Family Time

It's that time of year in my family. 

 

Time to celebrate the birthdays of my parents who are in their 80's.  My Mom and Dad's birthdays land on the calendar exactly a week apart so in the last few years my siblings and I have started celebrating their birthdays together in the interest of harmony, world peace and all that is holy.

 

 

We know we are blessed to have our parents still with us and we definitely don't take it for granted.  Not for one minute.  But sometimes it can be tricky in making sure that each birthday receives the same amount of attention, if you know what I mean.  The healing part of this family get together is that it's great to have a happy reason to gather and just straight out enjoy ourselves which usually means retelling childhood stories, imitating each other and a lot of jokes.

 

One of the presents that was a huge hit was a box of Ole and Lena fortune cookies that one of my sisters had bought at a Scandinavian store.  I had to Google the names of Ole and Lena because I didn't know who they are or why they are funny but apparently they are the central characters to jokes made by Scandinavian Americans particularly in Minnesota, Wisconsin and the rest of the Upper Midwest region of the US.  The humor is rather folk and really silly.

 

Happy Birthday Mom and Dad and we all wish you many, many more!!

 

Mom &Dad Celebrating Their Birthdays In Party Attire

My brother, Tom, and sister, Theresa

My sister, Sheila, and brother, Tom

 

My sister, Maureen, and me in a selfie

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not To Worry

Why is it that I think that worrying about something will affect the circumstances of the thing I'm  worrying about?

 

It's as though the more I worry about it, the more I think I can push the situation to go the way I want.

My siblings and I talk a lot about worrying and why we worry.  Like A LOT.  As in a couple of times a week.

It's a good thing I come from a family of six children so we can rotate our calls to each other and no one ends up being burnt out from the constant chatter of one person over and over.  What do we worry about?  Besides our children, most of whom are now young adults and tell us not to worry about them, we worry about our wonderful parents who are in their eighties.  We all live within a hour or two of where my parents live and only out of love do we wonder if they need more of our help.

To say that my parents are independent and free spirited is an understatement but that is also what makes them so charming and so resistant to our offers of help.  I'm sure your family is much the same as ours where aging and illness are issues that are now at the top of the worry list.  It's a bit of a  juggling act trying to know when to offer assistance and when to leave it alone and let it work itself out.

Lots of people say that worry is a waste and I suppose that's true but it doesn't feel that way when you are actively worrying about people you care about.

Worry Beads

Usually worry starts with my thoughts and then as I start thinking about a situation, I unfortunately let myself get ahead to something that hasn't happened yet and maybe it won't ever happen but I still think to myself "What if that happens?"  Do you do this too?  Or am I in a class by myself?

When my thought process starts going round and round, stuck on a thought, I find I have to apply the mental brakes on myself and distract myself with some other activity.  If I don't stop thinking about the "what if's", then the worrying will affect my mood; as in getting a very intense headache.

At that moment I realize the negative effects of worrying: all that thinking, all that concern, all that energy focused on a certain situation, doesn't change whether it will happen.  Not one little bit.  In the meantime, I've made myself a an awful wreck.  Not. good. at. all.

Just as the repetition of handling the beads on a string of worry beads can be calming and healing so does saying positive affirmations to yourself.  Affirmations can help guide you to inner peace.  Sometimes I say; "Worry is a waste." "Worry is a waste." and other times I repeat "Resist worry. Resist Fear."  or "I am safe."

Most of the time my affirmations go a long way to making me feel better about whatever is going on and when they don't I know I can always grab my trusty phone and know that an understanding sibling is just a call away!

Family Dynamics

I'm sure I'm stating the obvious when I say that every family has its own dynamic and its own way of relating to each other and I think that this special form of communication developed within the family over the years is revealed in its barest form on a holiday.

 

Let me tell you about mine.  Okay at least a little bit.

 

Take 15 adults, 8 grandchildren in their teens and twenties, 6 children under the age of six and one newborn baby and put them all together in close quarters for a number of hours and what do you get?

 

One large hungry and uninhibited family all talking at the same time about important earth shattering subjects such as food, sports, fashion and children.  People's responses are made to one another on the run while moving from one room to another or just loud enough for someone in one room to hear the other person.  What can you do? 

Christmas Day was full of welcoming kisses and hugs and flying wrapping paper and little ones mesmerized by electronic games.  It also was full of lots of spinach and artichoke dip and chips and cookies and peppermint bark.

  

Oh Behold Our Family Christmas Tree!!!!

I find as my siblings and I get older that so much can be said with a facial expression or a quick gesture of the hand.  Especially when your parents aren't looking.  

 

It may not have been entirely calm, quiet or an organized Christmas Day but it was ours and it worked for us.  It was a lot of work but at the end of the day, we were happy and blessed this year to be able to hang out with each other and I thank the Lord who allowed us to be together.  

 

Whether your family celebrated Christmas or not, I hope you were able to gather and feel some family love and make some holiday memories.

Taxi Dad

Today's post is a shout out to all of the men out there who have lost their wives or partners and are working hard to juggle the never ending responsibilities of working a paying job while raising their precious children.

I think that women in this situation tend to receive more attention than men due to the sheer numbers of women who find themselves widowed with young children.  But men are also out there too doing their part and running around -- as all parents do -- trying to keep all the plates in the air.

 

I was reminded of this earlier in the week when I jumped into a taxi and had a casual conversation with the young driver.  It was one of those casual chats that starts out as nothing but then it became more.   We were talking about the cost of living in Washington, DC and the price of gas and then it evolved into stories about our children and life's priorities.

