Memories and Miracles

Memories/ Like the corners of my mind/ Misty water-colored memories of the way we were.

Holidays stir up memories.  Had to laugh remembering how my eldest son during his teens began ascribing numerical value of 1 to 10 on how well I held up during pre-Christmas preparations.  Cheeky little devil.  Instead of creating the PERFECT Christmas for my family, I created a monster mom.  I was actually pleased the year he praised me and gave me a PERFECT score.

I wrote in a previous blog (November 14, 2013) about the upcoming talk by Dr. Mary C. Neal at the December meeting of the International Association of Near Death Studies.  Her story in Guidepost magazine helped me to accept the Rose Man’s death.  Her talk and her book, To Heaven and Back, painted such a beautiful picture of the other side that it is easy for me to understand why visitors there don’t want to come back.  That experience and others changed her life and in sharing her story, she changed mine.

Grace gave me the opportunity to share the Rose Man’s story with Dr. Neal before the program started.  She listens.  With total attention.  I told her about sharing her story with the neurologist attending to the Rose Man in ICU and his comment, “It must have been really cold water,” in reference to her drowning when her kayak overturned and got stuck in the rocks.  Mary’s reaction was “That’s what he needs to believe.”  Hearing her talk and then reading her book, it is clear that this spine surgeon’s survival had little to do with medical intervention.  Her survival was a miracle in every sense of the word.

What about the miracles in your life?  Miracles are often delivered in subtle ways and we tend to ignore them: those little accidents of timing, coincidences, synchronicities, or what we often describe as luck.  I think of reading her story before the family met with the ICU team.  After the physician shared her report I asked her to “Please tell me if I’m wrong but we don’t see (the Rose Man) recovering” and she replied that no, I was not wrong.  I believed that that time was my connection to Dr. Mary Neal but I now realize that it was part of a bigger plan, a divine plan, that would lead me to actually meet her.  And when I did . . .

I met LOVE.

So it’s the laughter/ We will remember/ Whenever we remember/ The way we were.  (Hamlisch/Streisand)

Mountains to Climb

Climb every mountain, Search high and low, Follow every highway, Every path you know.

Perhaps because my eldest son and family are currently residing in Germany, I thought about Christmas shopping early this year.  With one exception, my Christmas shopping is complete and that includes two family members with birthdays in the holiday season.  I walk past the men’s department in Macys and feel a tug.  The Rose Man didn’t shop much but when he did it was in Macys for the Nautica brand.  I want to buy him something.  His birthday was December 28th so I would often buy him a whole outfit and split it up into two gift wrapped packages.  I don’t need to do that anymore but I want to.

Last year, our first Christmas and birthday without him, I was surrounded by family busy packing up mom’s apartment at the retirement home in preparation for moving her to an Adult Family Home  Mom joined the ancestors less than three months later so this will be the first Thanksgiving and Christmas without her.  Living alone, she so enjoyed holiday dinners with family and year after year I drove the distance to pick her up and transport her to wherever the family was gathering and then back home again.  I don’t have to do that anymore but I want to.

Once when we lived in Colorado we were faced with our first Christmas alone.  Our sons were scattered all over the globe, my parents were at their home in Washington, and the Rose Man’s parents were with his sister in Santa Rosa.  I wasn’t giving it much thought until a very wise man in my life at the time asked me about our plans.  I had a melt down, tears I didn’t even know were there surfaced in torrents.  His counsel was that when change comes, and it always does, it becomes necessary to replace the old way with something new.  We replaced our traditional Christmas by going skiing.  (Took the Rose Man time to adjust to the idea.)  Atop the sunny, crispy-white Rocky Mountains our cathedral that day was the Colorado blue sky.  Two sons made it home to surprise us, one driving all the way from Louisiana.  I didn’t even have any food in the house and no presents to open — all had been mailed.  The best Christmas present that year was the wrap-around grins on our son’s faces when they turned around from the chair lift in front of us as we moved up the mountain slope.

I reflect on the lesson of the Rocky Mountain Christmas.  Death imposes big changes.  Aging imposes big changes.  Seems like it was only yesterday that I’d make the trip over to the island home of my parents to set up their Christmas tree and decorate.  Now my family is doing the same for me.  Tradition.  Change.  Mountains to climb.

Climb every mountain, Ford every stream, Follow every rainbow…you know the words.  Sound of Music; Rogers and Hammerstein.