May 19, 2010
God full of mercy who dwells on high
Grant perfect rest, on the wings of Your Divine Presence
among the holy and the pure
who shine in the brightness of the firmament,
to the soul of Maura Cassiana de Souza,
who has gone to her eternal rest,
as all her family and friends
pray for the elevation of her soul.
Her resting place shall be in the Garden of Eden.
Therefore, the Master of mercy will care for her
under the protection of His wings for all time
And bind her soul in the bond of everlasting life.
God is her inheritance and she will rest in peace
and let us say Amen.
May His illustrious name become increasingly great and holy
In the world that He created according to His will,
and may He establish His kingdom
In your lifetime and in your days
and in the lifetime of all the house of Israel
Speedily and soon. And say amen
May His illustrious name be blessed always and forever.
Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled
Honored, raised up and acclaimed
be the name of the Holy one blessed be He
beyond every blessing hymn, praise and consolation
that is uttered in the world. And let us say amen
May abundant peace from heaven, and life
Be upon us and upon all Israel. And say Amen.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
from Kei
I got a note from Thad Bell, the photographer whose blog I linked to a couple of weeks ago with pictures and video of Kei wearing the Live Teal bracelet. He tells a neat story about Kei:
I have always meant to ask Kei about the Live Teal bracelet he wears but now I know. One of Kei's best friends on the team is Teal Bunbury. Kei has even tweeted that they were meant to be friends since he wears the Live Teal bracelet.
He definitely does still wear it. Look in http://www.tpbphoto.com/Sports/KC-Wizards-practice-4212010/11938356_4KYLK#845507045_ayrPu and you can see a bunch of shots of Kei with it on. In the middle of that gallery Kei was goofing around and playing goalie. He borrowed some gloves and was blocking shots barefooted.
When he got done playing around, he took the gloves off and left them by the goal for the keeper that owned them and walked in to the locker room. About 30 seconds later he came running back, the bracelet had been pulled of by the gloves and when he noticed it he ran back and found it quickly.
He definitely still wears it.
Kei Kamara tried to post a note to Maura on the blog then, but he had some trouble posting, so he sent his note to Danielle. Here is his letter to Maura.
Hi Maura its me Kei ur fav soccer player...haha, i got a lot to tell u. 1st i hope u r in a better place and just no that u r loved. so the Live Teal band u gave me made it a long way. i always had it on, as u can see mummy stalked my photos and found it...haha. also this yr KC Wizards drafted a play in the 1st round and his name is "TEAL Bunbury" so he always tells ppl i wear it cuz of him haha. but sadly couple weeks ago when i was in Houston for a game, i took off my Live Teal band and left it in the lockroom so i tell myself that i left it in good hands, "in houston and at the Dynamo Stadium."
well you keep resting and your friends and Family love you.
God bless.
I have always meant to ask Kei about the Live Teal bracelet he wears but now I know. One of Kei's best friends on the team is Teal Bunbury. Kei has even tweeted that they were meant to be friends since he wears the Live Teal bracelet.
He definitely does still wear it. Look in http://www.tpbphoto.com/Sports/KC-Wizards-practice-4212010/11938356_4KYLK#845507045_ayrPu and you can see a bunch of shots of Kei with it on. In the middle of that gallery Kei was goofing around and playing goalie. He borrowed some gloves and was blocking shots barefooted.
When he got done playing around, he took the gloves off and left them by the goal for the keeper that owned them and walked in to the locker room. About 30 seconds later he came running back, the bracelet had been pulled of by the gloves and when he noticed it he ran back and found it quickly.
He definitely still wears it.
Kei Kamara tried to post a note to Maura on the blog then, but he had some trouble posting, so he sent his note to Danielle. Here is his letter to Maura.
Hi Maura its me Kei ur fav soccer player...haha, i got a lot to tell u. 1st i hope u r in a better place and just no that u r loved. so the Live Teal band u gave me made it a long way. i always had it on, as u can see mummy stalked my photos and found it...haha. also this yr KC Wizards drafted a play in the 1st round and his name is "TEAL Bunbury" so he always tells ppl i wear it cuz of him haha. but sadly couple weeks ago when i was in Houston for a game, i took off my Live Teal band and left it in the lockroom so i tell myself that i left it in good hands, "in houston and at the Dynamo Stadium."
well you keep resting and your friends and Family love you.
God bless.
Chronology
This week has been full of meaningful moments and meaningful memories, all with the fast-approaching anniversary in view.
May 12:
2009.One week before she died. SHSU came to confer the Bachelor of Music degree. I think it was as meaningful for them as it was for her, maybe more so.
2010. I fell apart and couldn't make it past the parking lot to work.
May 13:
1997. My mom died. My first experience with grief.
2008. Got pathology slides and reports to MD Anderson for review.
2009. We began to talk about hospice. And choices.
2010. Me, hanging on by a thread.
May 14
2008. Spent my birthday waiting with Maura and family and friends for news from M.D. Anderson, not really expecting an answer so soon. I received a homemade card from Maura that I will cherish forever.
2009. Spent my birthday waiting with Maura and family and friends, but this time in the hospital, waiting for her to die, wishing it to be delayed. Houston Dynamo came to visit.