 

The taxi driver had two children, one who just started college and the other who was around 10 years old.  He tapped the dashboard to show me the picture of his younger child which he had taped by the driver's wheel.  "This is the reason that I don't work on weekends even though that's the time I could make a lot more money," Taxi Dad told me.  "My wife died in 2009 from cancer so I am doing it by myself, you know?  I don't have time to go crazy and spend money and time on other things.  Do you know what I mean?"

 

Yup, I told him, I did know what he meant. 

 

I have been a single parent for ten years and being a single parent, just like being a parent with a spouse or partner, is a lot of hard work.  It's also incredibly rewarding and sometimes heartbreaking.  Many times I found myself in uncharted territory in ways I never imagined and sometimes I got through the day by just going with my gut instinct as I tried to be both Mom and Dad.  Whether it's something that happens at school, a decision to be made about a friend's party or sharing the car, I second guessed myself a lot.

 

Instead of saying, "I don't know.  I'll have to talk to your father about this," I would try to buy some time on making a decision by just being honest and saying, "You have to give me some more time to think about this."  Sometimes, I would call a friend and sometimes I would call one of my sisters but you definitely need someone you can talk to whose judgment you trust because you need parental feedback and I didn't have anyone else to help me figure it out.

 

I think widowed Dads probably learn to set up their own support systems and find other guys or family and friends to help them navigate the surprises of trying to work a job and raise children by themselves.

 

Taxi Dad is just one of thousands of Dads out there who try to arrange their work schedules to support their children's needs just as women do. 

As my ride and our conversation ended, it felt good to share our stories about how we handled our losses and connect for a short time with another parent who had also lost a spouse.  Me and Taxi Dad are doing our best and that's all we can ask of ourselves.

 

Here's to the Dads who man up every day and make it work!  

The Great Possession Debate

Sometimes you find help in the most unpredictable places.

Yesterday morning I was reading a column in The Washington Post called Home Front and came across a question from a reader that I thought was timely, on point and more importantly, one that we all probably will have to face at some point or another in our lives.

The questioner wanted to know what to do with the possessions that once belonged to a loved one.  Specifically, the things that belonged to her father, who had recently died.  Inheriting a lifetime of someone else's possessions can be overwhelming and increase the sadness and stress everyone is already feeling.

 

 

They may just be things, but they are also your loved one's things and since that person is no longer here, it feels as if the possessions will help maintain an emotional bond.  It feels wrong and disrespectful to toss it all away.

 

Do you have to keep everything?

It's up to you.  But keeping everything at some point can become an emotional burden so you might want to pick and choose the things that you do keep.  You can do it little by little when you feel ready.

While preparing yourself to make a decision about a loved one's possessions, here is a wise point of view from Sheila Bridges, an author and New York-based designer who was named "America's Best Interior Designer' by CNN and Time magazine.

Bridges has a common sense answer we all can easily follow.  Here is the unedited question from Home Front and Sheila Bridges' answer:

Q: My mom is coming to live with me in a 1,500-square-foot townhouse.  She has boxes of things she has collected over the years, many associated with my father, who passed away a year ago.  How do I incorporate some of these things in our soon-to-be-shared living spaces?  She collects Hummel figurines and things like that, and I also have one small case of cat-related items.  What is the best way to showcase items such as these without overwhelming the house and still making my mom feel welcome?

 

A: I understand, having just lost my own father nearly a year ago.  I think it is more about incorporating a few of the things that are really meaningful than a ton of items.  Maybe you could put a cabinet with open shelves on top and drawers below in your mom's bedroom and she could put some of the things on the shelves that remind her of your dad.  I incorporated a couple of my father's lamps and his favorite chair into my home, but that was it.  I think anything more than that would have been too much to live with.  They are reminders of him that I love living with, without going overboard and turning my own home into a shrine to him.

 

 

Parents Are Human Too

While celebrating my son's birthday recently, he asked me once again what it was like the day he was born.

 

I think every child likes to reminisce about the day of their birth and what everyone was doing as they were arriving into the world.  His questions about how long I was in labor, what was happening in the hospital and what Daddy was doing were expected.

 

But that conversation evolved into a bittersweet conversation about his Dad and some of the frustrating health issues he had before his death.  His Dad (my husband) was diabetic and injected insulin.  He was not overweight.  He developed diabetes later in life and controlled his diabetes with pills for a number of years but then was hospitalized with acute pneumonia which caused his sugar levels to go out of control.  Injecting insulin was the only way the doctors could stabilize his sugar count.

 

Too put it mildly, diabetes and my husband were not a good match at all.  I know of two people who are diabetic and both inject insulin.  They are religious about checking their blood sugar, eating well and exercising on a regular basis.  These were not things my husband did on a regular basis or even wanted to do daily.

 

His pills would sit on the table, he would go for hours without testing his blood sugar, he would eat desserts and he would drink alcohol.  Don't get me wrong.  I loved my husband desperately but there were times when I felt I was fighting harder for his health than he was.  I will give him credit for the efforts that he did make for short periods of time when he would try to change his habits but then it would become too much and he would let it all slide again.

 

 

Our son remembers the arguments about diet and exercise and medicine and I know that this created anxiety.  I don't particularly enjoy answering these questions from my son but I'm also not going to hide the truth from him and run away from the reality of our situation.  Going back in our memories to those times is painful and we truly tried to make things easier for him because we knew he was sick but in the end it wasn't enough.

