With Sympathy ... Happy Birthday

Last night I was putting away sympathy cards and commented to a friend how direly odd it was as mixed with them were birthday cards to me; my mom died the day before my birthday. The cards all stacked several rows deep covered my entire table with an array of colorful happy – sad scribblings. The odd mixture of birthday wishes clashing with sympathy expressions disturbed my heart so much that I gathered them all up blindly and promised myself to properly segregate them in the future. Honestly, I’ve not been able to read any of them. I’ve barely been able to not see my mom laying in the hospital bed in my front room when I pass it. The furniture has been moved around to block the straight shot of this illusionary view, yet, draped across my heart last night was the tender cloth of realization; this was my first birthday without my mom. It was odd to say that out loud to my friend and even odder to watch how long it hung like smoke in my mind. Mom’s cards to me were always thoughtful except for the times my birthday fell during one of our disagreements, and, then, the word daughter was oddly omitted and replaced with a generic wish—it was funnier to me than she wished it were but that was just the nature of our relationship and I never took her slights serious, or, perhaps, decided not to.

It’s been just over a month since mom died and I’m not sure how thick this sheet of ice is that I’m trying to walk across most days. What I know is that it’s hard to adjust from going to those nights from work to her house for our nightly routine. All of that is put away along with the boxes of leftover supplies. It was a surprise to know that the humane society is appreciative of having the adult diapers and chucks (absorbent pads) for their babies and sick animals. Wayne was gracious enough to take what we had leftover to them leaving me with one less thing to do right now. I’ve still not changed the contact name in my phone to read –dad calling, instead, of mom. When my dad calls me there is a false moment that takes me back to those random calls of hers when I would roll my eyes knowing that I had to answer or call back later (we all know what I mean); I need to change the name in my phone but not just yet.  

I’m not as relieved as I thought I would be that mom made her transition; the, wise, Monday Night quarterback in me is still replying the end of the game. Twice within a week’s period I’ve met complete strangers who are going through the same nightmares that I have. This morphine thing?! If you know what I’m talking about, please, private message me with your story.

The cards are put away and mom now resides in a beautiful urn on a table next to dad’s bed. When I asked him if he were still okay to be in the house alone he said, “Yes, I talk to mom every day and find things to do outside.” I’ve left the invitation open for my dad to move in (Cindy has too) if he does not want to live alone but for now I think he is managing well. We’ve not reached a new normal---but coming from an abnormal family, well; I think dad, Cindy and I will continue to do the best we can.

Mona McPherson

Mikka-Mine

Do you remember, that night? I’ve thought of it often since learning of your pregnancy with Zeke. I sat across from you, the silence crawling into each empty space as the conversation began. Daddy was gone on one of his long excursions into whatever new thing needed to be learned with his job, yet, there we were. That small bedroom in that small town with you holding more information than a 15 year old should ever need to. You were crying in a way I’ve never been able to eras...e from my mind—it was as if you doubted our love for you could be unconditional. That Decmeber night was cold, yet, warmed by my need to comfort whatever you had to say. Of course, I was thinking it was one of those overrated teenager moments that get tossed in the closet under dirty clothes and forgotten homework. It wasn’t’! It was a life changing moment! I learned that night that you were pregnant.

Do you remember? All I saw was this giant empty place of not knowing what your news would mean for you. That being said, I KNEW YOU! I KNEW you would have all the people in place to support you no matter what, or, they would be removed from our lives. I actually had those conversations.


Can you imagine me now?! Looking back on your life and this place you have created with a man that we truly adore and raising a granddaughter that has, possibly, more spunk and determination than you and me combined?! LOL... The day you came home from the hospital with Layla, I took her outside on the back porch, she was crying and you needed to rest. I paced with her in my arms promising her that she would have a fortress of love and support her whole life from me and Poppy. I CANNOT wait to have the same conversation with my little Zeke.




I LOVE YOU Mikka-Mine. I’d be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that I’m a little afraid for all of the unkown things we face, but, as always: you will never walk through any door of your life alone. We will face it together as the family we’ve always been.




Mona McPherson

Ticket to Change

She settled into the chair across from my desk and we began our conversation. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about her except a brilliant smile that took up all the empty space in my office. One of the questions that I ask when interviewing potential volunteers is a simple one, yet, it’s the kind of question that opens the shades to some very deep windows, if you have them. “Can you tell me about a significant loss in your life?” The goal is to see if the individual is far enough away from a death in their own life to be emotionally ready to work with those in end of life care. My words barley cleared the air between us when she said that it was her father. “He was the loss of my life!” Her tears came out of hiding; they glistened like stained glass windows dripping colors across the memory that I now felt in the room with us.