2010. Spent my birthday with family and friends at Maura's high school. The Spring High School Choir named a scholarship after her: the Maura Cassiana De Souza Memorial Scholarship. Katie gave a speech about Maura. Her former choir teacher, Mrs. Eaton, spoke about her, and we were asked to present the plaque to the winner this first year. The plaque is beautiful. Dark wood with a center photo of sunflowers. The winner's name will be added each year on a separate nameplate and the plaque will be housed in the choir room. I didn't look to see how much the scholarship was for.
May 15.
2009. Channel 13 came to interview her in the hospital for something completely unrelated to Maura and her condition. Rather, the hospital had imposed a quiet hour to help patients rest, and they asked to interview Maura, since 90 % of the guests on the floor were there to visit her, and 100% of the time, there were people in her room. You can see that video here
2010. Joao and Lydia treated us to a night and day in San Antonio. We ate at the restaurant at the top of the Tower of the Americas. I love spending time with them.
May 16
2009. The Saturday we brought her home. They set up her bed and equipment in the middle of the living room. She was positioned for maximum visibility. Twenty people stayed in our home full-time during those days. So many more visited.
2010. Sunday, this year. Quiet.
May 17
2009. Last year, May 17, was a day of goodbyes and the Sunday Concert. So many of her friends visited that evening and sang all her requests. Everything from arias to Broadway to a simple lullaby. She asked for iced tea from Sonic and took just a few sips. That was her last truly coherent evening. The pain crisis that night was frightening.
May 12:
2009.One week before she died. SHSU came to confer the Bachelor of Music degree. I think it was as meaningful for them as it was for her, maybe more so.
2010. I fell apart and couldn't make it past the parking lot to work.
May 13:
1997. My mom died. My first experience with grief.
2008. Got pathology slides and reports to MD Anderson for review.
2009. We began to talk about hospice. And choices.
2010. Me, hanging on by a thread.
May 14
2008. Spent my birthday waiting with Maura and family and friends for news from M.D. Anderson, not really expecting an answer so soon. I received a homemade card from Maura that I will cherish forever.
2009. Spent my birthday waiting with Maura and family and friends, but this time in the hospital, waiting for her to die, wishing it to be delayed. Houston Dynamo came to visit.
2010. Spent my birthday with family and friends at Maura's high school. The Spring High School Choir named a scholarship after her: the Maura Cassiana De Souza Memorial Scholarship. Katie gave a speech about Maura. Her former choir teacher, Mrs. Eaton, spoke about her, and we were asked to present the plaque to the winner this first year. The plaque is beautiful. Dark wood with a center photo of sunflowers. The winner's name will be added each year on a separate nameplate and the plaque will be housed in the choir room. I didn't look to see how much the scholarship was for.
May 15.
2009. Channel 13 came to interview her in the hospital for something completely unrelated to Maura and her condition. Rather, the hospital had imposed a quiet hour to help patients rest, and they asked to interview Maura, since 90 % of the guests on the floor were there to visit her, and 100% of the time, there were people in her room. You can see that video here
2010. Joao and Lydia treated us to a night and day in San Antonio. We ate at the restaurant at the top of the Tower of the Americas. I love spending time with them.
May 16
2009. The Saturday we brought her home. They set up her bed and equipment in the middle of the living room. She was positioned for maximum visibility. Twenty people stayed in our home full-time during those days. So many more visited.
2010. Sunday, this year. Quiet.
May 17
2009. Last year, May 17, was a day of goodbyes and the Sunday Concert. So many of her friends visited that evening and sang all her requests. Everything from arias to Broadway to a simple lullaby. She asked for iced tea from Sonic and took just a few sips. That was her last truly coherent evening. The pain crisis that night was frightening.
Friday, May 14, 2010
H.B. to Me
Last year on my birthday, I was in the hospital with Maura and the Houston Dynamo came to visit her. And they sang Happy Birthday to me.
Yesterday, May 13, marked the 13th anniversary of my mom's death.
Yesterday, May 13, marked the 13th anniversary of my mom's death.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Dream
For years Joel has entertained me by recounting his adventure dreams to me. About five or six times a year he has the most exciting dreams, with plot lines and twists and surprises that rival, even surpass, the best action films. I have always been content to just vicariously enjoy his adventures in the morning, over coffee, safely ensconced in my kitchen, in my jammies. But this week, he has been riding on a euphoric cloud as a result of his best ever dream. And for the first time, I am jealous.
I hope I can retell it accurately.
Joel is flying (no plane...just him) above the city when he decides he wants to fly to see Maura. He begins to fly higher when he senses risk and the question coming from within asking, "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes," he replies, and shoots upward.
A light appears in the distance, but grows as it quickly approaches.
Again, the question and warning from within. "Are you sure you want to do this? It's dangerous."
"Yes, I do. I want to see Maura." And he continues to climb higher. As he does, the light shines more brightly. "Was it like the sun?" I asked him. "No, it was much much brighter than the sun. I can't even describe it."
As the light sparkles more brightly, completely enveloping him, the warning comes again, even more harshly spoken. "Are you really sure you want to do this? It is dangerous and you could get hurt."
Yes, I want to see Maura!" And he feels that he is lifted, aided in some way as he continues to journey even higher.
The light is now shining so brightly that he can hardly stand it. It is different than any light he has ever seen and it draws him in like a magnet. It is glorious and powerful and wonderful.
Joel is acutely aware of the risk he is taking, and he insists that he want to continue. But in that instant, he sees that he is surrounded by angels who whisk him from the awe-inspiring light back to earth in less than the blink of an eye.