 

It is very hard to explain to a child that their parent is not all that they think they are or want them to be.  You want to think and talk only about the good times but that's not life.  We have to learn to take the good with the bad. 

We're all human.  We make mistakes.  Our hearts are in the right place and so are our intentions but we don't always carry through on our goals.  I've had my share of screw-ups but I'm still here so my son can argue with me when he is annoyed or angry at something I've done.  His Dad isn't here and he can't talk to him or confront him with his issues and that creates pain and sometimes anger.

Give yourself and others permission to feel and talk about these conflicted emotions.  In the end, I think it's okay to love someone but still be angry at them for some of the choices they made while they were with you. 

It's their actions that we don't like because our love for the person is still there.  Always.

An Emotional Box

As I continue to slowly reorganize my freshly painted bedroom, it is amazing the things you find stored under your bed.

 

Last week I wrote about my long put-off decision to finally paint and reorganize my bedroom following my husband's death.  Now, as I pick and choose what I am bringing back into that room, I am dealing with some of the things that I pushed aside and choose not to think about.

 

In this instance, it is an old Estee Lauder box that once held cosmetics and perfume.  I loved the different colored berries pictured on the outside of the box and so I kept it and filled it with special things that I wanted to keep together in one place.

 

 

 

 

When my son was born, I put all the cards that people mailed to us in that box and then I continued to fill the box with birthday and holiday cards that he received as a child and various art projects that he did when he was in pre-school.

 

OMG, it is so precious!  When I opened the box, I just sat there and stared at it for a long time.

 

It's quite the emotional box; full of hopes, dreams, expectations, love and all the sweetness that I felt with the birth of my son and his early years as a toddler.  I went on a trip when I opened that box, a trip where I met myself and my husband some twenty-odd years ago.  We weren't young parents but we were a lot younger then and we had a new little baby boy and we were full of love, love, love and oblivious to the idea that it could ever, ever change.

 

I brought the box to my son, my "baby" who is now in his twenties, and showed him what I had found.  I took the cards out, one by one, opening them up and reading the kind messages and telling him about the friends and family that had sent these amazing cards when he was born and the other cards that came to him on Halloween, Valentine's Day and other birthdays.  He was fascinated that I had saved all these things and I was too.

 

In a way, I wished I hadn't saved all these sentimental momentos.  They were from another time, a time when there was three of us.  It's only been my son and I after my husband's death and sometimes it feels as though it's always been that way.  Or at least my mind tricks me into thinking that sometimes. 

 

But the cards are proof of a different family and different people.

 

I don't mean that in a bad way or even a sad way.  It was just different.

 

Finding the box led me and my son to talking and reminiscing about the people who sent the cherished cards and telling stories about them.  As we laughed and I answered his questions, I remembered things that I hadn't thought about in years and at the same time I felt the responsibility of being the only parent.  Since his father is no longer alive, I really wanted to remember everything I could to let him know what that time was like when he was an infant and toddler.

 

There are a lot of times as a single parent that you have to be both mother and father.  Discipline and financial decisions immediately come to mind as examples.  That isn't always a great role to fill and those are the times when you wish you had someone else to share the responsibility with.

But this time I was happy to talk to him for hours about the immense happiness that his birth brought to us, his mother and his father, and continues to bring to me. 

 

Be Careful Out There

 

 

 

 

On Saturday, I went to visit my parents who are in their eighties and my brother who has Down's Syndrome. 

 

It was a beautiful day, full of sunshine and hints of the coming of Spring.  We had a delicious lunch at a local Irish pub and some good solid conversation and then it was time for me to "toddle on home," as my great friend Ellen would say. 

 

I stopped at the gas station near my parent's house because I like to take advantage of the cheaper gas prices in Rockville, Maryland.  There were no other cars in the gas station so I had the pick of any pump.  After I stopped and got out of the car, I walked up to the concrete island where the gas pumps are located, thinking I would cut through to the cashier.

 

As I stepped up to the concrete island, I looked down to check my coat pocket where I had earlier put a twenty dollar bill.  One foot was on the island and I guess I thought my other foot had cleared the island but it hadn't.  I know you know what happened next.

 

In an instant -- it's so cliche, but so true -- I lost control and went flying across the concrete.  The next thing I knew I could feel my face scraping the rough surface of the pavement. BAM!  I laid there for a few minutes and hoped I hadn't broken anything.  At the same time, I had this vision of what I looked like from another person's perspective as in "What in the hell is that woman doing laying on the concrete by the gas pump?"

 

For all of you adults out there -- men and women -- I hope you remain upright every day of your life.  Falling is humiliating and scary.  When it is happening you really don't know how or where you are going to land.  At first, I was afraid to move, but then I slowly got up.  As I did I felt my face was bleeding but I couldn't tell where and I also realized I had ripped a hole in the right knee of my pants and my knee was scraped too.

 

As I slowly walked into the gas station, I felt the full impact of what had happened and started to cry.  You should have seen the look on the two guys inside the gas station store.  One was sitting down on a chair and immediately jumped up and came to help me and the other one went to get a first aid kit.  There was no mirror so I had to look into the stainless steel that surrounds the edge of the refrigerator doors where drinks are sold.  It was then that I realized I had cut my nose and my chin and also scraped my glasses on the lense and on the bridge.

