Indiana: Vacation Of My Dreams...NOT!

Never once in my life have I ever said to myself, "You know where I'd really like to go?  Ft. Wayne, Indiana."  Yet that's exactly what I'm doing in about three weeks.

About two months ago, Jonah's sister (not his biological sister, but she was pretty much raised by Jonah's parents when her real mother abandoned her) asked Jonah's mom if she would come to Indiana (where Jonah's sister lives) for her daughter's graduation.  Jonah's mom doesn't travel much because of her health nor does she have the finances to make such a trip, but she did express interest in going.  Jonah knew the only way she would go is if he went and he wanted me along for moral support.  Jonah's sister paid for Mom's ticket, and Jonah and I paid for our own.

Believe me, the last thing I want to do is take this trip.  Besides not being remotely interested in visiting Fort Wayne, I find Jonah's sister extreeeeeemely high maintenance.  She is super needy, oversensitive, creates drama wherever she goes, and has no tact or sense of decorum whatsoever.  She is exhausting to spend time with.  Were it not for my love for my husband, I would not be making this trip.  And were it not for the love of his mother, I don't think Jonah would, either.  I actually get the feeling Jonah's mom would like to back out at this point, too, but the tickets are nonrefundable. 

We're going to be there for four days, and I'm already exhausted by the idea.  I think it's going to be a very long four days.

Besides trying to convince Jonah's mother, who is quite a proud woman, that she will need a wheelchair to get around the airport, we will have to deal with Jonah's high-maintenance sister and her family.

She had the nerve to ask us to help pay for her groceries while we're there.  This is the same woman who demanded we feed her when she was staying with us when Jonah's dad's funeral was happening.  Never mind that we've each spent $500 to fly to Indiana and still have a hotel and rental car to pay for.  She also is expecting Jonah's mom to cook for a party which she has invited 150 people to even though we have specifically told her that Mom is in no condition to do so (not to mention the fact that Mom doesn't want to cook while she is on vacation).

She is also hurt we're staying in a hotel rather than with her.  Never mind that she lives in a small apartment and that Mom can't do steps (plus we don't want to stay with her while we're there).

I think she is expecting us to be visiting with her a lot, but that is not our plan.  We'll be at the graduation and the party and even bring a platter of some sort, but we also just want Mom to have a little trip that is stress free, and Jonah's sister can cause a lot of stress.

Now Jonah's mom is trying to back out because Jonah's sister is driving her crazy.  Jonah is trying to remind her that this is about her grandchild, not her daughter.  If Mom backs out, I'm going to lose it.

So not looking forward to this trip.  I think I'd rather get a root canal.

You Know What I Miss?

I had a charmed childhood and family life.  I didn't always know or appreciate it at the time, but I did. As I read through Mom's journals I am reminded of that fact.

I don't ever remember my parents having a fight;  an occasional disagreement perhaps, but I never heard them raise their voices to one another in the 21 years I was with them before Dad passed away.  That's pretty amazing to me.

We went on a vacation every year that I remember - the Grand Canyon, San Francisco, Yellowstone National Park, Disneyland, Universal Studios, Lava Hot Springs, Craters of the Moon, Bryce Canyon, Ricks College, and one whirlwind journey to Seattle, Vancouver, and other parts of Canada were among some of the places we saw together.  Mom, Dad, and I also went to New York together, and after Dad's death Mom and I toured Belgium, France, England, Austria, Switzerland, and the Netherlands together.

We also did a lot of family outings when I was growing up - Lagoon Amusement Park, the Heber Creeper, the Alpine Slide in Park City, Hogle Zoo, Temple Square, Hansen Planetarium, the Museum of Natural History, various parks and monuments spread throughout the Salt Lake Valley, drives and picnics in the canyons that surround the valley, going out to eat or out for dessert at McDonald's, Su Casa, Baskin-Robbins, the Cultured Cow, Chuck-a-Rama, Arctic Circle, Sunday outings to my grandma's house, Christmas Eves at my great aunt's house, Thanksgivings with friends and neighbors, movies and plays galore.  I have such fond memories of those times.

Rarely would a trip happen where we didn't have car trouble.  I'm sure it frustrated the hell out my dad, but it just seemed like a trip wasn't a trip without pulling over for some car issue.

We were (and still are) a game-playing family.  Dad, Mom, and my two older siblings would play a card game called 500; Mom and my older brother played cribbage a lot; we played Trivial Pursuit, the Ungame, Pictionary, Scattergories, Taboo, Skip-bo, Uno, Apples to Apples, Monopoly, Life, Sorry, the Mad Magazine game, Hearts, Catchphrase, and so many others.

We had truly magical Christmases, even in leaner times.  I sometimes don't know how Mom and Dad afforded to give us so many great gifts or take us on these incredible trips and outings.

Dad would come home from the store with a candy bar for each of us kids as a special surprise.  Mom might bring us some candy from the ice cream store she worked for at the time, Snelgrove's.

I remember dyeing eggs and having Sunday morning egg hunts at Easter and the candy baskets that would be prepared for us.

Birthdays were almost always great affairs.  Treasure hunts, videos of Disney movies, lots of friends, and Mom would often make a special cake for us.  I remember getting one shaped like a train and another like a castle.  Or we'd go to Farrel's for ice cream.

We had a huge backyard where we played croquet, tried to plant a garden, jumped on the trampoline, swung on swings, and did yard work together.

Mom and Dad would film us with the Super 8 camera they had or take pictures of us, and I have now inherited a plethora of family memories captured on film

We were a church-going family.  All of my parents' children served missions and served in many callings.  We held Family Home Evening on Monday nights when I was growing up filled with lessons and family discussions and activities.  I remember fondly one where we made chocolate chip cookies together.

We had meals together growing up.  Mom wasn't a great cook, but she made us meals with a lot of love and we ate together and discussed the goings on in our lives. 

We prayed together, and Dad would give everyone in the family a blessing every year before we started school.  Mom served as a Primary teacher and Relief Society teacher among many others and Dad was the ward clerk for what seemed like forever.

My siblings and I got along.  Sure, there were times when we got on each other's nerves, but overall we were a very happy family growing up.  It wasn't until I met friends whose family lives were less than ideal that I realized not every family was like mine.

Home was a place I really enjoyed, especially since I was bullied a lot in school.  Home was a place of refuge, love, safety, and comfort.  I remember coming home from school and having great discussions with Mom and later when we worked together we'd have really great after-work discussions.

Of course, eventually everyone got married or went to school or moved or went on missions or (in Dad and Mom's cases) died, and so that affected the family togetherness I remember so fondly as a child.  I miss that closeness and constant camaraderie.  Sure, we still get together and do stuff, but it's not the same.  I don't suppose it ever will be.  But I loved it when it was ours and I miss it a lot.

It wasn't perfect, but it was great.

A Parting Gift From Mom (And Dad)

Sometimes when I'm watching a game show I feel that if I won some money, even a small amount, it would change my life.  I'm one of those people who would go on "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" and be happy just walking away with $16,000 or $32,000 rather than attempting to go for the whole million.

I am right.  Money can change one's life (or at least make certain things easier).  In no way am I saying you'll be happier with more money.  I don't believe for a second that money can buy happiness.  However, it can make things less stressful if you're smart about it.

My dad and mom made some good investments during their lifetimes.  This turned out to be quite a blessing when Mom had to move to assisted living.  With all of Mom and Dad's investments, including the sale of their house, we probably had enough to take care of Mom for 6 or 7 years, so that was a comfort.