"Were you disappointed that you did not get to see Maura?"
"No," he replied, "because I know she is in that place."
I hope I can retell it accurately.
Joel is flying (no plane...just him) above the city when he decides he wants to fly to see Maura. He begins to fly higher when he senses risk and the question coming from within asking, "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes," he replies, and shoots upward.
A light appears in the distance, but grows as it quickly approaches.
Again, the question and warning from within. "Are you sure you want to do this? It's dangerous."
"Yes, I do. I want to see Maura." And he continues to climb higher. As he does, the light shines more brightly. "Was it like the sun?" I asked him. "No, it was much much brighter than the sun. I can't even describe it."
As the light sparkles more brightly, completely enveloping him, the warning comes again, even more harshly spoken. "Are you really sure you want to do this? It is dangerous and you could get hurt."
Yes, I want to see Maura!" And he feels that he is lifted, aided in some way as he continues to journey even higher.
The light is now shining so brightly that he can hardly stand it. It is different than any light he has ever seen and it draws him in like a magnet. It is glorious and powerful and wonderful.
Joel is acutely aware of the risk he is taking, and he insists that he want to continue. But in that instant, he sees that he is surrounded by angels who whisk him from the awe-inspiring light back to earth in less than the blink of an eye.
"Were you disappointed that you did not get to see Maura?"
"No," he replied, "because I know she is in that place."
OMG
Today's milestone: One year ago today Sam Houston State University moved mountains to bring Maura's graduation to M.D. Anderson Cancer Center. The link to the graduation video is on the right. The best graduation ever and the only ten-minute graduation you'll ever see. Even today I am moved by the generosity of the SHSU staff, faculty, and administration who put it together and made a four-hour round trip to do this for Maura.
I truly thought that I would get to this time of year and be okay. Not "over it" because I'll never be over it, but I thought that I'd be able to get through this specific time of year, with the anniversary approaching, without being completely overwhelmed. Wrong! Uh, for the first time since returning to work in August, I arrived at the staff parking lot, and I could not pull it together. The ride to work has often been a time to cry and mourn--not recently, and never on purpose, but just because of the solitude, I guess. Yet I've always managed to compose myself, put on some makeup, and go to work. Not so today. I had to call my co-worker from the parking lot and let her know I wasn't going to be able to make it. I could not stop the tears.
Why is this time any different than the rest of the year? I know that the anniversary is approaching, but can I possibly mourn her more than I already have during these last eleven + months?
I truly thought that I would get to this time of year and be okay. Not "over it" because I'll never be over it, but I thought that I'd be able to get through this specific time of year, with the anniversary approaching, without being completely overwhelmed. Wrong! Uh, for the first time since returning to work in August, I arrived at the staff parking lot, and I could not pull it together. The ride to work has often been a time to cry and mourn--not recently, and never on purpose, but just because of the solitude, I guess. Yet I've always managed to compose myself, put on some makeup, and go to work. Not so today. I had to call my co-worker from the parking lot and let her know I wasn't going to be able to make it. I could not stop the tears.
Why is this time any different than the rest of the year? I know that the anniversary is approaching, but can I possibly mourn her more than I already have during these last eleven + months?
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Mother's Day
Nikki reminded me that Maura had taught her daughter the art of making and taking breakfast in bed for mom on Mother's Day. Just last year. Is that possible? Could it have been last year? The day that everything started to fall apart? I hadn't realized that it was Mother's Day just last year when I spoke to Dr. Benjamin on the phone. I remember that phone call clearly. I explained her symptoms. I had suspected that her kidneys had shut down. He said it could wait until the first thing the next morning (Monday) and that she did not need to go to the emergency room. The previous visit to the emergency room had not done her much good.
"Have her kidneys shut down?" I asked.
He answered in some incomprehensible and non-committal doctor speak.
"Dr. B., let me ask you another way. Her dad and sister are in New York right now. I want to know what to tell them."
"I think you should tell them to come home."
And just that morning Maura had taught Savannah how to make an omelet and the importance of breakfast in bed on Mother's Day.
This Mother's Day was a day for wallowing. Joel was at work; the girls, in New York and Australia. Yes, a perfect wallowing day--the kind of wallowing that I still need to offset the "normal " behavior I engage in most of the time. Sort of a like releasing a pressure valve.
Church mostly sucked. A woman walked up and down the aisles with tulips that she handed out to moms, and she just passed me over. Tulips to my right. tulips to my left. No tulip for me. I did not look like a mom, I guess, with no husband or children or grandchildren flanking me. I was already in full "mental wallow", so that must have shown on my face. Minutes later, she was at my side. asking if I was a mom.
"Yes." I croaked. I put on my best plastic smile.
She gave me my tulip, and I immediately felt anger. What if I had not been a mom? What if I had said no? Would she have said, "Oh," and turned on her heels and left me there, forlorn and tulipless?
I felt immediate compassion for every unwillingly childless woman. What a painful day Mother's Day must be for them.
But I came home, and there were flowers from a thoughtful friend addressed to both Joel and me, and encouraging notes from internet friends, and lots of good wishes on facebook, and phone calls from my daughters,and a visit from my niece, and skyped calls from Australia and Korea---all of which slowly prodded me out of my funk, gently pulled me from the mire.