Witnesses would tell her that 4 high school students that didn’t want to pay to get into a football game began to harass her father who was selling tickets. When things didn’t go their way, it got physical. The witnesses said that one of the teens pulled out an iron pipe and in a random act of violence landed a decisive blow to the back of her father’s head. This beautiful African American woman with buttery skin and a well-seasoned vocabulary went on to tell me about one of the most fascinating men that I will never know. She spoke with careful words about how wise her father was and that he took time to discuss what truly mattered most to him with each of his 5 children; she was his third child and first daughter which created an especially close bond with him. That night at the gate he was left brain damaged. Her pain seized me with a riveted attention. Instantly, the family went from a financially comfortable living to barely scraping by on one income. Her father was in the hospital for a year before being placed in a facility and would die three years later never to regain control of his mind or body again.

Although it had been decades ago, I found myself gently tracing the well-worn labyrinth of pain she had walked for years. Her tone softened as she went on to tell me that it was her last weeks of college when her father passed. Her mom fearing that the end of his life was near called all of the children home, all except her. She adjusted herself in the chair, took a deep breath and tightly clutched the purse laying across her lap. Looking passed me to the window she said, “They all got to say goodbye to my dad and have those last important words but I didn’t.” Her mom had decided that interrupting the last weeks of college might impede her graduating. Forgiving her mom had been a steep slow hill for her to climb the years following her father’s death, and judging from the anguish entangling her words of regret; I felt myself understanding the few years of estrangement she took from her mom. The relationship would be repaired with much work and time. Today they enjoy weekly visits and she fully expects to care for her mom when she reaches the point of decline but at 85 seems to be going strong.

She regained her composure after the unexpected question and I asked, “What was the greatest lesson you learned from losing your father?” She said that it was the blessing and gift of his sharing what mattered to him. At each moment in her life when she found herself backed into hardship’s corner, she would hear the wisdom of her father’s words from long ago applying, still, to her life circumstances. It renewed her hope and belief that she could make it through her problems. On occasion, she confessed, “I’ve felt his presence so close to me that it moved me to tears.” With that, her brilliant smile; in a wave of optimistic candor, rushed back into the room and pulled mine across my face as well as she said, “I’m never really alone!”

I wasn’t expecting this mild ordinary looking woman to shake me so thoroughly, but, propped up on thick sturdy legs in this woman is a story worn with a blue-collar understanding; at any given moment life can come off its axis. Her father left her a treasure chest of wisdom for those occasions.


She is going to make an amazing volunteer for our patients in end of life care.

Mona McPherson

 

 

Dear 2016:



In an undisclosed location, I untied you from the dock and pushed you into the open water; the waves caught you starboard and drug you from my shore with little effort. You disappeared on the horizon of my quiet reflections leaving only calm seas for my new journey aboard 2017. I’ve not even left the bay and already I feel an empowered renewed purpose commanding my attention. Although still bruised, I survived the “Perfect Storm” of losses last year (both expected and unexpected). There was a moment, albeit brief, that you almost broke me and I began to list in my own questions about how to navigate the end of life care of my brother and mother, remain a mast for my dad, and, explore the deep waters of childhood issues with my sister. This is not the place, however, to stack those heavy ballast boxes; my deck is clear, I have no regrets and it's time to steer clear of the past looking only ahead.

One thing before I step forward, thank you with all sincerity for the uncharted waters we crossed; I've gained practical experience that will allow me to stay the course. Our "Perfect Storm" revealed reservoirs of untapped strength at the ready no matter how many terrific blows land across the hull. I’m now capable of lifting all of myself above this past year's events with a smile on my face knowing that there are new lands to discover and more adventures to be had even among the dark skies ahead. No matter the seas; I am fully prepared to take on whatever storms may come thanks to you, 2016.

Mona McPherson

Ellie and Me

When I was 5 years old my dad was stationed in Africa and when he returned from his tour of duty he came home with a present for my sister, brother and myself. Three handcarved elephants. The only problem was that mine was tiny and Cindy’s and Paul’s were big. My hands went immediately to my hips as I demanded to know why my elephant was so tiny compared to the other two. My dad looked at me and said, “You’re the baby of the family.” All I could do was watch as that term slid down my boiling hot mind like thick slimy okra and it puddled in my head. Yes, there were advantages to being the baby of the family but for some reason all families deem it necessary to remind the youngest constantly of his or her birth, order, defect. With my wounded heart in my hand; I starred at this pithy runt that slanderously had my name printed on its underside. The creature was handed limp and rejected back to my dad as stormed out of the room facing what I clearly already knew to be true at the time; I was less loved and less equal to him than my bigger siblings.