Mom would have hated to know that the money she and Dad had saved would be paying for her to stay in a place she initially hated.  We were glad we had that money, though.

Obviously Mom's death made the use of that money null and void as far as her care was concerned (although we used a portion of it for her funeral and burial, any unpaid medical costs, and her remaining taxes, none of which was nearly as much as I would have anticipated).  We have been actually been quite blessed by what remained to be split among her four children.  All told, each of us has ended up with about $86,000.  And that is life-changing money.

Mom (and Dad) would be delighted to know that the money they intended to pass on to us would be used for the betterment of our lives.  And it will be, I hope.

I, for one, have been able to pay off my student loan (which I've been paying for the last seven years) and put a down payment on a brand new car (I've never had a brand new car until now).  Jonah and I hope to take a trip somewhere and maybe make some improvements to our home, things we've dreamed of doing but never had enough money to really do.  Instead of feeling like I'm living paycheck to paycheck, I finally feel like I can save some money away for our future.

My sister, who has been drowning in debt since she got married, may finally have a chance to get on top of things if she and my brother-in-law are smart about it.  And maybe she, too, can take a vacation, which she's not really had a chance to do too often.

My brother and his his wife can help pay for their son's wedding and their other son's mission and maybe make some good investments.

My other sister and brother-in-law, who have been through bankruptcy themselves (mostly due to my brother-in-law's first wife's medical bills) now have enough to make home improvements and support their family.

It truly is a blessing, and Mom and Dad would be so happy.  My parents were two of the most generous people I've known.  They would be overjoyed that all they worked for is helping their kids and grandkids.  And it's a gift that will keep giving (for a while at least).  Mom and Dad have oil and gas rights inherited from my grandfather and grandmother (who smartly invested as well), and we'll hopefully get about $2000.00 a year each from that as well until the wells eventually run dry.

I miss Mom and Dad every day, but they left us a great legacy of good values and a nice financial one to boot.  It is such a blessing for this struggling artist.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.

Thinking About Dad

As I have been transcribing Mom's journals, it's been fun and, sometimes, enlightening to read of her life and experiences.  Mom and I were very close so there haven't been a lot of surprises or shocks.  If anything, she only reinforces things I already knew about her.

I have been moderately surprised when she has talked of jealousy she had over how my grandmother favored her daughter (my aunt) over her other children or dissatisfaction with her service in the church, but I wasn't too surprised by things like that.

What did take me aback, which I never knew until just this week, was that there was a period in 1988 when Dad was on antidepressants and seeing a psychologist.  I never knew that at all.  I talked to my sister, who is older than me, and she knew nothing about it, either.

Here's what I did know:

1. In March of 1984, Dad had a small stroke.  Between then and about January of 1988 he had at least one more and possibly a third, undiagnosed one.

2. In early 1988 Dad's boss was concerned with his performance and ordered him to be medically examined on the company's dime.  Dad at this time had slowed down and his memory and ability to learn new concepts was impaired.

3. Dad disliked his job and found it very stressful.  While I didn't know all the details, I know Dad had difficulty with his boss and work environment and was not happy in his job for many years.

4. Dad eventually was given a medical disability and retired in April 1988.  He was happier as a result but continued to have serious strokes and health issues until his death in October of 1992

Apparently, as a condition of his company-ordered medical examination he saw a psychologist.  Mom indicates that Dad was very depressed during the time we was still employed and seeing this psychologist.  Apparently she prescribed him some antidepressants, which he took for a short time before he retired.  I never knew any of that.

Dad was a quiet guy who never talked much or complained.  He was a good man who worked hard to provide for his family.  I loved him very much, but I do wish he had communicated more.  According to her journals, so did Mom.

I sometimes feel bad because for years Dad was stuck in a job he didn't seem to like very much.  Even in the early eighties, Mom indicates that Dad has desires to quit and yet he worked there for 28 years, and on some level, I've always thought his job was partially responsible for his health problems and his early death.

Mom told me once that Dad would have liked to open a record shop.  Dad loved music and that was one thing he talked about doing early in his relationship with Mom.  Instead he went into computer programming and worked for a life insurance company.  I often feel that Dad did so out of a duty to support and provide for his family.  While I admire him for being a good provider (and he did a good job at it), I also feel his job interfered with his personal health, satisfaction, and happiness, and watching his experience is one of the reason I've always tried to do the kind of work that brings me fulfillment and happiness even if it's not always as financially lucrative.  I think that philosophy has served me well even if it hasn't always served my pocketbook as admirably.

I miss Dad.  He was a good man.  I always think of Dad as "behind-the-scenes" rather than "on stage."  Without him, the success of the "production" that is our family would not have been what it was at all.  But he was very unassuming and quiet about how he did things.  He quietly paid bills, planned vacation itineraries, and worked hard to earn the money needed to provide for us and give us a little extra so we could take those vacations, which are some of my most cherished memories.

He would stop at the store on the way home from work and buy each of us kids a candy bar.  He would drive me to school on his way to work.  He would sit quietly in the living room and listen to music or watch a game on TV to relax.

Dad and I didn't have a ton in common.  He was big football fan, loved to fish, and enjoyed country music, none of which I cared for.  He wasn't a big talker, whereas I loved to talk.  I just naturally gravitated to Mom, who loved old movies and theatre and who loved to talk about anything and everything.  I adored my dad; he was hard-working, loving, thoughtful, even-tempered and was a terrific example of quiet endurance.  But I didn't know my dad very well.  I didn't always know what he was thinking and he never shared much about his life.  And he died relatively young when I was only 21.

I have great memories of him, though, and I wish he would have been more personally fulfilled.  He made the choices he made and they greatly benefited our family.  Like my mom, he lived for his family.  I just sometimes he could have found a better balance with living for himself.

The Lost Weekend...Or...Jonah's Friend, Ray

So Jonah has this friend.  They've been friends since junior high or high school, and this friend (let's call him Ray) has been a presence, both major and minor, in Jonah's life as long as Jonah and I have been together.

I have never liked Ray.

I hate to say that because there are few people I dislike, and I can't think of a single person I hate.

It bothers me that I dislike Ray, not because I want to like him, but because I feel very hard-hearted and tense when I'm around him, which aren't good feelings.  I don't like that kind of negativity in my life.

And while I feel like maybe I should have sympathy towards Ray, I don't.  It's true he's had a hard life.  Both of his parents died when he was young, and his mother's death, in particular, was very difficult on him; he's a drug-addict, he's HIV-positive; he has some mental issues; he's estranged from his only surviving sister; he's practically homeless; and he's pretty much helpless.

And yet, I also feel like he's so immature, irresponsible, reckless, rude, inappropriate, selfish, crass, lazy, unaccountable, dishonest, and a taker that most of the problems he has are of his own doing.  He's like a manchild who refuses to grow up or take responsibility for himself.  He continually blames others for all his problems, but never himself.  While it's true he has sought counseling and therapy, the only therapists he'll stick with are the ones who are willing to validate his bad behavior rather than those who seek to help him overcome his flaws.  He burned through a very sizeable inheritance in just three years, spending it on drugs, partying, and needless gadgets and toys and now finds himself virtually penniless.  He will never find a stable relationship because all he seems to look for is easy sex; that, and the fact that few people can stand to be around him for any extended length of time; he's pretty much alienated anyone who has ever tried to help him or stay his friend, including Jonah, who is finally almost as fed up with Ray as I was when I met him years ago.  He continually tries to dominate the conversation, and usually he and his problems and issues are at the center of it.  He's a leech - the kind of guy who wants to go to dinner or the movies with you, but always expects you to pay his way; the kind of guy who will crash at your house and take your food as though it's his and never thank you for it.  He's a slob and is truly like a little kid who expects everyone around him to clean up his messes and provide for his every need.