 

The younger guy kept asking me if I was okay because I couldn't stop crying.  I think I was crying more out of frustration than actual pain although my face was throbbing.  I couldn't believe I had done this to myself.  What a klutz!  You would think that at this point in my life that I would be able to put one foot in front of the other.

 

Eventually I got cleaned up and the younger guy offered to pump my gas.  One of my sisters said he should have offered to give me free gas but I don't think that ever happens.

 

As I drove home, I went over the events again in my mind and realized what a wake-up call it was.  At least my fall had happened in a public place.  Even though no one had been with me, strangers had reached out to help me.  But suppose others hadn't been around. 

 

I felt that fear that comes when there is the possibility that you might not be able to take care of yourself.  I do need to be more aware of myself and my surroundings and concentrate on whatever the moment at hand is.

When you are in a hurry and you are thinking about too many things at the same time, this is when life reminds you that you need to stop and be more careful about what you are doing.

 

I was lucky!!! I didn't break anything and I was able to get up on my own and go about my business.

 

And I learned the hard way that when I am by myself, I can't be so casual about moving around.

 

Okay, universe I heard your message and I have taken it to heart: Be careful out there!

 

The Loss of A Child

When I have been in support group sessions and listened as people have talked about losing a spouse there is usually a sense of bonding, a feeling of "having been there" in the expressed feeling or thought.  A supportive dialogue usually ensues and sometimes people even feel a sense of progress.

 

Being around other widows and widowers can be a blessing after you have lost a spouse.  I remember thinking, "Finally! Here are people who are dealing with what I am dealing with!"  Because of our shared experience, we could tell jokes or cry or get angry about the loss of our loved ones.  I think we even began to think that maybe losing a spouse is something most adults eventually have to experience.

 

 

 

 

I remember though when a woman whose husband had recently died began talking one day about how she also had lost her child.  I felt a stillness and reverence come over the room.  The death of anyone you love permanently changes your life.  A spouse, a parent, a friend.  There is always a yearning for more time and a need to connect even after they are physically gone.

But the death of a child is in a category all by itself.  Such a profound loss is unbelievably cruel and goes against the natural order of life.  

Anyone who can talk, let alone sit down and write a complete and rational thought about their deceased child is a person who is truly resilient.  Jeremy Shatan is one of those people.

 

Please read about his beloved Jacob in the following New York Times story and some of the jarring events that have marked Jeremy's journey since Jacob's death.

March 3, 2013

A High-Functioning Bereaved Parent

By JEREMY SHATAN

New York Times

 

So where am I now, 13 years after my 2½-year-old son, Jacob, died because of a brain tumor? One thing I can say is that my junk mail has no idea where I am. The other day I threw out yet another letter offering to give us advice on Jacob’s college career, as well as a solicitation to re-subscribe to Highlights magazine. Obviously, Jacob is not going to college. And my surviving children are 11 and 13, a bit out of the Highlights demographic.

 

One construct I use to help myself understand where I am now is a term my wife and I came up with: High-Functioning Bereaved Parent. As is often remarked, someone who has lost a spouse is handily defined by the word “widow” or “widower.” But there is no shorthand to describe a parent who has lost a child. Language is a reflection of culture. The great majority of people will never experience the loss of a child and would prefer not to think about it all that much. Raising children is fraught enough without having to dwell on their mortality. So for now, H.F.B.P. will have to do. I’ll certainly take it over “every parent’s worst nightmare.”

 

So how exactly does being a High-Functioning Bereaved Parent manifest itself? I get out of bed, I help raise our kids and run our household, I laugh, tell jokes, watch violent movies, listen to music and go to concerts. So it all looks pretty good from the outside, and it usually feels … not bad, which is how I prefer to answer when someone asks me how I’m doing. I have no doubt that much of this equilibrium comes from the fact that my wife and I have been together through all of this and still find a lot of joy in our marriage and our surviving children. I also have the privilege of being the executive director of Hope & Heroes Children’s Cancer Fund and working every day to improve the lives of children with cancer alongside the staff of the Herbert Irving Child & Adolescent Oncology Center. Among bereaved parents, I consider myself very lucky that I get to work for Jacob every day.

 

But I knew from the moment Jacob died that we would never get over his loss; we would only learn to live with it. At the risk of torturing grammar, perhaps I should revise that mantra to be “we would only be learning to live with it,” because it’s a process that never stops.

One way I know that is from the physically jarring sensation I feel when the huge chasm in my life abuts the solid ground I usually walk on. It could be at a high school information seminar for my daughter, for example. There’s just this moment of wrongness. Somewhere in my soul there’s a trajectory for Jacob’s life that is still going on, a part of me that wonders why we haven’t already hit these milestones with him first. The natural order of things has been disturbed, but that hasn’t entirely stopped me from attempting to hew to that order. Or it could happen with a change in the weather, which can trigger a sense memory sending me back to the time when Jacob was being treated.

 

That aspect of things is a form of post-traumatic stress disorder, I suppose, which feels like unprocessed experiences that my brain is constantly working on behind the scenes. A hint of fall in the air, and the curtain is momentarily yanked open, exposing the churning attempt at understanding what happened.

 

For reasons like those, some days are more effort than others. Also, occasionally my status as an H.F.B.P. can lead to a balancing act in relation to my work. Naturally, I can empathize with the parents I meet at the clinic — I have walked in their shoes. But since Jacob did not survive, I don’t want to shake their carefully constructed hope that their child will. One thing I always make sure to convey is that each diagnosis is unique and that treatments have continued to improve. My perspective still allows me to have hope for others, and if things do take a turn for the worse, I can offer the powerful example of my own survival after the loss of my son.

