and bleed(!!!), she headed off to the ladies' room, to freshen up. While there, two women noticed profuse bleeding suddenly coming from her abdomen, and thinking she was injured, called 911.When police arrived, they assumed she was a stabbing victim.In fact, Casandra said "No, I'm alright..." but police responded "Lady, you're bleeding, you're not alright.." she was taken to Northside Hospital, where she was treated, and it was discovered she had cirrhosis of the liver, and because her kidneys had begun to fail, even dialysis would not help.Two days later, she was sent to Hospice, where she remained for about a week, when she passed away on Monday, at 8:45 A.M., Feburary 28th(her on-line Obituary says March 28th, but I received this info from her long-time pal, Angie).Somehow, my own contact information was not discovered until a few days ago, so I had no idea that while we (my husband/husband's family) were wrestling with tremendous tragedies, poor Casandra was struggling with living....and dying.
I wish I could've said goodbye.I wish I could've held her hand and told her I was sorry that I nagged her about the doctor, about trying to drag her to a hospital, when she (repeatedly, for months) told me she was "throwing up blood".That I wish she'd read all the information I printed out, on cirrhosis, which is what I worried she might have.That I loved her for her, that she did not have to change, that she could be who she was--alcoholic and all--I just wanted her to be healthier, live longer.That I meant it--what I said about I didn't want "to have to see you die, Casandra, to be standing there, and watch them throw dirt on you;I'm younger than you, it's not right, Casandra...I will be angry, Casandra.Angry at all those people who drank with you, who never told you the truth, who never spent time with a sober you, Casandra."
When I asked her friend, Angie, if Casandra had asked for me, she said "No".
I was of course, deeply hurt, and asked again,"Are you sure?" she responded,"I heard she wasn't speaking to you..."
That was not true, I assured her. But what was true?
That in my frustration with trying to help her, I had, just weeks before this apparently happened, told Casandra "I don't want to hear from you, until you go to the doctor.I'm tired of you calling every few days, and telling me you are ill, you've thrown up blood, you're scared,and then you tell me you won't go to a doctor for even a basic check-up or tests, because you're afraid of needles, of getting your blood drawn.It is ridiculous, you're a grown woman, please Casandra, you're scaring me, you have to go to the doctor." (It should be noted that I offered AA, counseling, free clinics, trip to doctor and/or hospital, etc. She said no to all of these options.)
Many weeks ago, while I was juggling our many doctors' phone calls, and family phone calls, I was on the phone with my Mom, when there was a beep-in, and I glanced for just a second at the phone, and saw she (Casandra) was calling.I kept talking to my Mom, with whom I was discussing my husband's grave illness(see previous posts).I meant to return Casandra's call later that night, but I remember when I saw her name, thinking, angrily, that she was probably calling me, yet again, to simply complain about her feeling ill, and then she would refuse to address it by going to the doctor. Later, I simply forgot(overwhelmed with hubby's illness, demands on my time, unrelenting sadness over several tragedies.See previous posts here at this blog) until the following week.I never did reach her.
During the phone call in which her passing was explained to me,and suddenly in tears while speaking to her friend, Angie, I told her everything I've just stated here. That in addition to what I said, that I felt so bad, so guilty.That I didn't mean she couldn't call me. That if I hadn't been so tired/stressed/exhausted, I would've called Casandra right back. That I wished I had.
If there's someone you love, don't wait to tell them.Tell them right now.
Peace, kids.

RIP, Casandra.