Early on in our relationship, I always felt Jonah enabled Ray's bad behavior and Jonah admits that he probably did.  I think Jonah has always felt responsible for Ray because Ray's mom on her deathbed asked Jonah to make sure Ray was taken care of.  And true to his generosity and loving nature, Jonah has tried to do so.  But the friendship has always been so unbalanced: Jonah gave, gave, gave, and all Ray ever did was take, take, take.

About a year ago Jonah finally reached a breaking point with Ray and has distanced himself from his friend, much like many of Ray's friends have done.

I remember when Jonah and I had our commitment ceremony in 2008, Ray stayed at Mom's house with another of Jonah's friends.  Mom's conclusion at the end of Ray's stay was that she liked Jonah's other friend, but really didn't like "that other guy" (Ray).  This coming from a woman who liked just about everybody.

Fortunately Ray lives in California, so we don't see him much.  However, he had to come here this weekend to take care of some personal business and Jonah (unbeknownst to me) told him he could stay here a few days.  I have spent this whole weekend trying to avoid Ray.  I know that sounds mean, but I just don't like him and I don't like how I feel when I'm around him.  He tires and agitates me.  He makes me uncomfortable.  Even Jonah has been avoiding him and told me today he hopes he's leaving tomorrow.  I hope so, too.

I know this must sound terrible, but I just have to vent somewhere.  It might as well be my blog.

---sigh---

Tribute To Harold

Jonah had a dream about a week or so ago.  In it, Mom paid him a visit.  She was very childlike, much like she was in her dementia days.  She was holding a white book and she was in a blue room.  Those were the main details Jonah remembers and one other big one: she was coming for someone.

I've learned that Jonah's dreams are not to be ignored.  He's very intuitive and almost psychic, and he has had many dreams that have been precursors to major events.  Two days before his dad died Jonah had a dream that his grandfather came to visit, and he was troubled by the dream because he thought it might be an indication that his dad would pass soon, which he did.

Once skeptical, I've learned to take Jonah's dreams and feelings seriously because he's usually 99% right about the intuitions he's having.

We wondered who Mom might be coming for.  My uncle (Dad's brother) was recently re-diagnosed with cancer.  My great-aunt and great-uncle are both in their late 90s.  I wondered who Mom might be coming for.

Two days ago my sister called my tears telling me that the daughter-in-law of Harold (Mom's pseudo-"boyfriend" from her days in assisted living) had called to let her know that Harold was in hospice care.

My sister wasn't necessarily crying over Harold.  It sounded like she had just had a really difficult and painful couple of weeks overall.  In fact, both my sister and I found much to rejoice in.  Harold, after all, hadn't looked well at all the last time we saw him in January.  He was very depressed and lonely and while I'm sure he never would have acted on it, he even seemed suicidal.  His body and spirit were broken.  It was hard to see him like that.

It gives me great comfort knowing he will be with his late wife soon and that he will get to see Mom again and meet Dad as well.  It makes me happy that he will be free of his suffering.

But it also brought up old feelings (or rather, lingering feelings) of when Mom died, and that has been hard.  I also regret that since I saw Harold in January I never spoke to him again.  I was pretty good about calling him and even attempted to several times, but was never able to get a hold of him.  Still, I know Harold knows how I felt about him, and that must be enough.

A friend of mine at work gave me a good perspective as we talked about how I was feeling.  She said, "It was great that this man was able to help your mom make the transition into assisted living and make her feel good about being there after so much time of not wanting to be there.  I believe your mom is now helping Harold make the transition from his life here, which has become very sad, to his life on the other side, which will be one of happiness."  I liked that.

I will miss you, Harold, and I will be forever grateful for all you did for my Mom and for the special friendship you had.  I'll miss talking to you and sharing stories about Mom.  I'll miss visiting you at the assisted living facility (now I really have no reason to go back there).  I'm glad I got to see you one last time before you leave us.  I'm glad you and Mom were away from each other for only a half a year, and I'm glad you'll get to be reunited again (but don't forget, she's with Dad now).  I love you, my friend.

The Rock In My Pocket

The last time Jonah and I visited my great aunt together we had her and my great uncle record some of their thoughts about their family.  We did it as a way to preserve some of our genealogy because once my great uncle and aunt are gone, the memories they still have about my ancestors will be gone, too.

As my aunt was talking about her mom (my great-great grandmother), she got wistful about her, and my uncle got teary-eyed as he talked about my his brother (my dad's father).

As I have been dealing with my own grief regarding Mom, I've realized something: this grief is never going to go away.  Not entirely, at least.

There has literally not been a single day since Mom died that I haven't thought about her.  Everything reminds me of her.  And I miss her terribly.

A friend wrote on Facebook: "...putting these things into words is an essential part of the healing process. David Lindsay Abaire says it well in 'Rabbit Hole,' when a parent grieving the loss of her son asks her mother if the feeling of loss - of grief - ever goes away, and the mother replies (I paraphrase) - no, not really . . . It gets better, even diminishes, but it's like a rock you carry in your pocket, and some times you stick your hand in your pocket and your pocket and you're suddenly reminded, 'oh, hello. . . you're still there.' It takes time - a lot of time - but time, though it does not heal everything, does help."

I'm always going to have this rock in my pocket.  That's not a bad thing, but I think of my aunt and uncle weeping for people they lost years and years ago; I think of Dad's mom who lived in sorrow for years after her husband died, so much that she almost became debilitated by it; I think of a friend who will never be able to get over losing her child to an accident-related death.  And I realize I will never get over losing my dear mother.  And there's no reason I should.

I certainly have not allowed her death to cause me to stop living my life, and as I've stated before, I feel her presence with me often, which is nice.  But she is ever in my thoughts, and some days I feel such a longing to have her here with me.

I am glad we didn't have to watch her keep disappearing.  I'm glad she never forgot who I was.  I'm glad I didn't have to watch her physically waste away.  I'm glad I didn't have to watch her go confusedly go through dialysis with an amputated leg, which is what would have happened had we chosen to keep her alive.

One thing I am always struck by was when I came back home to Utah knowing Mom would be dead within a week or so.  She was so excited to see me and like a child, she had no idea she would be dead soon (frankly, I don't think she even understood why she was in the hospital at all).  I don't think it was until we transferred her back to her assisted living residence that she finally understood what was happening.  And I do think there was a point when Mom recognized that she was dying, and I believe those on the other side were helping her understand that.  But that initial meeting when I knew she was dying, but she didn't, has always remained in my mind.  She was just so happy to see me (and I her), but I knew we would be saying goodbye for a while in only a matter of days.

Sometimes I feel guilty that I didn't grieve so hard when my dad died as I have with my mom.  I loved him very much; he was a great father, and I do miss him.  But I have to admit that Mom's death has been harder on me than his was.  But then Mom and I always had more in common than Dad and I did.  Dad liked sports and fishing and country music and wasn't very talkative, none of which I related to.  Mom loved movies and theatre and we had great talks, not to mention 21 years more together to cultivate a relationship than Dad and I had.  I also was, as my family says, "the golden child" to Mom and was her primary caretaker for several of the last years of her life.  Even after her death, I have been knee-deep in her journals and photos and financial and legal affairs.  She is ever present.

