Kindness Matters...

2011 was the year I turned 50 and because of that, a year filled with much possibility.   I just knew it would be a year of big changes, opportunity for travel and filled with much love.  Unfortunately I didn't realize exactly how those possibilities would present themselves.  If I had I may have stayed in bed, pulled the covers up over my head and waited until the year's end to find my way back out. 

The year was less than a month old when the first change came about.  My sister and her husband, the only family/friends I had here in California, moved back East.  Their departure left me solo here in a place where people lived a life that felt less than sincere, very superficial and one where I didn't quite seem to "fit" in.   I was afraid to stay here on my own, but had enough Faith to know that God had brought me here 2 years earlier for a reason and until I figured it out, I wasn't leaving.  Not to mention I had no where to go, or the financial means to get me there even if I did!  So here I stayed, hopeful to see what others changes the year would bring.

Unfortunately, the next change was devastating.  February 10th brought about a fall for my father, who was in Nursing Home.  Three days later it was discovered he had broken his hip so he was moved to a hospital.  Two day's later, he had surgery and the next day I got a call telling me to come home.  This turned into the first trip of the year.  I flew into Buffalo, NY at 10pm on Friday, February 18th and sadly, my father passed away at 2am on the 19th.  I never got to say goodbye, but thankfully I knew he was happily reunited with his beloved Mother, sisters and brother who had died years before.

The next few days were a blur of activity and sadness as I watched the pain of loss on the faces of my daughter, my sisters, my family and, most especially, our Mother.  She had lost the love of her life; the man who challenged her, angered her, bolstered her and loved her beyond any other.  Oddly enough, we buried her husband on their 53 wedding Anniversary, an occasion of joy suddenly tied to sadness. 

Though that time was hard, and the loss unbearable, the love that came from that pain was truly a gift.  One, I like to say, that came from my father.    As we grew, life and our choices had taken us three sisters in different directions.  Our choices, experiences and geography had put a void between us and we were not all as close as my parents would have liked.  The loss of my father, and the needed support for our mother, brought us all together again.  An occasion that made it easier for our mother to "show up" the three days it took to "say goodbye"

An unexpected gift that came from my Father's death was the opportunity to see him through the eyes of others.  He was my Father, so of course I loved him dearly, but to hear how much others loved him too was a Gift that we weren't expecting.  Story after story from family, friends and strangers talked about how "kind" our father had been.  Story after story recounted  how each and everyday our Daddy went out of his way to make another smile, to lend an ear and offer words of encouragement when they where needed.  Almost all stories ended with "He was so kind, we loved him so". 

I am embarrassed to say that we were somewhat surprised at these tales.  You see, our father was generally a man of few words, not big on encouragement (other than to say, "you'd better not gain any weight" whenever we showed him a new outfit:), and somewhat of a loner.  To see him through the eyes of others was eye opening to say the least.  The label of his being "so kind" wasn't a foreign concept in our household, as our Mother raised us to "Always come from a place of kindness", we just never realized that our Father felt the same and lived it every day, not just with us, but with others too.

After our Father's death, life went on, as it will do.  The sadness would sneak up and show itself in some of the most inappropriate moments, but one thing that seemed to help was my almost daily phone call with my mother. I spent most lunch hours on the phone with her, discussing her dreams of "wanting to finally start living life again, now that Poppie is gone".  We made lots of plans during those phone call: talk of her joining the Senior Citizen Center in our home town, talk of visiting Kathleen and Paul in New Jersey, talk of spending more time with Michelle, and my favorite, a trip for her to come visit me in California come September. 

2011 had other ideas.  In late July I got the call that my mother was in the hospital and a day later, a call that she had a stroke.  Within two days the second trip back home came and I walked into the hospital room to find a mother I didn't recognize.  Her stroke had left her paralyzed on one side, unable to speak, and on death's door.  On August 4th we got the call to come to the hospital, and we all walked in together not sure of what we'd fine (the call was to come to say goodbye).  Surprisingly, we found her sitting up for the first time since her stroke, and more lucid than she had been in days.  I guess she decided not to die the day before both my sisters were to celebrate their Birthdays.

Though Mom still couldn't speak or eat whole foods, she got better each and every day from there.  I flew back to California a week later and once again I tried to get back to living life as normal, the only difference was I could no longer talk to my mother everyday.  She had no phone in the hospital, what was the point? she couldn't talk...yet almost every day, I'd pick up the phone and have to stop myself as I hit her number.

The final opportunity to travel came with heartbreaking news on a gloomy Saturday afternoon in California (very rare in sunny SoCal).  September 10th, the day my mother had planned to come for her visit, is the day I got the call that shattered the last pieces of my heart.  Our mother had past just minutes earlier, two days after the Doctors had taken her off of Hospice "because she was no where near dying" and one day since they moved her into a Nursing home.  The sadness was again overwhelming, but this time there was an accompanying peace in knowing my parents were once again together, forever.

As I traveled back home for the third time that year, I knew it would be the last time  I would be "going home".  As the plans were made for our Mother's final "farewell", I noticed that our individual pain had created a tension between us sisters upon my return.  Loss will do that.    I wondered if it would have made our mother and father sad to see that the healing that had begun, took a back burner as each of us dealt with the enormity of our own pain. 

This time the wake/funeral took place over two days times (after my Father's passing, my sisters could not do the 3 days again).  Each person that came through the door spoke as to "how kind" our mother had been.  They once again told us stories of love, laughter, kindness and support'.  No surprise to us, as our Mother was the epitome of Kindness.  After all, we grew up knowing "Kindness Matters"...  

After the funeral, we spent a day or two (I don't remember) going through our parents things, separating what we wanted, donating or throwing out the rest.  We pack up what was left of their life in quick succession; we shared our memories, we laughed, we cried, and we laughed again.  The atmosphere was one of purpose (we were on a deadline) yet strained from the different layers of pain throughout the room.   By days end, it was time to say "Goodbye".  As we walked away from the end of our mother's days, we hugged each other tight, said "I love you" and then quickly went our separate ways.

2011 turned out to be the year my sisters and I became "orphans".  Even though we are all in our 50's. losing one's parents makes one feel "solo" in the world.  Our parents hold our "home" in their hearts.  When their hearts cease to beat, one is left feeling "homeless", feeling separate from all we once knew, feeling alone on an Island of pain.

No matter the distance between each of us, with our parents here on Earth, siblings life's are still connected.  Sadly, sometimes when the parental tie is broken, the geographical distance is large, the unresolved tensions (or newly perceived affronts) can damage what's left of the ties that bind brothers and sisters.  With the bridge between them gone, they are lost.  We were no different.

 In the storm of pain that came with the loss of both parents, I somehow lost sight of the hand of the siblings who loved them too.  It is in this storm of loss that I forgot I was not the only one in pain.  I was not the only one who lost and I was not the only one that felt left behind. 

Fortunately, as time goes on, we can find our way through the storm.  We can build a bridge back to the ones who got left behind and hope, that they can find a way to cross it.  In time, as we find ourselves coming out of the fog of devastation and grief,we can once again reach out our hand and wait for our siblings to grasp it.     

Oddly enough, 2011 was filled with big changes, many opportunities to travel and much love...Love lost (our parents), Love cherished (my daughter) and Love valued...as in the love I feel for my sisters and their families.  It also brought a lesson that Life is short and it reminded me that I am part of something bigger than myself.  I am a part of a Legacy...and as such, I own it to my parents to live it fully in love and Light, hold on to the family they loved so much and to make a positive difference in the Life of others through Kindness and Gratitude...

I can honestly say, in the loss of my Mommy and Daddy, I found Hope...