 

But it hasn’t always been that way. In the emotional chaos shortly after Jacob died, my wife and I took our infant daughter to a retreat for bereaved families provided by Chai Lifeline. We were already wrung out, but this was a new form of wringer: story after story of gut-wrenching, unimaginable loss. My wife got a migraine so intense that the rattle of a newspaper caused her pain; we considered leaving after the first night.

 

We stuck it out, and through the haze it dawned on us: you can live on after the loss of a child, it’s not impossible. After the retreat, when the sadness would threaten to become overwhelming, I would think of these other bereaved parents and take strength from their behavior. Regular conference calls with a group of dads also helped a great deal.

 

So my path has not been through completely uncharted territory. I have had mentors to follow, whether or not they would have called themselves High-Functioning Bereaved Parents. In the end, I’m not sure if being an H.F.B.P. is a choice, exactly, but I believe that putting a name to our “condition” has helped us not just survive, but to thrive and engage with life more fully.

---

Jeremy Shatan lives in Inwood, Manhattan, with his wife and two surviving children, is proud to serve as Executive Director of Hope & Heroes Children’s Cancer Fund, and writes about music at LINK 3 AnEarful and @AnEarful.

Two Life Tips

 

 

Say Ohmmmm!

 

My mother gets more magazines than anyone I know.  She always has a huge stack of magazines near her chair and after she whips through them she is always happy to get rid of them.

 

This weekend I stopped by my parents' house to visit, catch-up and check in on them to see how things are going and she gave me at least 25 magazines to take home.  Oh don't worry.  My Mom still has more magazines for herself.

 

I am always looking for information on how get healthier and de-stress and while reading a December 2012 Family Circle magazine, I came upon an article by Sharon Boone about how to avoid a meltdown during the Christmas season.  Now Christmas may be over, but for me there is always the possibility of a stress build-up from any number of sources and anything that can help me make my stress work for me is a good thing.

 

Here are two life tips that popped out for me:

 

--Say  Ohmmm: Meditation can slow a racing heart, decrease blood pressure, steady breathing and even stop checkout lines from driving you crazy. (Well, maybe.)  "By eliminating all distractions save the sound of your breath, meditation transforms the body's fight-or-flight response to relaxation," says Jay Winner, M.D., author of Take The Stress Out of Your Life.

 

--Appeal To A Higher Power: People who prayed before performing a task -- say, preparing dinner for 30 people -- had lower blood pressure and felt less anxious than those who did not.  Researchers theorize that prayer creates the sense of having a nonjudgmental and powerful support network.

 

It's all about my choices and as I jump into a new work week, I am going to try and find strength in the positive and kick the negative stuff to the curb!

Steve Martin Remembers His Father

Comedian Steve Martin in 2011

Comedian Steve Martin is obviously an incredibly multi-talented, award-winning funny guy.

 

To me, Steve Martin is one of those celebrities that I just accept as being the way they are as they present themselves in their work.  I don't think of him as a little boy or as having parents.  He is who he is as he appears in the roles of his television and his film work.

 

To the public, Steve Martin is the hysterical stand-up comedian who played the "wild and crazy guy" and many other characters on Saturday Night Live or he is the star of the movie "Father of the Bride" along with lots of other films.

 

So I was surprised when I was googling for an article on hospice care and up popped this story that Steve Martin wrote in 2008 about his father.  Thank you Google!

 

It is touching and sad and sweet and serious.  A whole other side of Steve Martin that is usually kept private.  I'm happy he decided to share this emotional story with us because it brings home and poignantly reveals how we all have complicated relationships with our parents whether you are a celebrity or not.

 

Steve Martin grew up thinking that his father didn't love him.  As a child, Steve Martin's father was stern and distant but all that changed as they both grew older.

Please read Steve Martin's story:


The Death of My Father
By Steve Martin
January 2008

 

In his death, my father, Glenn Vernon Martin, did something he could not do in life. He brought our family together.

 

After he died at age 83, many of his friends told me how much they loved him—how generous he was, how outgoing, how funny, how caring. I was surprised at these descriptions. During my teenage years, there was little said to me that was not criticism. I remember him as angry. But now, ten years after his death, I recall events that seem to contradict my memory of him. When I was 16, he handed down to me the family’s 1957 Chevy. Neither one of us knew at the time that it was the coolest car anyone my age could have. When I was in the third grade he proudly accompanied me to the school tumbling contest where I won first prize. One day, while I was in single digits, he suggested we play catch in the front yard. This offer to spend time together was so anomalous that I didn’t quite understand what I was supposed to do.

 

When I graduated from high school, my father offered to buy me a tuxedo. I refused because my father always shunned gifts. I felt with my refusal, that somehow in a convoluted, perverse logic, I was being a good son. I wish now that I could have let him buy me a tuxedo, let him be a dad.

 

My father sold real estate but he wanted to be in show business. I was probably five years old when I saw him in a bit part at the Call Board theater on Melrose Place in Hollywood. He came on in the second act and served a drink. The theater existed until a few years ago and is now finally defunct and, I believe, a lamp shop.

 

My father’s attitude toward my show business accomplishments was critical. After my first appearance on Saturday Night Live in 1976, he wrote a bad review of me in the newsletter of the Newport Board of Realtors where he was president. Later, he related this news to me slightly shamefaced, and said that after it appeared, his best friend came into his office holding the paper, placed it on his desk, and shook his head sternly, indicating a wordless “no.”