Maybe wallowing is more like a mud bath: dirty and yucky, but it cleans out your pores.
"Have her kidneys shut down?" I asked.
He answered in some incomprehensible and non-committal doctor speak.
"Dr. B., let me ask you another way. Her dad and sister are in New York right now. I want to know what to tell them."
"I think you should tell them to come home."
And just that morning Maura had taught Savannah how to make an omelet and the importance of breakfast in bed on Mother's Day.
This Mother's Day was a day for wallowing. Joel was at work; the girls, in New York and Australia. Yes, a perfect wallowing day--the kind of wallowing that I still need to offset the "normal " behavior I engage in most of the time. Sort of a like releasing a pressure valve.
Church mostly sucked. A woman walked up and down the aisles with tulips that she handed out to moms, and she just passed me over. Tulips to my right. tulips to my left. No tulip for me. I did not look like a mom, I guess, with no husband or children or grandchildren flanking me. I was already in full "mental wallow", so that must have shown on my face. Minutes later, she was at my side. asking if I was a mom.
"Yes." I croaked. I put on my best plastic smile.
She gave me my tulip, and I immediately felt anger. What if I had not been a mom? What if I had said no? Would she have said, "Oh," and turned on her heels and left me there, forlorn and tulipless?
I felt immediate compassion for every unwillingly childless woman. What a painful day Mother's Day must be for them.
But I came home, and there were flowers from a thoughtful friend addressed to both Joel and me, and encouraging notes from internet friends, and lots of good wishes on facebook, and phone calls from my daughters,and a visit from my niece, and skyped calls from Australia and Korea---all of which slowly prodded me out of my funk, gently pulled me from the mire.
Maybe wallowing is more like a mud bath: dirty and yucky, but it cleans out your pores.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
The Back Post: Kei Kamara interview 09/17/09
As I write this, the Kansas City Wizards are playing the Houston Dynamo in soccer. One of KC's best players is Kei Kamara, who played for Houston last year. He was one of the six Dynamo players who visited Maura in the hospital last year (on my birthday, just five days before she died). He blushed when Maura confessed that Kei was her favorite player. I believe he was truly touched. After that day, he wore her LiveTeal bracelet to several games. I just found these pictures and interview from shortly after being traded to the Wizards. (click on the link) He is wearing her bracelet in each shot and in the video. Actually, he is wearing the LiveTeal band in lots of the googled photos.
We had planned to go to tonight's game, but Joel wasn't feeling too well, so we skipped it. Too bad. I would have liked a chance to see him again. I wonder if he still wears Live Teal?
The Back Post: Kei Kamara interview 09/17/09
We had planned to go to tonight's game, but Joel wasn't feeling too well, so we skipped it. Too bad. I would have liked a chance to see him again. I wonder if he still wears Live Teal?
The Back Post: Kei Kamara interview 09/17/09
Thursday, April 29, 2010
But the Greatest of These is Love...
Emotions linger long after memory fades, according to a new study from the University of Iowa, whose findings were published in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. "A simple visit or phone call from family members might have a lingering positive influence on a patient's happiness even though the patient may quickly forget the visit or phone call. On the other hand, routine neglect from staff at nursing homes may leave the patient feeling sad, frustrated and lonely even though the patient can't remember why."
Duh.
I could've saved the University of Iowa a lot of money.
They should've asked me, and I would've told them that love outlasts memory.
Love outlasts life.
Large sections of the Bible speak of love and its longevity. How about this favorite?
Sounds pretty permanent, doesn't it? I think Sue is right when she reminds me that Maura's love still exists. It sounds almost scientific. Everything is matter and energy. Nothing disappears. It just transforms.
How about this last paragraph from The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder?
My favorite story about my dad comes from the time he lived with us and had moderate Alzheimer's disease. As I helped him into bed one night, he started talking in his fake matter-of-fact voice--the one that he put on to try to hide the fact that he had slipped out of a world that he knew and into a world where he knew nothing.
I teased him. "You don't know who I am right now, do you?" I chided, as I tucked him in.
Busted! His eyes widened and he got that deer-in-the-headlights look. But then, surprisingly, he recovered a bit, and said gruffly, "No. But I know you're someone I love."
Duh.
I could've saved the University of Iowa a lot of money.
They should've asked me, and I would've told them that love outlasts memory.
Love outlasts life.
Large sections of the Bible speak of love and its longevity. How about this favorite?
38 For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, 39 nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Sounds pretty permanent, doesn't it? I think Sue is right when she reminds me that Maura's love still exists. It sounds almost scientific. Everything is matter and energy. Nothing disappears. It just transforms.
How about this last paragraph from The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder?
" 'Even now,' she thought, 'almost no one remembers Esteban and Pepita, but myself. Camila alone remembers her Uncle Pio and her son; this woman, her mother. Bust soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left the earth, and we ourselves shall be love for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.' "Even memory is not necessary for love.
My favorite story about my dad comes from the time he lived with us and had moderate Alzheimer's disease. As I helped him into bed one night, he started talking in his fake matter-of-fact voice--the one that he put on to try to hide the fact that he had slipped out of a world that he knew and into a world where he knew nothing.
I teased him. "You don't know who I am right now, do you?" I chided, as I tucked him in.
Busted! His eyes widened and he got that deer-in-the-headlights look. But then, surprisingly, he recovered a bit, and said gruffly, "No. But I know you're someone I love."