Year after year that elephant had the nerve to stare down at me from inside my mom’s china cabinet while I was eating. Its puny body laboring under loose anorexic wood skin had me dreaming of sneaking into the dining room late one night and casting it into the trash where all the other less loved things belonged.  It was spared only by my voiced complaints made loud and too often while sitting at the table under its wooden stare. There was no doubt that I would be the only one hauled in for lineup for such a heist as no one in the house loathed that animal as much as me. The other two giant mammoths with their bloated well-fed tummies so fat and so loved didn’t even bother looking down at my runt replica. Perfectly capturing my feelings at the time as the one who couldn’t stay up as late as the others, couldn’t have as much cake as the others, couldn’t watch certain movies like the others could, couldn’t talk on the phone, couldn’t walk to the store alone and the list of couldn’t-s piled up so wobbly high that I was sure I would die before making it into CAN-land.


When we grew up and moved out of the house my mom gave each of us our elephant. When the time came for me to leave I refused to take mine. Even as an adult that tiny runt crawled underneath my skin as a reminder of my repression and first brush with discrimination over something I could no more help than I could move the sun, my birth order!

Fast forward a few years and four children later, except for the oldest; my children at one time or another were imprisoned in Couldn’t-land far removed from their older sibling(s) privileged spot and I was growing a greater understanding of family dynamics . One day when I was visiting mom’s, I opened the china cabinet door, and, for the second time in my life; I picked up Ellie, a name she was bestowed with later. Turning her over and looking at my name, I thought about how much protection goes into taking care of the baby of the family (and how we tend to belong to our siblings in a very different way in childhood). The many times my sister or brother sat next to me when I was afraid during a thunderstorm, brought me candy from a birthday party I was too little to go to or comforted me when the adults in the house weren’t acting like adults came to the forefront of my heart. This began the shift in me about what Ellie represented. Ellie went home with me that day and now sits on a shelf that overlooks my dining room table. She has finally gained her rightful place in my life and we are both happier. Occasionally, I glance up to see her staring at me. Gone are those old childhood memories filled with hurt that she was so little, and in their place, a knowing smile. I'm still watched over.

Elephants have been showing up in my life ever since. Like the time I was cleaning out a dear friend’s home after she died. It was one of those hard days when grief had its cold hands around my throat so tight my heart couldn't breathe. I bumped into a wall unit and a tiny ivory elephant that I had never seen before fell into my hands (she's next to Ellie on the shelf now but she is not the only story about this beautiful animal unexpectedly showing up when I needed to be reminded that I'll be okay). The elephant is my totem animal so clearly understood by Native Americans. It represents my personal and spiritual identity and I continue to study its  meaning to better understand myself. Ellie is my constant reminder that there will never come a time when I am afraid, hurting, lonely or lost that I will not have a loving spirit gathering circumstances around me for my guidance, care and protection.

Mona McPherson

Karen

Every Holiday season I’m reminded of Karen, a beautiful soft spoken woman who was addicted to everything involving cats. I was working for the state’s Environmental Services department as a Systems Analyst and had been assigned to replace all our old computers with new ones before the end of the year. My second attempt at catching Karen, an Environmental Scientist, in her office was a success. My eyes darted around the room in full understanding as to why the IT department called her the cat lady; there was not an inch of her office walls that were not covered with funny pictures of cats and kittens. Karen was in a heated personal conversation when she motioned me into her office. It was an uncomfortable moment as I realized the nature of the conversation but Karen covered the phone long enough to say that her boss told her to stop everything when I showed up and let me replace her computer. With apprehension, I pulled the cart in and began unpacking the new Dell. Karen got up from her desk and tucked herself into the corner next to a large window. The sound of the blinds being opened mingled within her painful questions to the voice on the other end of the phone.

The rain that day magnified as Karen began pleading with her husband to not leave her and my heart began to freeze to the floor beneath her desk as I was trying to remove her pc tower. All that came into view was her profile at the window crumbling under his reply. The look on her face answered that question before she said another word. Her husband had been having an affair for months while she cared for her sick mother. He decided to drain all their accounts without paying the utilities or mortgage letting her know that he realized she’d be getting some inheritance; Karen had lost her mom just a couple of weeks before; I knew because I remember the card that went around the office for all of us to sign. Her husband decided that she could catch up on all her bills with that meager amount and any late fees as well, and, find another place to live as he knew she couldn’t afford their home on only her income. Her response was hard and fast explaining some of their shared poor financial decisions along with some very choice words about the way he was leaving her; it was clear she did not agree. The phone slammed down so hard on the receiver that even though I could anticipate it, I still jumped.