 

In the early ’80s, a close friend of mine, whose own father was killed walking across a street and whose mother committed suicide on Mother’s Day, said that if I had anything to work out with my parents, I should do it now, because one day that opportunity would be over. When I heard this remark, I had no idea that I would ever want to work anything out with them, that, in fact, there was anything to work out at all. But it stewed in my brain for years, and soon I decided to try and get to know my parents. I took them to lunch every Sunday I could, and would goad them into talking.

 

It was our routine that after I drove them home from our lunches, my mother and father, now in their 80s, would walk me to the car. I would kiss my mother on the cheek and my father and I would wave or awkwardly say goodbye. But this time we hugged each other and he whispered, “I love you,” with a voice barely audible. This would be the first time these words were ever spoken between us. I returned the phrase with the same awkward, broken delivery.

 

As my father ailed, he grew more irritable. He made unreasonable demands, such as waking his 24-hour help and insisting that they take him for drives at three a.m., as it was the only way he could relax. He also became heartrendingly emotional. He could be in the middle of a story and begin to laugh, which would provoke sudden tears, making him unable to continue.

 

In his early 80s, my father’s health declined further and he became bedridden. There must be an instinct about when the end is near, as we all found ourselves gathered at my parents’ home in Orange County, California. I walked into the house they had lived in for 35 years and my weeping sister said, “He’s saying goodbye to everyone.”

 

A hospice nurse said to me, “This is when it all happens.” I didn’t know what she meant, but soon I did.

 

I walked into the bedroom where he lay, his mind alert but his body failing. He said, almost buoyantly, “I’m ready now.” I understood that his intensifying rage of the last few years had been against death and now his resistance was abating. I stood at the end of the bed and we looked into each other’s eyes for a long, unbroken time. At last he said, “You did everything I wanted to do.”

 

I said the truth: “I did it for you.”

 

Looking back, I’m sure that we both had different interpretations of what I meant.

 

I sat on the edge of the bed and another silence fell over us. Then he said, “I wish I could cry, I wish I could cry.”

 

At first, I took this as a comment on his condition but am forever thankful that I pushed on. “What do you want to cry about?” I finally said.

 

“For all the love I received and couldn’t return.”

 

He had kept this secret, his desire to love his family, from me and from my mother his whole life. It was as though an early misstep had kept us forever out of stride. Now, two days from his death, our pace was aligning and we were able to speak.

 

My father’s death has a thousand endings. I continue to absorb its messages and meanings. He stripped death of its spooky morbidity and made it tangible and passionate. He prepared me in some way for my own death. He showed me the responsibility of the living to the dying. But the most enduring thought was expressed by my sister, Melinda. She told me she had learned something from all this. I asked her what it was. She said, “Nobody should have to die alone.”

© 2012 The Reader's Digest Association, Inc.

Newtown, Connecticut

 

Murdering a child is an unspeakable act.

 

Yesterday's horrific tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT., which involved the shooting of 27 people, including 20 young children, leaves us asking questions about our culture and praying for the parents and the community at large.

 

As a parent myself, I try to place myself in their situation, but I cannot begin to fathom the depth of pain and shock those parents are experiencing.  My heart goes out them and I wish we could take it all away.

We must talk openly about this incident, as hard as it is, for in the talking perhaps we can prevent this kind of tragedy from ever, ever happening again.

In an effort to promote a sense of comfort and healing, I am sharing an excerpt from an article by Barbara J. Paul, PH.D.,  on this very sad subject:

Special Issues for Parents Losing A Son or A Daughter
By Barbara J. Paul, Ph.D.

Whether your child was two or thirty-two, the death of a child is perhaps the most difficult of losses.  The grief following the loss of a son or a daughter is intense and prolonged.  Why is it different from other losses?

It differs from other deaths for several reasons.

1.  It is not in the natural order of things.  Parents do not expect to outlive their children.  We tend to believe that children (of any age) don't die.

2.  The child is biologically and emotionally a part of the parent.  When a death occurs, the parents feel that part of themselves has died.

3.  Parents feel that the future is gone with the loss of a son or a daughte.

4.  The loss is shared by both parents but their reactions and resolution may differ.  Couples often depend on each other for support but overwhelmed by their own loss, it can feel impossible to support their partner.

Parents lose not only a part of themselves, but their role as a parent and nurturer.  They lose the future grandchildren or may lose contact with existing grandchildren.  These losses add to the grief.  Equally devastating may be the parents' loss of faith or belief system.

Reaction to the loss of a son or a daughter

The reaction are similiar to those of other losses, affecting parents physically, emotionally, behaviorally, and often spiritually.  For many parents, the assumptions they had about the world and how it functioned do not fit with the reality of the death of their child.

 

While each person handles grief uniquely, parental bereavement may last many years.  Particularly in the early months, parents describe rheir emotional state as either feeling totally numb or  experiencing all emotions at the same time.  Trying to make sense of what happened and finding meaning in living become major tasks.  Guilt and anger are strong and normal emotions.

 

Grief is a process, often cyclical in nature, not unlike a roller coaster ride.  One is on the ride with no control over the course.  The peaks and valleys do lessen in intensity and frequency and eventually parents find ways to adapt to living without their son or daughter in their life.  When parents are able to create an internal representaion of the child that they can caryy with them, they are able to live more fully.