So yesterday (Tuesday) is measured by a message on my cell-phone: a voice I don't know, sounding chipper and light, and then telling me that my dear friend--a woman I'd known nearly 25 years, passed away...two months ago(!)
A friend of a friend, leaving words in a tone I can't quite comprehend.And how is it no one had (earlier)contacted me???
I am grieving the loss of the sweet, humble, lover of laughter, Casandra.A girl-woman who let far too few people into her life.A vulnerable woman who let men who did not deserve her trust, have it.
Though I do not (yet) know the details of her untimely (she turned 45 last December 29th) death, I know her young years were often filled with parties and dancing, and hugging doggies, and trying new eye-makeup out, and holding cookouts, and calling me at all hours, and recounting how much she had a crush on a particular guy.
Casandra didn't use computers,"Computers and I, we don't get along," she would say.The past few years, she seldom visited me, saying the new area in which I lived was too confusing in which to drive. Since I hate the phone, and she could not/would not use a computer, we visited, or did meet-ups, in-person. Which meant I often saw Casandra much more often than others in my life.I'd visit her for lunch, or after she got off work(she was a professional haircutter/haircolorist/hairstylist)for dinner, or tea(though she usually ordered wine). I knew her nearly 25 years, and I found her funny, and charming....and willing to "grow".In 1993, when I took her to my favorite bookstore, she admitted she seldom read. "Where should I go, Lisa? This feels like school..."
"Well, go where your interests are.You love fashion, start there..."
A few moments later, with a stack of magazines and a book on design, her face lit up.
Smiling, she said "Oh,this is fun...".
Many years later, a young man she had a crush on, Todd,shared some novels he loved, with her.And Cas became the reader I knew she'd one day be...
We had talked about poetry, about the sound of it.She had attended poetry open mics I'd hosted, many years ago.Now, she was reading poetry, and joined me at (Decatur, Georgia's) Java Monkey Cafe, to listen to poets read their own work, too.
We had grown closer, through our love of words.
RIP, Casandra.You were a sweetheart.A talent at hair-color, a giver of smiles and love, a truly kind soul.
Peace, kids.

Endowing Louie's Death, With Meaning.

Oh, this is still so difficult.
I had the great pleasure of my cuz Gigi's company, and got to meet her new life-partner, the very gorgeous, exotic, quiet(did she have the choice of speaking, when cuz Gigi and I are together?!) Natalya. What a great couple they make!The food, the love shared between us, the time well-spent was gratifying, and uplifting.
But still.
I live in a too-quiet house, and miss the sound of one squeak-toy after another being squeezed by a big-mouthed Golden Retriever named "Louie".
"Afton", our calmly affectionate German Shepherd, misses him too.
Started sleeping in his doggie-bed. Carries his toys around.
Nestles at night, next to his "blue-dog"(which still smells like the tobacco-y,baby-powder-y scent that was The Lou), a ratty old toy that used to look like a floppy-eared-dog.
I know he had a great,long life.I know I should be grateful.
And God knows, there is more than enough (large, larger) tragedy in this world, than my losing my best buddy, "Louie".
But right now, it still hurts.
However, tomorrow(Saturday, July 10th), the GRRA(Golden Retriever Rescue of Atlanta) is holding a "Doggie-Wash" at the Red Bandana Pet (Supplies) Store, in Marietta on Dallas Road.
10:00 A.M. to 4:00 P.M.
We'll be there, with our "Afton", for a shampoo for her, and to donate to the great Rescue Group from whom we adopted our beloved "Lou".
For just 12 dollars you can give hope--- and give life --- to doggies(Goldens, Labs, etc.) they (GRRA) rescue from being sentenced to death, at Animal Control.
To donate, or to simply see updates and news from GRRA, check out the link on this page, to Golden Retriever Rescue of Atlanta.

Maybe writing and sending cards to others(I bought a bunch of cards the other day, thinking now is the time to re-connect with those I seldom see), and donating $$ and time to worthwhile causes, will help me feel better.
Give his death, a bit more "meaning".
Peace, kids.

The Memorial Mass

The Memorial for R. today went well, especially considering that the Roman Catholic Church does not "recognize" gay unions. On the altar were flowers, the urn containing R.'s remains, and two pictures--one of R. with a daughter from an early marriage. The other was a three-piece photo-frame of R. with the squirrel that was his pet for several years.
I didn't see a photo of my uncle and R., and could feel blood rushing to my face.
Angry, I tapped my mom, "I think there should be at least one picture of uncle and R..."
She gently asked:
"Did you see the pictures out front?"
It was then that I walked to the back of the church(the entrance) and saw the lively collage of pictures of family--many with uncle and R.,and two of just the two of them: in one, they were both dressed in Gasparilla t-shirts(Gasparilla is an annual celebration in Tampa)and looking very 1980's, my uncle with a bushy mustache, R. with clipped hair; the other featured the couple in swimwear, circa 1970's with 'fro-ed hair and dark tans.
It was very heartening to hear the priest at this local church speak of knowing R.(he was his barber for many years), and when he spoke of us all being "of God", it was clear this priest makes no distinctions; we are all of God. All of us. He repeated it several times.
I kept stroking my uncle's back. I chose to sit just behind him, as my mom was seated on one side, and his beloved R.'s daughter, on the other.
He was stronger than me. I cried a few times. Uncle was solid, showing little emotion. And it struck me: this is the way it's always been. Hide his feelings, Don't reveal himself. By the end of the Memorial Mass, uncle seemed relieved.