Monday, April 19, 2010
Eleven
If Time and Grief begin to race on May 19, 2009, and Time travels at x miles per hour and Grief travels at y miles per hour, how long will it take for Grief to pass Time?
Monday, April 12, 2010
A Promise Fulfilled
In the early morning hours of Monday, April 5--if you can even call 2:44a.m. "morning"--little Annive Maura was born to Scott and Amanda. Just days before her death, Maura told Amanda that Amanda's ovarian cancer would go away and that she would get pregnant and have a beautiful baby and, well, it happened, just as she said it would. Here are Mom Amanda and the miracle named Annive (pronounced ANN-ih-vee). Mom and baby are doing fine. It has been a happy week.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Time
Last month I had lunch with someone I don't see often. The time before was at Maura's funeral.
"How long has it been since Maura died. Two years? Three?" she asked.
"Nine months." I said.
"No, I mean, since she died."
"Nine months. It's been just nine months."
I felt something between panic and anger.
A few weeks prior, in early February, Tim launched his album. I couldn't go to the release concert, but Kara told me that prior to his singing Starfish and Coffee, he talked about Maura, and how he had sung this song at her bedside just two days before she died about a year ago.
"What?" I think I looked astonished.
"Yes, Erin, it's coming up on a year."
Again-- panic, irritation, confusion.
"It hasn't been a year. It's not even nine months. It's still not even nine months!"
I don't want time to pass, taking me farther away from Maura, from the last time I held her. The last time she stood up--was it the night before she died? Two nights? I don't know. But she wanted to take a walk in the middle of the night. It took all my strength to lift and support her, as her arms and whole body draped around me. There were others in the room who helped lift her to me. She got to the edge of the bed, then, feet barely brushing the floor, and all her weight pressed against mine, she stood.
"Okay." she whispered.
"Did you walk enough? "
"Yes."
And I laid her back in her bed.
I will never forget that sweetest of hugs.
I often wonder if I am stuck in time, unwilling to heal or move forward. Move forward...what does that mean, anyway? My life is forever changed. I'm not moving backward. It's all just different. But Maura died at an age and a time when she was on the brink of adventure. And so were her friends. I see them moving forward in such dramatic ways, it's no wonder that nine or ten months ago seems far away to them with so much life stuffed in the cracks. Matt and Kara are teaching English in Korea. Amanda and Scott are having a baby. Mary and Sean got married and moved to Arizona. Adam is teaching and will go to grad school in Colorado. Chelsea is studying in France. David is singing opera and planning grad school. Several have begun teaching careers. Several continuing their studies around the country. I enjoy hearing about their lives. I stalk them on facebook.
I admit that I weirdly welcome the sadness, the grief, the overwhelming emotion because I can say, ah, yes, it has not been too long since she died. I held her just a little while ago. I remember her. She is remembered.
Those of us who have lost children--we want them to be remembered.
When Selena, the Tejano singer, was murdered in the mid-nineties, our household supported Danielle, a huge Selena fan, in her grief. We drove around with our headlights on. We listened to Tejano stations and Selena music non-stop. We visited Selena's boutique in San Antonio. Danielle saved Selena memorabilia of all kinds, but Danielle moved on, and the box of Selena stuff is either in the attic or has been thrown away. A year or two later, Selena's father released a new album of Selena's music: several remixes, and I think some new songs that had not been previously released. At the time I thought how sad it was. I don't believe he was trying to make a bunch of money; he just wanted his baby to be remembered, just as I want mine.
I blog because I don't want people to forget Maura. I post her videos, I want her college scholarship foundation to be realized, I secretly or not-so-secretly hope all of her friends will name their babies after her. (At least one is for sure). But time moves on, and Maura will slip away from the consciousness of most, and occupy a non-intrusive spot in that of many. What about me? Or her dad and sisters? What will grief and memory be like next year? In five? In twenty? When the girls tell their girls about Maura? What will be Maura's legacy?
Just yesterday a friend of mine commented that I look good: hair cut, a touch of make-up, shirt and jeans that fit well, a smile. "Dare I say 'happy'" she asked. Yes, I was happy. I am often happy. I am basically a very happy person, although I don't believe I'll ever again be happy without sorrow in the shadows. I know that my blog entries are often sad and grief-laden, but the blog is simply a series of snapshots in time, not my entire life. I've returned to work. I've visited with friends. We are in the process of downsizing and getting a new place. We've traveled a bit. I am planning for the future.
I suppose that is "moving forward."
And as I move farther away from when I last held her, I move closer to when I will hold her again.
"How long has it been since Maura died. Two years? Three?" she asked.
"Nine months." I said.
"No, I mean, since she died."
"Nine months. It's been just nine months."
I felt something between panic and anger.
A few weeks prior, in early February, Tim launched his album. I couldn't go to the release concert, but Kara told me that prior to his singing Starfish and Coffee, he talked about Maura, and how he had sung this song at her bedside just two days before she died about a year ago.
"What?" I think I looked astonished.
"Yes, Erin, it's coming up on a year."
Again-- panic, irritation, confusion.
"It hasn't been a year. It's not even nine months. It's still not even nine months!"