Is age a factor in parental bereavement?

Yes.  The younger the son or daughter is, the more parents are involved in the cring for that child.  Daily living and routine is affected and simple tasks can become overwhelmingly painful.  Parents feel the enormous emptiness of the home and every aspect of their life.

 

With an adolescent or young adult living at home, parents are still involved with many aspects of their child's life and family routine.  These parents feel strongly about the death occuring just as the young person was beginning to live life.  Their children have begun to develop lives separate from home, and parents often look for contact and connection with the son or daughter's friends.

 

With an adult son or daughter, the daily routine of theparents may not change, but they face other challenges.  Following the death of an unmarried child, parents have to deal with settling the child's estate, their belongings, and residence.  This can be very complicated, depending on their knowledge of the child's social and financial circumstances.

 

For the parents of a married son or daughter, it is often a schock for them to realize that they are not legally the next of kin.  All decision-making power is technically in the hands of the spouse.  When a good relationship exists between the in-laws, most issues can be worked out.  When the relationship is poor, it may be helpful to have a third party as a mediator.

A Dose of Kindness

Visiting people who are sick is one of the kindest acts we can ever practice.  Sitting and talking, holding their hand and listening seem so simple to the healthy but those things are so essential in helping the ill know that they matter, that they are not forgotten even though they are no longer able to independently move around.

 

Bringing about a smile or laughter through a funny story is just as important as any medicine prescribed by a doctor.  Laughter, in particular, is a powerful distraction from pain and illness.

 

One of my sisters and her husband are compassionately taking care of his elderly parents.  Both parents have been diagnosed with advanced stages of cancer and my sister and her husband are trying to make this time with them as comfortable as possible.

 

My sister's in-laws live in the same retirement community as our parents and while visiting with our parents this past weekend, my sister said it would be great if I could also stop by and also see her in-laws.  I did pop by for a visit with only her mother-in-law because her father-in-law was resting.  But the time spent catching up with her mother-in-law was unexpectedly funny.

 

I must admit I was a little anxious about visiting her mother-in-law because I didn't know if she was in a lot of pain or if she was even aware of her surroundings but she surprised me.

 

But during my visit I found a talented woman who had raised three children and was diagnosed with advanced cancer less than a year ago sitting in her family room making jokes about herself and her children, talking in an accent to make some of her stories more amusing and thoroughly enjoying herself.  It was wonderful to see that she still wanted to know what was going on in everyone's lives and having such a positive attitude about life.

 

While we watched the Ryder Cup on television and she made comments about the golfers, there was no negativity about her or her husband's medical situation.  She was living the moment and enjoying her time with the people around her.

 

I know that she is not always in such great spirits or health as she was during my visit but she takes advantage of when she feels good.  It can be difficult to see people when they are ill and it may be something we would rather not do but if we were ill wouldn't we want people to come and socialize with us? Wouldn't we want people to care about us?

 

The visit reminded me that even though I may feel awkward around someone who is ill it shouldn't stop me from trying to comfort someone else.  Life is about giving of yourself and lending a helping hand.
 

No More School Days

Me and My Son

Lately, I've been feeling as though I forgot to do something and I kept trying to pinpoint what it was.

I finally figured it out.

This is the first time in 16 years that I am not helping my son get ready for school.

I was in a big box store over the weekend and a separate section had been set up just for school supplies.  I watched the parents with their children buying notebooks (No! Not that kind!  I don't like that color!) lined and unlined paper (Are you sure this is printer paper?), binders (I want the kind with the pockets!) and an assortment of other school supply essentials (Please?! Can we please get this?  I know I'm really going to need it!).

 

I remember those days very fondly.  They were a mixture of excitement that another school year was beginning (where am I going to find the energy?) and sadness that summer and its freedom was coming to an end.

 

 I also have to admit that I will miss those trips to visit my son in college.  For me, they served as "mental health breaks," getting away and being in a different city and discovering new things

 

Now it is time for a new chapter and it's time to transition into a new phase of life.  I'm not sure where this will lead but I look forward to finding out.

 

Thank you my faithful readers for being here!

 

God Bless The Child

Children are not small adults who can basically raise themselves.  Children can be resilient but only to a point.

Being the oldest of six children, having 35 first cousins and also being a mother has taught me that children are much smarter than we ever give them credit for, but that doesn't mean that they understand all that is happening to them in their homes, schools or in the world at large. Their bodies, brains and emotions are still developing and they need all the love and guidance we can give them.

I am a big believer in honesty when talking to children but also in making sure that the information I give them is age appropriate. While the airwaves may carry images and words for all of us to see and hear, that doesn't mean all should see and hear it. Even as an adult there is stuff out there that I don't watch or listen to because I don't want it in my brain. It's not that I can't handle it, I just don't want it.

These days, children get bombarded with information they're not ready for and they don't have much choice about what they see and hear because the adults in charge of television, movies, radio and other electronic gizmos have gotten greedy and want it all to remain pretty much uncensored so they can continue to have access to what they want.

This is all the more reason for children to feel that they can trust and believe in at least one adult in their lives.  When faced with stress and trauma, especially the emotional trauma of losing someone they love, they need to know there are adults out there who have their backs. Their little hearts can only take so much and that's why talking and listening to a child is crucial during a bereavement period.

I know my son did not want to talk about his father's death at all but I had to slowly get him to let his feelings out.  He had to feel safe about talking openly and honestly about his good days and bad, his sadness, fear, disappointment, anger and even his hopes.  It took time for this to happen and it's still an ongoing process.