Dad died while I was on my mission, and his death almost felt surreal.  I was nowhere near him when he died.  I didn't watch him die like I did with Mom.  I was on the other side of the earth and felt somewhat removed from his death.  In fact, coming home from my mission it almost felt like Dad hadn't existed at all.  When I left for my mission, he was still home.  When I came back he was gone.

I can't really explain it.  I miss hearing Mom's voice.  I miss holding her hand and hugging her and kissing her.  I miss her childlike dementia just as much as a miss the level-headed woman I grew up with.  I miss eating meals with her and going to the theatre with her.  I miss playing games with her and talking with her.

I know pain will lessen with time, but I also know I'll always have this rock in my pocket until Mom and I are reunited once again.  And maybe Mom will again repeat the second to the last thing I ever heard her say: "I knew you did it right." 

Speaking Of Crazy...

This blog post and this article were brought to my attention recently.

I have nothing against either woman.  They can believe whatever they want to believe and respond to it as they see fit (which they have done), but I must confess I do find their behavior a little nuts.

In the case of Well-Behaved Mormon Woman, who I have mentioned before here (and referred to as "an active Mormon who disapproved) and whose blog title sounds as self-righteous as she appears to be in her posts, Jonah and I were honestly flummoxed when we initially saw the title of her post, "Frozen: Not Gonna 'Let It Go' When Movie Advocates Gay Agenda."  We had both seen the movie and had no idea to what she might be referring.  You would think Jonah and I would know all about the so-called "gay agenda," but when I saw Frozen, none of the assertions she makes about the movie even crossed my mind.

Not once.

I've never been a fan of this particular woman's blog, although she is certainly entitled to believe whatever she wants to believe. Having read some of her previous posts, I am at odds with her in certain beliefs she has, but again, she can believe whatever she wants to believe (and does).

This latest post, however, just seems crazy to me. Once we started reading her arguments we at least finally understood what she might have read into the movie, but, in her own words, "I know what some think, because I questioned myself, initially, and I've heard it multiple times when even lightly expressing my feelings about the movie, with others. You think that I've read way too much into it, because I'm sensitive to homosexual issues, or perhaps a bit paranoid."

Indeed I do. Again, believe what you want to believe, but this just seemed nuts. The consensus among my friends who read the post (including one who is very much against gay marriage) was that, yes, this woman is reading way too much into the movie's message and might be just a wee bit crazy.

As for the woman who bought all the tee shirts, a friend wisely commented, "[I] wish I had $600 just to make a statement.  How about you teach your child what's appropriate and what's not, and buy $600 in groceries for the Ronald McDonald House."

Little Signs And The Story Of My Life

I wrote the following on my Facebook page a few weeks ago:

"I'm sure there are those who get tired of these posts (to which I say, 'Don't read them.'), but for me, they help me through my grieving process.

"I am and always have been a mama's boy. My mom was one of my very best friends. Even though her early passing saved herself and her family from a lot of suffering, there are days when I still can't believe she's gone.

"Many days I'm fine, but there are days like today when I miss her terribly and long for her immediate presence.

"Since her passing nearly five months ago, she has let me know many times that she is still around and very much a part of my life. That is comforting, but it's not the same.

"I just miss her. I hope it gets easier. I guess it's a testament to our deep love that the deep pain of her passing still remains.

"-sigh-"

I discover that I miss Mom terribly.  While the rational part of me knows that things worked out for the best, the emotional part of me just wishes she were here.

Yet she has shown me many times that she is very much around.

They're just little things, and others might chalk them up to coincidence, but I believe Mom is letting me know she is still very much a part of my life.

I've already talked about the Josh Groban concert.  The song "Smile" has become a way for Mom to let me know she's around.  Recently my brother and sister-in-law and their kids through town and we agreed to meet at a local IHOP.  I started my car to meet them, and a version of "Smile" by Barbra Streisand began to play.  I felt maybe it was Mom's way of letting me know she'd be attending breakfast with us (and sure enough there were two empty seats at our table, so maybe Dad was with us as well).

That's actually happened a lot (the two empty seats).  I attended a fairly full house of the show Rock of Ages, and there were two seats next to me (although I'm not sure either Mom or Dad liked the show), and at a Kristen Chenoweth concert the same thing happened.

I recently visited my family in Utah and we had dinner at Su Casa, one of Mom and Dad's favorite places, and again, there were two empty chairs at a rather full table.  I also saw a rehearsal of one of Mom's favorite shows, A Few Good Men, and found myself beside two empty seats.  (I know Mom loved that one.)

I've also felt Mom communicate to me through music.  Not just "Smile," but other stuff as well - the Josh Groban and Kristen Chenoweth concerts; songs on the radio; etc.  I was playing a rendition of a song I like (which I imagine Mom would have liked) called "And I Love You So,"

and I got in my car to go to work, and the exact song started playing on the radio.

It just felt like too much to be just a coincidence.

One unexpected song has become a sign for me.  About a month or two ago I had seen "The Story of My Life" performed by One Direction.  I liked the song and wanted to watch the video, which I did and which left me a weeping mess.

I don't know if it's because I've been dealing with Mom's journals and photos, but the whole idea of the video (these frozen memories in time; the moving on of time even after loved ones have left us) just really connected with me.

During my visit home when I was visiting Mom and Dad's grave at the cemetery for what turned out to be the last time it was warming up a little after a cold week and I could feel the sunshine on my body, and I closed my eyes and imagined Mom and Dad were beside me, much as I felt Dad beside me when I was on my mission shortly after he died.  I don't know if I've ever shared that story here, but the week he died, I was in church and bore my testimony and when I sat down I felt like Dad's hand was on my shoulder (and I believe it was).  Much in the same way, I felt like Mom and Dad were standing beside me in the cemetery, and I felt that same feeling in St. George recently when Jonah and I were married.  After I basked in that feeling, I got into the car and what should start playing but “The Story of My Life” by One Direction , and I started crying because I just felt sure it was Mom telling me she and Dad had been there. 

Other remarkable things that happened two other times I visited the cemetery.  The first time I visited it was a windless day a bit cold.  I'm not really a cemetery-going kind of guy, but the cemetery was only three blocks from where I was staying so I figured why not?  I was met at the grave site by several geese who were milling around, and it felt like kind of a sign to me.  I guess the life that was present felt like Mom reminding me that she's not really dead, just on another plane of existence. 

  
I hadn't been to Mom's grave since the week she was buried and I broke down.  I just miss her.  Sometimes I feel bad because I didn't behave the way I did with Dad's passing as I am with Mom's.  It's certainly not because I loved Dad any less.  I adored my father.  But Mom and I just had more in common (plus 21 more years together than Dad and I had).  Plus I was away when Dad died, so it didn't seem as present in my mind as Mom's death, when I was stroking her hair and looking at her face at the exact moment she passed.

There were two pinwheels on the graves of a nearby couple, and although I did not feel any wind, they both began to turn.  

 

I wondered if maybe Mom and Dad were making it happen.  It made me feel good to think they did.  I just let them know how much I missed them.

