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No….

The scream is from deep within, felt and then possibly it becomes audible. The crying seems endless, because the truth is you could cry for YOUR forever. The feeling of being lost and alone as you stand, sit, lay among others is incomprehensible. The everlasting why plagues you from the moment you are made aware until….

I had just returned from a “spa morning” feeling wonderful with my east coast” sister”MaryJane when  2 of my west coast “sisters” reported in uncertain disbelief Kobe Bryant had died in a helicopter accident, as I grimaced and tried to digest that, Kim then followed up with there is a possibility his daughter(s) was with him as well. Tammy was in tears so emotional so heartfelt. We, my sisters and I, who talk off and on, all day everyday were quietly conveying to one another this would be a day that we COULD not talk.I started several times of calling MaryJane but couldn’t. I could not believe at first then as I researched and listen to them back and forth, I soon realized it was true.  Now I cannot breathe. It then returned, the feeling that randomly, periodically comes over me and I am overcome. THIS was TOO MUCH!

I am from L.A. I was never a basketball fan, but this is not simply about a game, it is NOT about a ball player..this is about a man and his child. He was a man who millions felt like was a brother, a son, a father of their very own. The loss compounded by the loss of his child, Gianna. I MUST ADD, ONLY a parent who has lost a child can fully comprehend this devastation.

As you come away from the fog that your own being comprehends, you think of those who are left behind. His wife, Vanessa… the wife now a widow, the mother without her child, for me there it is again. His other girls without their sister, there it is again. The tightness in my chest is real. I have suffered ALL of the same losses in the very recent past. So in an understated way I am feeling every bit of this pain, again. I am hurting with his FAMILY, the WORLD and the WORLD THAT IS HIS FAMILY. Kobe our brother, our son, our husband, our father. Gianna our “little girl”.

It is a wake up call to us all because this life is NOT promised to any of us. As cliche’ as it may sound or may seem YOU MUST embrace we only have our present moment.  Tomorrow IS NOT promised. Please cherish the moment.

The Dating Game

Come on now, you my contemporaries have to remember that show. As a little girl growing up in Kansas City, Kansas after the cartoons were over it was time for the game shows. In my innocent mind all I was watch was people matching answers, the questions and answers seemed rather stupid to a worldly 6 year old but I watched just the same.

Today dating is quite different. I watched my sons take different approaches to the process, I saw my single friends explore what was available. Now I ( by no choice of my own) have been thrust into the” oncoming traffic”. It is INSANE out here! One could do this thing called dating in a traditional fashion, one could float along aimlessly waiting on a miracle, or one could fall into the line of the real..ON LINE DATING SITES!

I who love roller coasters find this process “quite the ride”. As a person who enjoyed taking test, the preliminary screening process was fascinating and funny. As I answered the questions it was a bit of a self-discovery/rediscovery journey. I could not see the questions as invasive for if I want to be somewhat successful in this quest I have to be HONEST…screech! Come to a dead halt. How could I be so naive?? Okay first things first, truth is optional. That should NOT surprise you in  today’s society. With 45 and his ever ever growing wooden nose at the helm our country, our society has settled into lying as a way of life.

Next whatever you put down will likely be ignored, i.e., if you are looking to date “blonds under 5’5” do not be surprised when a self -described “leggy red-head” is sent to you as a 90% match. Yes of course I am condensing and over-simplifying the process so what I decided to do was make it a” part-series”. I have NOT decided how many parts yet, as this journey is just beginning for me. So stay tuned, follow along, and be entertained.

Tribute- In 250 Words Or Less

Jay Steven Russell was here. I saw those words scribbled in places they had no business being, how could I ever know one day I would be affected by the phrase in such an astronomical way. The number 13, alternative rock music, horror movies, silly comedy, curry and Korean BBQ all became special to those of us who knew and loved Jay because of Jay. Jay was born on February 13, 1987 at 13:31 a day I as his mother will NEVER forget, Jay departed this life on January 14, 2018 at 3:13 a day I as his mother will NEVER acknowledge.

When he entered a room the light would shine brighter. Jay had his favorites but he did not like one kind of food, one kind of music, one kind of animal, one kind of people. He was a kind, sweet, sensitive soul with beauty which was internal as well as external.  Jay was a giving person.  He was a wonderful son, loving brother, inspiring uncle, doting boyfriend, loyal friend and simply a truly good human being. I avoid the cliche’ “The good die young.” but we live with the fact that our Jay is no longer in our presence. To say he is missed over simplifies the obvious. To say we hurt is inadequate. Yet in our loss, our Jay still helped make others lives better(a lifelink donor). Jay was HERE and Jay will NOT be forgotten.

He’s My Brother…

There is a picture that hangs in my hall, there is a song by a group known as The Hollies

He Ain’t Heavy ( He’s My Brother)

Growing up we have loads of memories of our siblings. some happy some sad, many conflicting. Al was my younger brother. He was an independent soul. He was going to do as he wanted in spite of opinions and or consequences, but he found his solace, his element in the quiet confines of home.