I don't want time to pass, taking me farther away from Maura, from the last time I held her. The last time she stood up--was it the night before she died? Two nights? I don't know. But she wanted to take a walk in the middle of the night. It took all my strength to lift and support her, as her arms and whole body draped around me. There were others in the room who helped lift her to me. She got to the edge of the bed, then, feet barely brushing the floor, and all her weight pressed against mine, she stood.
"Okay." she whispered.
"Did you walk enough? "
"Yes."
And I laid her back in her bed.
I will never forget that sweetest of hugs.
I often wonder if I am stuck in time, unwilling to heal or move forward. Move forward...what does that mean, anyway? My life is forever changed. I'm not moving backward. It's all just different. But Maura died at an age and a time when she was on the brink of adventure. And so were her friends. I see them moving forward in such dramatic ways, it's no wonder that nine or ten months ago seems far away to them with so much life stuffed in the cracks. Matt and Kara are teaching English in Korea. Amanda and Scott are having a baby. Mary and Sean got married and moved to Arizona. Adam is teaching and will go to grad school in Colorado. Chelsea is studying in France. David is singing opera and planning grad school. Several have begun teaching careers. Several continuing their studies around the country. I enjoy hearing about their lives. I stalk them on facebook.
I admit that I weirdly welcome the sadness, the grief, the overwhelming emotion because I can say, ah, yes, it has not been too long since she died. I held her just a little while ago. I remember her. She is remembered.
Those of us who have lost children--we want them to be remembered.
When Selena, the Tejano singer, was murdered in the mid-nineties, our household supported Danielle, a huge Selena fan, in her grief. We drove around with our headlights on. We listened to Tejano stations and Selena music non-stop. We visited Selena's boutique in San Antonio. Danielle saved Selena memorabilia of all kinds, but Danielle moved on, and the box of Selena stuff is either in the attic or has been thrown away. A year or two later, Selena's father released a new album of Selena's music: several remixes, and I think some new songs that had not been previously released. At the time I thought how sad it was. I don't believe he was trying to make a bunch of money; he just wanted his baby to be remembered, just as I want mine.
I blog because I don't want people to forget Maura. I post her videos, I want her college scholarship foundation to be realized, I secretly or not-so-secretly hope all of her friends will name their babies after her. (At least one is for sure). But time moves on, and Maura will slip away from the consciousness of most, and occupy a non-intrusive spot in that of many. What about me? Or her dad and sisters? What will grief and memory be like next year? In five? In twenty? When the girls tell their girls about Maura? What will be Maura's legacy?
Just yesterday a friend of mine commented that I look good: hair cut, a touch of make-up, shirt and jeans that fit well, a smile. "Dare I say 'happy'" she asked. Yes, I was happy. I am often happy. I am basically a very happy person, although I don't believe I'll ever again be happy without sorrow in the shadows. I know that my blog entries are often sad and grief-laden, but the blog is simply a series of snapshots in time, not my entire life. I've returned to work. I've visited with friends. We are in the process of downsizing and getting a new place. We've traveled a bit. I am planning for the future.
I suppose that is "moving forward."
And as I move farther away from when I last held her, I move closer to when I will hold her again.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Little Women
After my second daughter was born, I began to develop what I call my Little Women
"I don't want to be Beth," Maura would say, "She's the one that dies."
"That's okay," I would reassure her, "You won't be like her in that respect. You'll be like Amy, who got to travel the world."
"I don't want to be Beth," Maura would say, "She's the one that dies."
"That's okay," I would reassure her, "You won't be like her in that respect. You'll be like Amy, who got to travel the world."
Saturday, March 6, 2010
NYC
I am going to be in NYC next weekend to see a fabulous actress (the one I gave birth to) in The Seagull. Something special to look forward to.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Dear Maura,
Nine months. Last couple of days have been a roller-coaster. I spent two days up at SHSU for a conference. Driving up there, I felt my heart beat faster, I started crying, and had, well, sort of a panic attack, I guess. Just a little one. I didn't have to pull over, although I probably should have, now that I think about it.
After I arrived at Sam, and as soon as I had time, I walked to the Music Building to find your diploma, which I'd been told was hanging on a wall. Just walking through the halls brought so much emotion to the surface, knowing you had walked there, sung there, studied there, had laughed and played hide-and-seek there and had such a fun time at your home away from home.
My friend and I wandered through the hallways, looking. I stopped a couple of people that looked like they might know. They didn't. I spoke to Mr. Michel. He didn't recognize me at first. Why should he? But he took me to find Dr. Hightower, who immediately invited us in to listen to the Chorale as they rehearsed. Oh my gosh--such beautiful music! Dr. H is still as fun to watch as ever! Did you know that they sang for you at TMEA last week? Yes, they dedicated their concert to you, and Mrs. Eaton spoke about you during her introduction of the Sam Chorale. You are still missed. You have inspired many. Anyway, at the Chorale rehearsal I saw several of your friends. Isn't it funny that most of your girl friends have graduated but a lot of your guy friends have not?
I thought I'd also say Hello and Thank you to Dr. Bankhead, but I chickened out. Besides, I had to get back to the conference.