My other visit to the cemetery was at dusk so it was dark, but as I drove in I saw a herd of seven deer leaping and bounding about the cemetery.  While it is not uncommon to see deer in this part of Utah, the cemetery is in a fairly suburban area where deer don't frequent.  I was actually afraid to get out of the car until the deer departed, but they were a truly beautiful sight to see.  And then I saw a flock of the same geese I had seen previously honking and flying above me.  I took it as another sign of Mom's presence.  It was almost magical.


Recently, for their tenth anniversary, Facebook created commemorative movies based on each individual's photos and posts.  Somehow I felt mine was tailor-made to let me know Mom was around.  Yeah, I know it's based on algorithms and popular posts and photos, but it just felt like Mom had a hand in it.

The movie starts out with my profile photo of my headshot.  Then as it shows my first moments, we see the house Jonah and I bought together when it was just in its beginning stages.  Then there is a cast photo and a teaching job I had.  My most liked posts have to do with acting and my job and the day Mom died.  Then there's a shot of the sun breaking through the clouds the day after Mom died that was my sign from her that she was okay.  Then more shows, a trip to Disneyland I took with Jonah and a close friend, a favorite photo of my cat, the march I did with Mormons Building Bridges at the Gay Pride Parade in 2012, a picture my niece drew of Jonah and me, my current job, a silly photo of me, my family in the early 80s (complete with Dad, Mom, and my siblings), my recent trip to Disneyland with Jonah, and then as the movie ends with a compilation of several photos, there's Mom right in the middle smiling at me, and I think to myself, Facebook could have picked any photo.  I think the center one is based on a profile photo, but if it had chosen the most used or popular one, my headshot would have been at the center, but no, it's Mom. 

I just felt her love, and when I showed it to Jonah I just wept and wept in his arms because I felt so close to my dear, departed mother.

People can call these coincidences.  I don't believe they are.  Even if they were, they bring me great comfort, so I'm taking them as little signs.

Legal, Baby!

Five years ago on the day of our commitment ceremony, Jonah said to me, "Maybe we'll do this again in five years, and maybe then it will be legal."  At the time I thought we'd do it again somewhere like California.  Of course, I also knew that Jonah was referring to the fact that he would like a bigger ceremony and one that his family might attend.

Five years to the day Jonah and I were married legally...in UTAH of all places!!!!  Incredible.

I don't know what's going to happen as appeals are taken into consideration and when this reaches the supreme court, which it inevitably will.  But I've said in the past that this rolling stone can't be stopped.  Even if our marriage is declared invalid, which legal experts seem to think it won't be even if Judge Shelby's ruling is overturned; even if marriage between people of the same sex is once again outlawed in Utah, I think it will only be temporary.

And the optimist is me says gay marriage in Utah is here to stay.  I think the Supreme Court will find it unconstitutional to deny gay people that right.  In fact, the Utah case may very well become the springboard for all states having to recognize gay marriages...which would be the irony of ironies, in my opinion.

I think the Utah government is fighting a losing battle...and wasting precious tax dollars to do it.  But that is its prerogative, I suppose.

As for Jonah and me, our day was lovely.  We drove to St. George very, very early with a friend who would serve as one of our witnesses.  Because it was New Year's Eve, the Washington County Clerk's Office was scheduled to close at noon, so we wanted to get there as early as possible to make sure everything went through the way it was supposed to.

When Amendment 3 was overturned, Jonah and I had already asked for New Year's Eve (and New Year's Day) off because of our anniversary, and we had already been talking about getting married in California simply for tax and health insurance purposes.  That all this was occurring so close to our anniversary in the state where I was raised and where we had our commitment ceremony seemed fateful, so we decided to go to Utah and get married.

Some friends advised us to get married before our anniversary date in case the state was allowed a stay on same-sex marriages, but we figured if it was meant to be it would happen, which it did.

The county clerk's office was not busy at all, fortunately, and we were were prepared with everything we needed to apply for a marriage license.  The lady who helped us was very nice.  Because this happened so quickly and unexpectedly in Utah, the application forms still say "bride" and "groom," of course, so they had to white that part out to accommodate for two grooms.

We actually completed the process so quickly that we had an hour to spare before our minister and our other witness were to meet us.  Our friend who had driven with us offered o treat us to a wedding breakfast at a nearby diner, so we went there and ate, and it was nice.  Very large portions, too.

It was quite an eclectic crowd.  To the side of us was a redneck and his family and in back of us was a financial advisor talking to his friend about investing his money, and then of course, at our table was the gay couple about to get married in conservative St. George.

Jonah had picked out our outfits which consisted of custom-made tuxedo tee shirts with rainbow bow ties and metallic red roses:

black cardigans, skinny black jeans, and nice shoes.  We looked cute:

I kind of hoped the redneck nest to us at the diner wouldn't notice our attire.  But maybe he didn't care either way.  In any case, he didn't seem to notice.

We had found our minister through a Facebook acquaintance of mine.  We don't many people in St. George, but we knew some marriages had been performed there, so we asked my acquaintance if he knew anybody who had officiated.  He put me in touch with a friend of his who had gotten married in St. George, and that friend put us in touch with the minister who had married him and his partner.  She was more than happy to do it.

We didn't meet her until the day of the wedding.  She told us she would be wearing a purple top and black bottoms (actually, it was the other way around).  Purple is both Jonah and my favorite color.  I took that as a good sign.

I had also called two mutual friends who live in the St. George area and who I've performed on stage with and asked if one of them would serve as our other witness.  They were delighted to come.  I also found out one of them is an ordained minister as well, so he could have married us, too, if the need had arisen.  Also fortunate was that both friends are good photographers so they took pictures of our wedding (which arent the pictures posted here).

At ten in the morning, our friends and the minister arrived.  We immediately liked the minister and hit it off with her.  The friend who had driven in with us hit it off with my two friends, which was not unexpected.

The minister asked us what specifically we wanted to do in our ceremony.  We had arranged to exchange say a little something to each other and then exchange rings.  Nothing big.

We went outside the clerk's office and proceeded to get married.  It was a beautiful day, and I loved that we got married in front of a palm tree.

We began the service with Jonah saying a prayer.  I actually can't remember much of what he said, just that we were grateful to be here in Utah getting married legally.

The minister commenced while my friends took pictures.  Then we shared our thoughts with one another.  I told Jonah that we've been together eight years, and that five years ago we made a formal commitment to unite with one another.  I said it had been a hard year for both of us with his dad and my mom passing away, but what a great way to end the year by getting married.  I told him he drives me crazy at times, but there is no one I would rather have drive me crazy than him.  I told him he's changed my life and made me a better person and how lucky I am to have him and how much I love him and then I placed the ring I bought him six and a half years ago on his finger.

Jonah went next.  He reminded me that at our commitment ceremony I had vowed to help him plant 24 rose bushes in our yard and said that I did and now our yard is blooming with flowers.  The garden we have represents the life we have built and cultivated together.  He told me how much he loved me and then placed my ring on my finger.

I was surprised over how emotional I got.  It was like a repeat of our commitment ceremony.  Jonah even joked that he's not a "big baby" like me (which is completely untrue).

The minister asked me if I took Jonah to be my husband.  I resoundingly answered, "I do."  She asked Jonah if he took me to be his husband, and Jonah said, "I do."  And then the minister happily pronounced us married.  And I kissed my guy and gave him a hug.

 

Then we gave the minister a hug.