Karen sat on the couch across from her desk and quietly fell apart. The old computer was placed on the cart and I sat down at her desk hooking up the new Dell. My pager went off and I needed to call my boss to give an update on my progress. The IT department had dinner plans before we were to go on our two week Holiday break. The phone was still warm from Karen’s hot conversation as I punched in the numbers. When my supervisor answered I stated that I’d not be able to make it due to software loading issues; there were no issues with the software but I couldn’t leave with Karen being so upset. She needed someone, and from her previous conversation, her soft place to fall had just knocked her to her knees as hard as he could. I told Karen that the software would take a while to load and banked on the fact that she didn’t have a clue that I was already done. There was a roll of soft thunder lasting longer than normal as I quietly began my conversation with her. She spoke deeply and without reservation as we discussed her life. Karen knew her most pressing need was to pay the mortgage and utilities to make to the next month and then she’d begin putting her life back together. She asked me at the end of our conversation if I’d let her keep the kitten screen saver that was no longer allowed, I agreed as long as she was discreet. Before leaving for break our office collected more than enough to take care of her mortgage and utility payments and I had put it on my calendar to go visit her the Monday that we all came back.

That Monday morning I was called into my supervisor’s office; I can still smell the burnt coffee leaping out of his cup as he told me that Karen committed suicide and that I would need to go reset her computer. A co-worker unlocked her door choking back tears and telling me the whole department was in shock. The first thing I noticed were the three boxes containing all of Karen's personal items setting on the couch. The only thing not packed was the picture of her and her husband on their last vacation; I turned it face down as I passed it. Turning on Karen's computer, the silly cat pops up and it made me smile, sadly. My mind racing through every inch of our conversation just two weeks before to see what I missed. How could I not know she was suicidal?! Nothing made sense as I logged on and wiped her settings out. Walking over to the window, I grabbed the line and drew the blinds shut that she’d opened for the last time. I’m not sure how long I stood there in her dark office but I remember my confusion and how badly I wanted to know what I had missed.

Karen crossed my life for a brief 3 hours, yet, each Holiday she comes back to remind me to take note of those in my life who are facing challenges this Holiday. There was nothing about Karen that would have led me to believe she was so close to suicide. She was upset, rightly so, and did mentioned that the Holidays would make this harder with it being the first without her mom and now the loss of her husband, but, we truly never know how deeply another person is hurting unless we open ourselves up and dare to ask probing questions. Nor should we assume that a person has a support system of friends and family to lean on. A very simple question about who she has in place to help her through her time of need might have been all it took. Had I known she didn't have anyone, I would have insisted on getting her number and staying in touch those two weeks.

Holiday depression is a very common occurrence! If you know someone who has endured major life changes this year, or, who are simply not acting in their normal way, please, start a conversation--you may be their only lifeline.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Phone Number

• 1-800-273-8255

Mona McPherson 

Humble Works

Archived in my mind is a thought about our frantic race into the high-tech world of healing. The instantaneous use of powerful drugs experimenting their way into depleted veins feels blindly offensive. Where is the documentation that proves collateral damage is not being done while we delay departure of a body laboring to stop living?! With privileged witness I understand the world of the dying more than most and feel a kinship in the words of Bishop Spong when he writes, “No one should die alone. No one should seek high tech solutions to medical problems without a community to provide high-touch environment of love.” This statement burrows in my mind as I recall moments before a friend’s death I acquired an impossible feeling that I needed to let down the bed railing and crawl into bed with her. My hesitation to hold her outlasted her life as I debated about “if” that attempt might cause her pain. In hindsight, it revealed itself as a silent conversation between her soul and mine about the care she needed in her last moments. Human reason emptied me of being able to meet that sacred comforting need. As a mother, I recall those tender moments when nothing else would suffice than for me to lay with my feverish child and tuck him or her close to me. It is pure instinct when holding another to stroke the hair or rub the back with meaningful solidarity which, for my sick child, often led to complete relaxation of the body and then into sleep. Would that we could shrink ourselves in needful moments into that kind of maternal love and compassion; the world and its problems would streak across the night and disappear like star. 

The energy generated in purposeful human touch, I believe, houses an elixir for the transition of the body out of this life much like it aids in our instinctive care of a sick child. We can even take it further when dissecting what Mother Teresa said, “Let us touch the dying, the poor, the lonely and the unwanted according to the graces we have received and let us not be ashamed or slow to do the humble work.” The art of humble work weaves its thread into our environment one person at a time. Let us wear our responses with eager hands barred not by discrimination, but, instead; obedient in allowing the soul to guide us through the needs of others. Hold more, hug longer, touch often and bring your heart to life under the theater of the soul. 

Mona McPherson