The sole girl in the family I lost my star status when he arrived.  I was NOT real interested in the red, noisy baby. I tried to make him disappear by hiding him behind our large console color television in 1963. A prank I did not soon forget, due to the whipping I got. Al got his first hair cut and one could hear him crying like someone was murdering him, I angrily turned to my older brother and asked, “what are they doing to him.” He was across the street from us at our grandmother’s house; we could not see what was happening, and did not dare cross that street.  When he came home minus the mountain of hair and I could see he was okay, I was back to being the disinterested older sister. I was anything but disinterested, I just did not know it.

Fast forward  the years, he was no longer my little brother ; he towered over me in stature and that’s no easy task since I am 5’10.  He was smarter than me, I got a hold of his school records and read his I.Q. test result. I only had him chronologically. I watched him dote over my boys, and later become a father himself.  He was a dedicated son,  staying with our mother throughout her bout with dementia.

None of us are perfect, ALL of us are flawed. We do what we do, in  the way we do it, correct for the time and circumstance. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT. My memories of my little brother Al will be of undying love and admiration. He will be missed forever.

“PEARL”

Travelling back..decades I remember this amazing ,classy looking lady I worked with. Her hair was flawless and silver gray. She moved through the halls with a take charge attitude and her high stepping was a well rehearsed dance. Anyone who saw her had to take notice, even a twenty year old like myself.” Pearl” made you stop and say to yourself,” She is HOW old?”

The men young and old fantasized about her, the women young and old envied her. Pearl was a force. She was kind and polite, but underneath, you knew she knew she was a HOT NUMBER! “Pearl” had a head -turning strut, but you could see her sitting comfortably with the ” church-ladies” in their lovely hats having a quiet tea

The moment I saw her I knew I wanted to be her, one day. Again, I was 20, that meant something, especially to the twenty-something generation. Immersed in the “I can do anything/I’m gonna live forever”  culture. Pearl was a pleasant distraction but I was/we were YOUNG! How could I ever know that saying/thinking “I want to be her one day..” would entail much more than mimicking a look. Why would I care.

Fast forward; what we NOW are is young-at heart, but the image of beautiful , beautiful “Pearl” is still embedded in my mind. That silver-gray hair is now mine. Though it could be easily remedied I chose to keep it embrace it show it off.I have, after all earned each and every sparking-shining strand on my head. I hear from my contemporaries as well as younger folks,” see if my hair would gray like that….” I smile a wry smile thinking, “As though I have a say in that process.”

I keep active, although it takes more effort than before. How many days does laying in bed seem/ feel/ sound far more appealing than get up/ get dressed/ and go sweat it off at the gym. And honestly I have fallen into the” bed culture”. The return is far more difficult than the maintain. Yet,  today I have a reminder, a goal in mind. I have to get to my “Pearl“status.

Terminally Yours

From diagnosis through the final transition you have to know you will be involved in a triangle relationship; you, the person you love/care about, and the disease.

In an out-of-body type experience I watch the interaction. I see the frustration on my face in spite of the effort being made to hide that very thing. I hear the comments that remind me of a record that is scratched as it skips and repeats. There are no classes that prepare you for what you are going through or of that which is to come. Your interaction will be as different as the individual whom you are going through it with. This cruel process which will ultimately only leave you with more bad feeling than good.

The day begins sometimes before day “breaks”. You are tired, but YOU are needed. You cannot think, yet you find yourself thinking too much. Seemingly nothing is right; the food, the climate in the house and if it was okay yesterday, today it is not. You look at the being taking the place of your loved one, sometimes there is a flicker of what used to be. You cannot focus on that too long either. The needs must be me. Clasp the imaginary rag between your teeth and bare the anguish. Yours is physical and mental.

I suggest patience, compassion, and empathy even when you feel as if you are going to implode. Constantly remind yourself it is the condition/disease, not the one you love and care about. Be forgiving not only to that person, but to yourself. The day shall come when the day to day process you are experiencing will end. I wish i could tell you that it will then be better, but I cannot. I can only tell you it will be different and another part of the journey/process will begin.

Steppin Out

Are you ready? I sit in paradise not quite knowing what to do. With self or just about anything else. I gravitate to that which is familiar. I suppose I am scared and confused. Not cowering in the corner scared, but scare just the same. Confusion that keeps me sticking with what I am absolutely sure of and then I still look back for  even more reassurance.

What is needed, in my opinion, is absolution for that which is utterly unpredictable. My chest STILL feels heavy and my eyes well with tears as I  attempt to skate passed the feeling that went through me less than two years ago. That which I will NEVER get over; I would say I still don’t believe, but NOTHING is farther from the truth. I know. That is why I still want something to make me believe in some way it all does make sense..that there truly is a reason.

Now I am placed in a spot that requires me to get right back up and do something I have not done in decades. It provides me with the promise of nothing but if you sit still too long, it will pass me by. I ask,” What is it? What am I missing if it  does pass me by?”

I know I make myself totally unapproachable and then wonder why I am not approached. Like I said scared but not cowering. I set myself for this NOT to work. I am not ready, but I also do not want to remain in this current location.

I see myself replicating another widow I was very close to. A widow I said should have moved on, because there was life left. That widow was my mother. She was 54 when my dad passed away. There was an 11 year age difference. She was 82 when she departed this life. I remember her saying,” I’m just not happy” near the end. Maybe there was some  other happy waiting for her, but she shut the door on it.