And then our friends hugged us.  It was a very exciting a joyous moment.  I also told Jonah later that I felt our deceased parents were with us there.

We had invited Jonah's mother, but she didn't want to go, not because she didn't approve, but because she wanted to stay close to home for the holidays.  She later told us she thought we were going to Salt Lake City and that if she had realized we were going to St. George, she probably would have gone.  I wish she had.  I think it would have been good both for her and Jonah.

After the ceremony, we filled out the official paperwork, signing both our license (the official document) and our marriage certificate (the souvenir document).

Then we filed our document with the clerk's office and the clerk gave us our legal copy and also asked the minister for her name in case other gay couples needed an officiator.  My friend also volunteered his services. 

So Jonah and I are now legally married in Utah. 

 

 

 

After the wedding we all went out for coffee and breakfast (I didn't eat as I had just eaten) and just chatted.  It was really nice. 

 

The minister didn't charge us for her services, saying it was her pleasure and opted to take one of Jonah's art pieces instead.  That was cool.  Saved us 150 bucks.

Eventually we said goodbye to the minister and our friends from St. George and drove back home.  Boy, were we tired.  When we got home, Jonah and I crashed.

We decided to go see Kristin Chenoweth in concert as a wedding gift to ourselves.  It was a great concert.  She has such an amazing voice.  There were a lot of songs that really felt inspirational to me.  Her last number was a beautiful and simple arrangement of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and once again I could feel Mom smiling down on us.

She also sang "I Will Always Love You" by Dolly Parton, a perfomer Jonah loves.  It just made everything feel right.

I've had several gay friends say legal marriage feels different.  I would have to agree.  I don't know why, but it does.  In my words to Jonah during the ceremony I said that this paper doesn't change the fact that we've been married all this time.  And in many ways, that's true.  But in others, it really does make a difference.

I also like that when I'm filling out applications and such now, I can definitively mark "married" when asked about by marital status.

Life is great!  I couldn't have found a better man to spend my life with.


The Tide Continues To Turn

Twenty-three years ago I was a very scared, closeted, confused young man living in a small and very conservative college town in central Utah.  At that time I felt so very alone and misunderstood and never could have imagined in my wildest dreams that twenty-three years later gay couples would actually be getting married anywhere at all, let alone Utah.

I realize the legality of gay marriage may be a temporary thing until everything is sorted out in the courts, but as I have said previously in this blog, this rolling stone can't be stopped.  Legalized gay marriage in every state in the United States is inevitable, and I think the situation in Utah will have an eventual positive effect on the legality of gay marriage everywhere in the U.S.

Even if the advent of gay marriage in Utah is a short-lived celebration, I believe it will lead to a much longer lasting celebration of gay marriage as a normal form of marriage.  One day our descendants will wonder what all the fuss was even about.

The fight for equality is happening around us every day.  What an exciting time to be alive.  My 19 year-old self could never have imagined we'd be where we are today and he certainly couldn't have known how happy he would be to be just be true to himself.

Yea!

Of Colonoscopies And A Life Well Led

Not to get too gross (although I've already done that here and here), but today I went in to have a colonoscopy.

 
For the past year I've been having weird digestive issues.  Lots of cramping, bloating, loose stool, gas, plus the acid reflux I already have.  Anyway, I've been a bit concerned, and because my grandfather died of colon cancer, I figured it might be worth checking out.

It may be something as simple as being lactose intolerant, but I wanted to make sure everything was good down there.

I've never had a colonoscopy before.  I was actually expecting the bowel prep to be worse than it was.  I was near the toilet a lot yesterday, but the whole thing was not nearly as bad as I had imagined.  

I've also discovered that a good way to lose five pounds in two days is to prep for a colonoscopy.  And actually, the cleanse made me feel a little more energetic and more buoyant.

Jonah drove me to the surgical center because I was not permitted to drive for 24 hours after the procedure (although I think I could have; I didn't notice any impairment after I woke up).  As we were driving, I said to Jonah, "I don't tell you this often enough, but you're one of the best things that has ever happened to me."

I ended up waiting a good while before I went back for my procedure.  While I was waiting, an elderly, hunched-over woman and her caretaker daughter came in.  The mother had to be in her 90s and I would have put the daughter in her 60s.  The daughter made sure the mother got to her seat all right and went to deal with the receptionist.  I heard them talking about her being the mother's power of attorney while the mother looked around in sort of a daze.

The daughter seemed attentive to her mother's needs and the two seemed to get on well; but I also sensed maybe some weariness and impatience from the daughter and a bit of annoyance from the mother that the daughter was babying her.  I felt such empathy for both women.  I know the situation well and it brought back memories of my own relationship with my mom.

After my procedure, Jonah and I went and ate at Sweet Tomatoes and I saw yet another elderly mother with her caretaker daughter, and I felt maybe Mom was just reminding me that she's still around.

When I went back for my procedure, I was instructed to remove all my clothes and don a hospital gown and booties.  Then I was asked to lie on the bed while two nurses dealt with me.  I actually found everyone on the surgical staff to be very personable, compassionate, efficient, and informational.  I had a very good experience.

When one nurse was preparing my IV, she didn't cap it tight enough and blood started spurting out.  That was a new experience for me.  Both nurses (and the anesthesiologist) were so nice and friendly, though.  The IV nurse got it capped pretty quickly.

They were a little behind schedule, so I ended up lying in the bed for about 15 or 20 minutes.  They came in a few times to apologize for the delay, but mostly I was left to myself.  I didn't mind; it gave me time to contemplate and meditate.

As I was lying there some strange thoughts came into my mind.  I thought, very calmly, "What if something went wrong with this relatively simple procedure, and I died?"  While I didn't want to die this young, and even though I knew it would likely be a devastating shock to my friends and family and particularly hard on my husband, I thought to myself, "If I were to die today, I would have few regrets.  I've lived a good life, a life that I am proud of.  I feel prepared to go if today were the day."

The only regrets I would really have would be leaving my poor husband behind; putting my family in a temporary financial bind because I am the trustee over Mom's trust; not finishing transcribing Mom's journals; and leaving Jonah saddled with a mortgage to pay by himself.

I was looking at the ceiling and the curtain and thought, "What if this was the last thing I saw and suddenly found myself in heaven?"  That would be a surprise, but a pleasant one.

Anyway, I just thought it was unusual, but I was happy I felt I could die with a clear conscience, having lived a happy life.

In any case, I did not die.  I was brought into the operation room where the doctor and anesthesiologist asked me a few questions, and then the anesthesiologist shot something into my arm that hurt a little,

and the next thing I know a nurse is telling me to wake up.  I was actually shocked that it had all happened.  It felt like the blink of an eye.  I was also surprised by how coherent and aware I seemed to be.  I remember when I got a a cornea transplant in 1997 that was not the case at all.  I was OUT. OF. IT.  Mom helped me get dressed and I didn't even remember it.  I fell asleep in the car on the way home, and it seemed like forever before I finally felt like myself.

I was told they had pumped air into my colon and so that I would be expelling that same gas.  They needn't have bothered.  I let two huge ones right after I woke up (happily, no one was around).

They gave me some apple juice to drink and gave me some final information.  I felt perfectly fine and was pleasantly surprised that I didn't feel any adverse effects or residual pain or discomfort (aside from some minor flatulence).

Oh...and the doctor said everything looks good in my colon.  So that's nice to know.  Maybe it's just milk that's the problem.  Or...