It was especially moving to see a cute gay couple, seated just behind us(the family) and see the younger of the two men, perform the sign of the cross, receive communion, and acknowledge us, during the Catholic Mass.
Afterwards, as we all gathered at the entrance to the church, I spoke to this great couple of men, known as "Frank and Frank"(I joked that they sound like a law firm), good friends of my uncle's, and it turns out, they are neighbors with a dear friend of mine!
I told them about helping uncle with the obituary(see my previous entry at this blog), and they nodded. It felt good to see that.
I returned to the subject of the Memorial, and told them "I'm Catholic, or at least, I'm trying. But I'm activist. I'm like, where's a great big picture of the two of them?"
The older Frank nodded. "I know."
"But at the entrance, they had pictures up, and there were several..." my voice trailed off, as the younger Frank added that he's close with my uncle.
Then we talked about where we lived, if we had pets, and then-- dogs-- and they told me they have five(yes, five!) and we are going to have to all get together.
I feel like R. was watching over not only my uncle, and my mom, but over me, too.
Peace, kids.

Funeral For A Good Man.

Friday was the day of the funeral. It was the funeral for a man who had just turned 47, a man who was our neighbor--the great family who lived across the street from us, when we lived in our first house--in Suwanee(South Forsyth County), Georgia. James B.(affectionately known as "J.B." to his long-time pals)had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor, only a few months ago. He went into a coma on Tuesday, only hours before he passed.

I spoke to my lovely niece, Breaz, by phone on Thursday night, and told her what I thought about the fact that I had a funeral to attend, the very next day.
I told her that "At twenty years old, we think a 'big life, a great life,'is when someone is wealthy, or has great fame, or is someone working to cure cancer, or something else 'big'."
But I told her that as I've grown, and become older, I believe having a big life means being the devoted husband, the wonderful, loving father, the kind son. "These are things that are not easy to do; to be this requires care, and love, and genuine goodness."
James B. had a lot of people in his life who obviously felt as I felt. The funeral home was packed with men from his softball team, close friends he played golf with, or hunted with, or fished with, folks from a nearby church that loved him dearly, clients and colleagues from his many many years in the auto-sales business, and many neighbors, and like us, former neighbors. The family had assembled a video that displayed images of James engaged in various activities, or holding his boys close--James has two great human boys, Cort and Grant, and two non-human(Black Labs), Remy and Chester. He also has a deeply committed wife, Janet, who fell in love with him when they were both teenagers. Classic high-school romance. Except this one lasted. For 27 years.
I grew close to his wife, Janet, as I began a journey in 2003 towards renewed faith in God. She and I began speaking about philosophical issues, life, and faith just after 9/11. Years later, when I visited their church, I noticed she & James held hands during the service. I remember thinking how touching that was, that sense of connection to each other, and to their God, at that moment. I longed for that connection with my own partner.
James never sought attention or fame for himself. He sought the company of good people--hard-working, decent folks who are happy to have a good job to go to in the mornings, are excited to discuss sports, appreciate a good businessman, and share faith in a loving God. James' life was a big life, a huge life, filled with the friendships of those who came to mourn him, but more--to remember and celebrate his life.
Towards the end of the service, I could see tears forming in my husband Hansoo's eyes. I reached for his hand, and a moment later, the pastor asked us all to pray, and in that instant, I could feel the Presence of that which we call God.
Here's to Grace and Peace and Blessings for his wonderful family.
Peace, kids.