If you're not sure what to do or say to a child who is having a difficult time dealing with the loss of a loved one, here is a helpful story from Hello Grief, a website (www.hellogrief.org) that "addresses grief head-on, with real people providing real-life opinions, and sharing real-life stories":

Having Good Conversations With Your Kids

By Hello Grief

While children experience the same feelings of despair, sadness, helplessness, anger, anxiety, guilt, confusion and fear that adults do following a loss, they often do not have the maturity and experience to understand, identify and express those feelings.

Communication is key to helping our children understand their grief, and begin addressing it in healthy ways. Without communication, you will not know where your child may have a misunderstanding about how or why the loss occurred.

With communication, you will be able to identify areas in which your child is struggling with their grief, and how you can help.  It is important to continue discussing the loss and after affects of the loss (such as moving, remarriage, life milestones), with your children over time.

Below are a few tips to having open, successful communication with your kids about grief and loss at any age:

As a parent, understand what your goal is before starting the conversation - why are you wanting to talk to your child? Is there a specific issue you want to discuss? A specific question you want to uncover?

Stay on topic – Once you decide on your goal for the conversation, don’t use this time to bring up other “issues” you’ve wanted to address unrelated to the conversation (i.e., homework, house chores, dating, etc).

Create a safe environment – Atmosphere can play a huge role in your child’s willingness to open up about how he or she is feeling. Have this discussion in a safe place, away from others who may overhear. Don’t create an intimidating environment, such as starting this conversation in places associated with “getting in trouble.” Having a snack, or doing an activity during which talking is easy could be helpful (such as coloring/drawing, riding in a car, going for a jog, etc).

Allow your kids to be able to say whatever they need, any way they want, to during your conversation - This does not mean you have to allow your child to use profanity if you do not typically allow it. Rather, enable your child to say what they need to say without “correcting their story,” should you remember it differently, or have a different opinion. It also means not keeping any topics “off limits” – including the details of the loss, even if it’s difficult for you to discuss. Let them say what they need, and ask the questions they need without limitation.

Know that some things are off limits to parents - It’s not you, it’s them. And it’s normal. But, having more frequent safe, and honest conversations with your children will help them build trust and begin to discuss more. Also know that even if your child isn’t saying anything to you, it doesn’t mean they are not benefiting from the conversation. Know they are processing internally. You should also make sure that your child has additional outlets to have the conversations they can’t have with you – such as a counselor, or support group.

Happy Birthday Mommy!

Mother and Child
 By Pablo Picasso

Today is my Mom's 81st birthday and I truly hope she has a relaxing day.

I've always thought it was funny that my parents birthdays are a week apart.  We've never celebrated them together because my parents are Aries and their strong personalities need separate birthday celebrations.

My Mom did an incredible job of raising six children who were born close in age.  There is only seven years between me (the oldest) and the youngest child.  There is a set of twins in our family and one of my sisters and I were born in the same year so we are the same age for a month.  Think about taking care of six children all by yourself: the logistics, the time, the energy, the patience and the imagination.  You're tired just thinking about it, aren't you? 

My Mom is the ultimate mother.  I can honestly say that she loves all babies and she adores their spontaneity.  She was a hands-on Mom who would get down on the floor and play with us and think up games for us to play.  She showed us how children should be enjoyed and let us dance around or sing or tell stories to entertain the family.  There were many nights when my parents admit to turning off the television just to watch all six of us perform.

You paid your dues, Mom, and today I send you big birthday hugs and kisses!

Life According to Winnie the Pooh

“What day is it,?" asked Pooh.
"It's today," squeaked Piglet.
"My favorite day," said Pooh.”

I have a soft spot in my heart for Winnie the Pooh and all of his friends in the Hundred-Acre Wood.  It reminds me of a more innocent time when my son was a child and he would sit in my lap or his father's lap and we would read Winnie the Pooh aloud to him.  I'm going to date myself now, but we also had Winnie the Pooh tapes to pop in the VCR (no CD's then) and watching Pooh and especially Tigger together as a family is a wonderful memory.

I write about my old friend Winnie the Pooh because the above dialogue from A.A. Milne, the author of the Winnie the Pooh books, reminds me that simple is better.  When I begin to think of all the things I need to solve or accomplish, putting myself on the proverbial human hamster wheel, Winnie reminds me to stop.  Oh, bother! Oh, bother is right!

Problems need solutions and work needs to get done but Winnie reminds me that I don't need to think about ALL of it at the same time.  When you are alone in raising a child, taking care of a house, and working full-time, it it easy to fall into the trap of trying to do everything at once because you can't hand things off to a spouse or a mate.  I take a deep breath and calm my mind.  Today I will do my best to finish the most important things and then I'll move on to the next round of responsibilities.  That's all I can do.

Whether Winnie ate too much honey, or couldn't sleep, he always knew he could count on his friends to get him through the difficulties that came his way.  Don't laugh at Winnie's philosophy towards life.  There is a sweet wisdom to his musings and Winnie reminds me that every day is special and not to be rushed.  Every day is an opportunity to spend time with family and friends, to learn something new or move closer to solving a bothersome dilemma.

If you find yourself alone in the Hundred Acre Wood, don't despair.  Reach out to others.  Find people you trust and with whom you feel comfortable.  Take the next small step.  We don't always understand why something sad has happened to us but we must choose to be hopeful.  Life can get better.