Missing A Generous Soul

If I had to write a companion piece to this post about my most recent car, it would not be as nostalgic and sad as the previous post was.  Instead of being titled "Obituary for a Friend," it would be more likely titled, "Don't Let the Garage Door Hit You on the Way Out."  Whereas my first Saturn was such a reliable and trouble-free car for most of its life, my second Saturn was a problem car and has soured me on ever buying a car from Carmax again.  I owned my first Saturn for ten years and she was mine.  This latest Saturn only made it four years, and I still owed $1,683.00 when she decided to give up the ghost.  She had brake problems, air conditioning problems, radiator problems, and transmission problems.  There is no love lost between us.

About a week ago I was driving home from work when my "Service Engine Soon" light came on.  The car seemed okay, but I figured I should have it checked out.  The next day I was going to drive it to my mechanic, but it started jerking when it shifted, so I decided to call a tow truck through my roadside assistance program with Progressive.  The tow truck driver pulled my car out of the driveway and behind the tow truck and all of a sudden I heard this weird wooshing noise and noticed that the entire contents of my car's transmission fluid had leaked on to the street in front of our house (so thankful it didn't do that in our driveway).

Anyway, I knew the repairs would be expensive, and they were going to come to at least $1,300.  I already owed the nearly $1,700 on the car, and I've been wanting to get a new vehicle anyway because we don't like driving my car on long trips anymore because it is unreliable.  I decided to just buy a new car.

Happily, Mom has left us kids some money.  We hope that after medical costs and taxes are taken care of that each of us will wind up with about $60,000 - $70,000.  We aren't divvying out the money until after tax time.  However, my sister, who has a lot of debt, already borrowed some of her share.  With my car dead, I asked my siblings if it was okay if I borrowed some of my share to put a down payment on a car.  Because I am trustee over Mom's trust, I decided it might be good if each child got $10,000 of their share.  We know even with taxes and medical expenses we can afford to give that much to each of us.

It's been such a blessing.  My sister and her husband can pay off some of their debts; I can get my car; my other sister and her husband can use some of it as they prepare to move into a new house; and my brother and his wife can use some of their share to pay for wedding and mission costs for their two sons.

What make me so happy is that Mom would be delighted by that.  Mom (and Dad) were both very generous.  There is not one of us children who has not benefited from their generosity, either in life or in death.  Both of my parents made sure we had money for school, missions, when we were struggling financially, etc.  Mom was always taking us kids and grandkids out to lunch; she freely donated to charities (which actually started to get a bit out of control when her dementia got worse); and she wouldn't think twice about lending any of us a hand if we needed it.

In fact, when I bought my last Saturn (the one that just died), both she and Jonah (also a very generous soul) helped me with my down payment at a time when I wasn't doing so well financially.  I remember when my car was broken into, Mom felt so upset about it, she offered to pay for my window.  I was doing much better financially at the time, so I declined.  Mom insisted, but I held her off, knowing that her dementia, which had progressed quite a bit by then, would cause her to forget about it, which she did.  But just the fact that she wanted to pay for it shows the kind of woman Mom was.

Mom was such a generous and thoughtful person, something I've seen passed down to my sisters, particularly.

In my search for a new car (and I decided to go completely new because this last car has soured me on used even though my first car was used and was terrific) I narrowed it down to Hyundai and Honda.  I looked at Toyota and Mazda as well, but was not overly impressed with either the cars or the salesmen.  Both the Hyundai Sonata and the Honda Accord drove really well, and both salesmen were great and low-pressure.  Ultimately, based on research, advice from friends who are familiar with both cars, and the driving of the cars themselves, I ended up getting the Accord.  I actually felt bad for the Hyundai salesman because we really liked him and found him honest and interested in us as people, not just consumers.  But the Honda felt right, and I am glad I got it.

It's hard to tell from the pictures because they were taken at night, but the car is silver.  It drives like a dream.  I've never owned a new car before, and it drives smoother than anything I've ever driven except maybe a rental car.

It also has a lot of technological gadgets that I don't especially need, but I guess cars come with them now - things like a rear view camera, hands-free phone system, duel climate control, fuel economy tools, cruise control, etc.  It's a great car, and I'm really happy with it (although still nervous to drive it because it's still so new), and I hope it lasts me years and years and years.

It's a 2014, and I got a great deal on it: $21,500 plus a three year maintenance package and a security package if the car is ever stolen.

Being a bit of a cheapskate, I feel weird spending that much money on myself, and I don't like the idea of being in debt, so I'll be glad when the rest of the inheritance money kicks in so I can pay the car off (as well as my student loan).  I'm so glad that even in death, Mom is still helping us out with her generosity.

As I was signing the car documents, it felt odd to think that just four years ago, almost to the day, Mom was with me when I was signing my documents for the Saturn.  She was still driving, still independent, still in fairly good shape, although certainly on the decline.

Now, four years later, she's gone.  Well, not really gone.  But I sure do miss her.

I mentioned yesterday on Facebook that I was really missing her, and that even though I knew things would get easier one day, right now it is still hard.

This morning I found a note from one of Mom's best friend's daughter.  It said, "I saw your post...about your mom. I thought maybe I should tell you a little about a dream I had about a week ago. .....I was at my parents' house, you and I were talking in the road. Your mom came out of her house, gave you a hug and said 'I just wanted you to know that I am happy.' 

As I read it, I really did feel like it was a message from Mom telling me that even though I am sad she's gone, she's in a good place and doing well, and that I don't need to hang on to that sadness.  But, as Sally Field's character says in Steel Magnolias, "Shelby, as you know, wouldn't want us to get mired down and wallow in this. We should handle it the best way we know how and get on with it. That's what my mind says, I just wish somebody would explain it to my heart."

It's going to take some time.  I'm just glad Mom is still with me.

A Dream Deferred? Nah!

Langston Hughes famous poem says:

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

A year ago yesterday I performed in my last show.  While I still consider what I presently do to be an acting job, I have not actually been on stage in a scripted show for a year.

A year ago I made the decision to spend more time with my husband, to leave the pressures of taking care of my mother full-time in somebody else's hands, to move from my long-time home of Utah permanently, and to take a hiatus from full-time acting.

It was time.

What's very strange is I have been shocked...absolutely shocked...by how much I don't seem to miss acting.

When I told Jonah I was taking an acting break, he told me he didn't want me to settle or just work some job I didn't like just to remain closer to him.

Acting was, is, and has ever been a huge part of my life.  It's always been my dream to perform for a living, and truth be told, up until a year ago, I was making a pretty decent living as an actor and doing all sorts of great parts in great shows.  In fact, my very last role and show was one of the greatest theatrical experiences I have ever had, and if it were the last on stage show I ever did, I would consider it an extremely wonderful note to go out on.

In February of last year, when I was still unemployed, I started to write a post about the above poem and was asking myself if I was deferring my long life dream of acting.

I wrote,

"I think many actors, who tend to be an insecure lot in general, sometimes feel the way I'm feeling right now.  I tend to get this way when I'm unemployed from my acting career for an extended period of time.  I've only been unemployed for 3 1/2 months, but it feels like an eternity.

"Anyway, the way I'm feeling (and which is totally irrational) is that the best days of my acting career are behind me." 

That's as far as I got.  Now that I am employed and doing something somewhat related to my acting career, I feel differently.