At my next break, I headed to the Registrar's Office--the actual location of the memorial,as it turns out, not the Music Building. On the third floor, someone asked if she could help me. "Yes," I answered, trying desperately, if unsuccessfully, to look normal and nonchalant, "I'm looking for a memorial to a former student. I heard that it was located here." She pointed to the wall on my right. There it was. A shadow box with a copy of your diploma, an honor cord, a graduation tassel, some identifying papers, and a beautiful picture of you in your black and flowered sundress on a swing at the park. I could no longer hold the tears back, and I only vaguely cared that I was in full view of a slew of employees in the Registrar's Office. I heard whispering. Then, one kind woman came up to me. She spoke well of you, even though she had not met you, I think. She spoke of the day the entire office took turns watching your graduation video. She told me they were all moved to tears...and she was crying, too, as she told me the story.
Kevin had dinner with me at Fat Boys. The food was delicious but I could feel my arteries clogging after eating that hamburger! He is such a neat kid. I mean, he's not a kid, I know. If I said he was a "nice young man," it would be true, but you'd laugh at me and say I sounded old.
This morning, back at the conference, one of the presenters was the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. I remembered that Nicole had talked about him during that whirlwind day of graduation planning. As he exited toward the elevator, I caught up with him to meet him and thank him for the role he played in bringing the graduation at the hospital to fruition. I didn't have to finish my sentence. He took one look at my name tag and figured out who I was. He said wonderful things about you, and about how you were light and inspiration to so many, and he told me twice how glad he was to meet me. I feel like he meant it. And I was glad to have the chance to thank him.
So I raced home after the conference because Daddy and I went to close on the apartment. I placed a picture of you on the apartment refrigerator this evening. It's the only thing in the apartment right now. The refrigerator magnet I used is one that Marcy brought me from Jerusalem. It's a sculpture of the Western Wall (the Wailing Wall). The day that you died, Marcy placed a prayer for you in the Western Wall. She didn't find out until later that night that you had died.
Miss you so much, sweet baby girl.
After I arrived at Sam, and as soon as I had time, I walked to the Music Building to find your diploma, which I'd been told was hanging on a wall. Just walking through the halls brought so much emotion to the surface, knowing you had walked there, sung there, studied there, had laughed and played hide-and-seek there and had such a fun time at your home away from home.
My friend and I wandered through the hallways, looking. I stopped a couple of people that looked like they might know. They didn't. I spoke to Mr. Michel. He didn't recognize me at first. Why should he? But he took me to find Dr. Hightower, who immediately invited us in to listen to the Chorale as they rehearsed. Oh my gosh--such beautiful music! Dr. H is still as fun to watch as ever! Did you know that they sang for you at TMEA last week? Yes, they dedicated their concert to you, and Mrs. Eaton spoke about you during her introduction of the Sam Chorale. You are still missed. You have inspired many. Anyway, at the Chorale rehearsal I saw several of your friends. Isn't it funny that most of your girl friends have graduated but a lot of your guy friends have not?
I thought I'd also say Hello and Thank you to Dr. Bankhead, but I chickened out. Besides, I had to get back to the conference.
At my next break, I headed to the Registrar's Office--the actual location of the memorial,as it turns out, not the Music Building. On the third floor, someone asked if she could help me. "Yes," I answered, trying desperately, if unsuccessfully, to look normal and nonchalant, "I'm looking for a memorial to a former student. I heard that it was located here." She pointed to the wall on my right. There it was. A shadow box with a copy of your diploma, an honor cord, a graduation tassel, some identifying papers, and a beautiful picture of you in your black and flowered sundress on a swing at the park. I could no longer hold the tears back, and I only vaguely cared that I was in full view of a slew of employees in the Registrar's Office. I heard whispering. Then, one kind woman came up to me. She spoke well of you, even though she had not met you, I think. She spoke of the day the entire office took turns watching your graduation video. She told me they were all moved to tears...and she was crying, too, as she told me the story.
Kevin had dinner with me at Fat Boys. The food was delicious but I could feel my arteries clogging after eating that hamburger! He is such a neat kid. I mean, he's not a kid, I know. If I said he was a "nice young man," it would be true, but you'd laugh at me and say I sounded old.
This morning, back at the conference, one of the presenters was the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. I remembered that Nicole had talked about him during that whirlwind day of graduation planning. As he exited toward the elevator, I caught up with him to meet him and thank him for the role he played in bringing the graduation at the hospital to fruition. I didn't have to finish my sentence. He took one look at my name tag and figured out who I was. He said wonderful things about you, and about how you were light and inspiration to so many, and he told me twice how glad he was to meet me. I feel like he meant it. And I was glad to have the chance to thank him.
So I raced home after the conference because Daddy and I went to close on the apartment. I placed a picture of you on the apartment refrigerator this evening. It's the only thing in the apartment right now. The refrigerator magnet I used is one that Marcy brought me from Jerusalem. It's a sculpture of the Western Wall (the Wailing Wall). The day that you died, Marcy placed a prayer for you in the Western Wall. She didn't find out until later that night that you had died.
Miss you so much, sweet baby girl.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
My Heart Sings
I did a good thing today.
I attend a grief support group at work. One of the women had lamented not feeling able to mourn the loss of her sister last year due to, well, lots of things, including the absence of any obituary. So we had D___ Day today. The sister and I had emailed earlier in the week so I could get enough information to put together what turned out to be a two-page obit, more of a eulogy, I think. I brought samples of things D____ loved: lyrics to Cat Stevens' songs, synopses of her favorite movies, internet images of her favorite artists. Someone brought D____'s favorite books from the library, and another person brought a blanket to be monogrammed with the sisters' names. Someone brought a cake, and another brought her a statue of two girls playing together, with a saying about sisters and guardian angels. She, herself, brought beautiful pictures of the two of them as children, and several of D___ by herself. When I read the eulogy, my friend cried. When I got to the part where I mentioned D___'s favorite TV shows included Damages, I pulled out my secret weapon: an email I received just this morning from one of the cast members of Damages, Marlyne Afflack, who had a small recurring role in Season 1 of Damages. She expressed her condolences to the sister and assured her that she was praying for her. My friend cried harder. It was actually quite a beautiful moment.
I think I helped her a little bit. But I know I helped myself even more.
God gave me a wonderful opportunity to do something for another person...and I snatched it up and ran with it. Thank you, God, for giving me a moment to take my eyes off my own sorrow and focus on the needs of another.
I did a good thing.
I attend a grief support group at work. One of the women had lamented not feeling able to mourn the loss of her sister last year due to, well, lots of things, including the absence of any obituary. So we had D___ Day today. The sister and I had emailed earlier in the week so I could get enough information to put together what turned out to be a two-page obit, more of a eulogy, I think. I brought samples of things D____ loved: lyrics to Cat Stevens' songs, synopses of her favorite movies, internet images of her favorite artists. Someone brought D____'s favorite books from the library, and another person brought a blanket to be monogrammed with the sisters' names. Someone brought a cake, and another brought her a statue of two girls playing together, with a saying about sisters and guardian angels. She, herself, brought beautiful pictures of the two of them as children, and several of D___ by herself. When I read the eulogy, my friend cried. When I got to the part where I mentioned D___'s favorite TV shows included Damages, I pulled out my secret weapon: an email I received just this morning from one of the cast members of Damages, Marlyne Afflack, who had a small recurring role in Season 1 of Damages. She expressed her condolences to the sister and assured her that she was praying for her. My friend cried harder. It was actually quite a beautiful moment.
I think I helped her a little bit. But I know I helped myself even more.
God gave me a wonderful opportunity to do something for another person...and I snatched it up and ran with it. Thank you, God, for giving me a moment to take my eyes off my own sorrow and focus on the needs of another.
I did a good thing.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
My Funny Valentine
On this day last year, Maura and BFF Katie prepared dinner for both sets of parents at our house. In true Maura/Katie style, they turned the evening into An Event-- a cooking show, complete with aprons, chef's hats, flair,and sketchy Italian accents. For a "commercial break" they performed the flower duet, Dome Epais, from Lakme, which they had sung together in a high school choir concert, and then went back to cooking our feast of chicken and pasta...it had an Italian name, but i can't remember it. I just remember Maura.
How sweet that on her last Valentine's Day, Maura made us her Valentine.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Frida
I never cared much for Frida Kahlo paintings. Never really enjoyed them much. But this one comes to mind frequently these days. I think it was meant to express some of her grief over the philandering Diego Rivera. But for me, it's that Maura-shaped hole in my heart.
Winter
Lots of literature pairing winter and grief
Here's a piece of a poem from a book called Medieval English Verse:
Winter rouses all my grief.
Branches strip til they are bare,
And sighing in sorrow, I despair
That earthly pleasures come to nothing.
Fleeting joys, now here, now gone!
True it is, as many say,
Except God's will, all fades away.
Willy-nilly, we shall all die.
Gotta hand it to those medieval Brits. Love that last line. Can you believe that they were saying willy-nilly way back in medieval times?
And then there is this paragraph from the foreword of Winter Grief, Summer Grace by James E. Miller (the title is longer but I can't remember it at the moment.)
A few generations ago, a book like this would have been unnecessary--unthinkable in fact. People knew about grieving because it was a natural part of life. It was both understandable and understood. People of all ages lived with it and honored it. But ours is a different time. And because so many of us are ill-informed about and ill at ease with dying and death and grief, your task is even more difficult.
You can say that again! Oh, to be in a culture that could understand and honor my forgetfulness, my lack of focus, my micro cries, my outbursts, my anything having to do with missing Maura. How I wish I could just wear a color or a garment or something so people would know and I wouldn't have to feel awkward or embarrassed or explain myself or apologize! Why do I apologize? That's just ridiculous.
Here's a piece of a poem from a book called Medieval English Verse:
Winter rouses all my grief.
Branches strip til they are bare,
And sighing in sorrow, I despair
That earthly pleasures come to nothing.
Fleeting joys, now here, now gone!
True it is, as many say,
Except God's will, all fades away.
Willy-nilly, we shall all die.
Gotta hand it to those medieval Brits. Love that last line. Can you believe that they were saying willy-nilly way back in medieval times?
And then there is this paragraph from the foreword of Winter Grief, Summer Grace by James E. Miller (the title is longer but I can't remember it at the moment.)
A few generations ago, a book like this would have been unnecessary--unthinkable in fact. People knew about grieving because it was a natural part of life. It was both understandable and understood. People of all ages lived with it and honored it. But ours is a different time. And because so many of us are ill-informed about and ill at ease with dying and death and grief, your task is even more difficult.
You can say that again! Oh, to be in a culture that could understand and honor my forgetfulness, my lack of focus, my micro cries, my outbursts, my anything having to do with missing Maura. How I wish I could just wear a color or a garment or something so people would know and I wouldn't have to feel awkward or embarrassed or explain myself or apologize! Why do I apologize? That's just ridiculous.
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