I like my present job and I love being home with my husband.  I love not having to hustle for the next acting gig and I like the relative security of my current job.  I like the benefits that come with my job, and I am still entertaining people, so I haven't really given up acting.  But it's not the same, and I do get paid less.  But I really don't mind.

I am happy.

My life has ever been consumed with acting.  I thought I would miss acting on stage so, so much.  Every once in a while, an audition will come up, and I feel a yearning, but it passes relatively quickly.  For the most part, I don't have any strong inklings to get back on stage nor do I have any great regrets.

I have not given up acting, and I'm sure I will be back on stage again one day.  If ever I become unsatisfied with my current job or should my current job end, I will cross that bridge.  Right now, I like what I'm doing and am glad it afford me the opportunity to be with Jonah.  I do miss my family, and I do miss Utah, but it's time for me to be here, doing what I am doing.

Day of the Dead and Missing People

Since Mom passed away, I find that every little thing reminds me of her.  This is not a bad thing, but it can sometimes cause a previously normal activity like, say, eating a yogurt to fill me with sadness.  Mom liked yogurt a lot and would often eat it for breakfast.  I was eating a yogurt the other day and it made me think of her.

Or Listerine strips.  The day I started cleaning Mom's room out after she had moved into assisted living, I found a drawer full of about 20 packs of them.  I use them now to freshen my breath after I eat dinner on my break at work.

Or a movie or a song.  A few weeks ago a local movie theater was showing The Wizard of Oz on the big screen.  Jonah wanted to go, but it was one of Mom's favorite movies, and I just wasn't in the right place emotionally to be able to do it.  (I wish I had; the movie we ended up seeing, The Family, was a dud, and we ended up walking out halfway through it).

I can't hear "Smile" or "Embraceable You" or "Que Sera Sera" or a million other songs without thinking of her.

Or places.  If I'm at a Sweet Tomatoes or eating sushi somewhere, I am reminded of the many lunch dates we had together.

And of course, I am consumed with her stuff, whether it be transcribing her journals, receiving her mail, or handling her financial and legal matters.  She is ever-present with me.  And that is a good thing.  But I am also more prone to feeling great sadness at the loss of her.

Two nights ago I had the night off as did Jonah.  Jonah wanted to go to a Day of the Dead celebration at a local park.  I am not very familiar with Day of the Dead, but it's apparently a pretty big holiday in Mexican culture, and while Jonah doesn't celebrate it, it is a part of his heritage, and he had always wanted to go to one of these events.

We went with a friend of ours.  It just so happens that the park where the celebration was taking place was the same park I had taken Mom to on her last visit here.  So being there already reminded me of her.  The fact that the theme of the day had to do with death or celebrating of the lives of those who had passed only made me think of Mom more.

While intellectually I know that Day of the Dead is a celebration of life and can often even take a humorous tone, emotionally I find the art depressing.

Even though I know there is the fanciful, mocking sort of attitude towards death, to me, culturally, skulls and bones represent a side of death that seems so permanent and without life, and I know it's just a cultural difference, but it made me feel sad rather than joyous.

We passed many altars dedicated to the likes of the poor kids shot to death at Sandy Hook Elementary; victims of domestic violence or gang violence; girls who never reached adulthood (and there were dolls dressed in corn husks to represent that); and memorials to such fallen icons as Harvey Milk, Selena, Michael Jackson, and Frida Kahlo.  The more we wandered around, I just felt a great heaviness of spirit and I began missing Mom terribly.

Jonah and his friend had primarily come to examine some of the art, which just isn't my taste.  Jonah noticed I seemed withdrawn, and came up to me and said, "I'm sorry if you're not having a good time."  It wasn't that I wasn't having a good time; I actually found the experience very interesting.  I just missed my mom.  As I started to explain this to him, I just started weeping, and amidst a large crowd of people who didn't even seem to notice, Jonah just held me in his arms and hugged me tightly while I sobbed.  I told him I just felt overwhelmed by all the death talk and that we were in a place that reminded me of Mom, and it was just hard.  Jonah kept repeating "I know, I know."

Just a day before Jonah had been feeling similar emotions because his dad had always given the grandkids a ride on his miniature train for Halloween, and Jonah was feeling a deep sense of loss.

As Jonah has said, it's not easy.  We both have lost our parents so recently, and we are still grieving.  Some days are easier than others, and I feel like I'm adjusting quite well.  Other days I feel incredibly sad that our parents are no longer with us in life.

I will always miss my mom, I'm sure, although I imagine the pain will get easier just as it did after my dad died.  I miss hearing Jonah's dad hum his little songs or seeing him sit out on the front porch or hearing him ask me if I brought snow from Utah.  I see how his passing has made Jonah's mom more lonely.  I miss my dad when I hear a particular country song or "Hang Down Your Head, Tom Dooley" by the Kingston Trio.  I miss my mom when I happen across a favorite movie of hers or when I'm out to lunch at a restaurant we frequented.

I guess that's life.  And I'm grateful for the reminders that bring back pleasant memories.  I often wonder what people will miss about me when I go.

Yesterday Jonah and I went to the cemetery to honor his father.  Neither of us are really cemetery-goers, but Jonah was curious about Day of the Dead festivities that were taking place at the heavily Hispanic cemetery.  I was truly surprised by the goings-on.  There was a high school Mariachi band (a very good one at that); a taco truck, balloon animals; face-painting, people hanging out in lawn chairs, etc.  For many, it was an all day celebration.

The cemetery where Mom and Dad are buried has a reputation for being a bit solemn and quiet, which is actually how I prefer it.  I would think a Mariachi band and a taco truck would be kicked out of the cemetery for disturbing the peace.  The most music I've heard at Mom's cemetery was the sound of a lone bagpipe.  Jonah's dad's cemetery seems much more relaxed than Mom's cemetery does.  To each his own, I guess.  Truth be told, the Mariachi music was quite enjoyable.

But the atmosphere was much different than I am used to.  Not bad.  Not good.  Just different.
 
Jonah left some flowers, candles, a coffee cup (representing his Dad's favorite beverage), a garden glove (representing his love of gardening) with a brick on top of it (representing the foundation he built with his children and family) and a framed photo along side the other mementos that had been left, including a wrench (representing his love of fixing cars), a statue, and a piece of duct tape that said "I love you."  It's so interesting how different people memorialize their dead loved ones.  I have a feeling Mom's cemetery would only have allowed the flowers.

When we were listening to the Mariachi band, I noticed two gravestones placed very close to each other: one was a Jewish man who died at the exact same age I am now, and the other was a black man who died at 20.  I don't know why it struck me, but I liked the idea that there were no racial or religious divides in this cemetery.  I also was struck by how many young people were buried in this cemetery.  I encountered grave after grave where the deceased was in his or her teens or twenties.  I wondered why so many had died so young.

We then went to a different part of the cemetery where Jonah's grandfather was buried.  It took us a while to find him, mainly because Jonah had told me to look for a fairly new upright stone with an eagle on it.  It turned out the stone was flat rather than upright, dirty, and had no eagle on it.  It also turned out that after having walked around extensively looking for it that the stone was a mere 15 feet right in front of Jonah's truck.

After the cemetery we went over to Jonah's sister's house, where Jonah's great-nephew was celebrating his first year of life.  It seemed apropos to be celebrating his birthday after so many days focused on death.  We visited with Jonah's family and his mom.

Anyway, I miss Mom, and my Day of the Dead experience was educational.