Lung cancer.

He had been a smoker for a long time but had actually quit several years earlier, or so we thought — he was a sneaker. His illness started out with a diagnosis that we didn’t expect. It quickly went to a surgery that we didn’t expect with an outcome that we didn’t expect. But, this isn’t about the perils of smoking — I guess it’s your choice if you wish to die a most painful death.

My father loved to google. He loved to research everything on his “more powerful than NASA” computer. My youngest daughter has a nut allergy — fairly severe. I don’t think I can explain the number of links that my father sent me on a daily basis, the number of articles and websites that he bookmarked all about nut allergy’s. He had the same fervor when it came to finding out about lung cancer. When someone said that we had two lungs, he corrected them to say the lung was divided into 5 lobes — 3 on the right and 2 on the left. The surgery to remove his cancerous tumor required the removal of all 3 lobes on the right side. But this story isn’t about lobes, or smoking, or peanut allergies. This story is about pennies and dimes and quarters.

So, back to that restaurant on my first outing after my father passed away. When we sat down at our table, I noticed a lone dime on the table at my place. I didn’t touch it, assuming the waitress must have dropped it (I realize it was only a dime, but still). The waitress approached the table and focused on the dime. She looked at me and asked if I had put it there. I replied no. She was startled and immediately began to tell our table a story of death and reoccurring dimes. She said she began finding dimes everywhere after a dear friend of hers passed away. Her story stuck with me because my father’s death was still so fresh on my heart and because she was so determined that a group of strangers who sat at her table understood her story.

I began to notice dimes everywhere after that — in the laundry, on the floor, on my desk at work, in my car. I know this isn’t unusual. You hear a story — you hope it’s true… you imagine it’s true. I found enough dimes though to spark a google search on the subject. Turns out many people have stories of finding dimes shortly after a loved one passes away. I don’t think believing in Heaven is a pre-requisite for believing a force more powerful than you could be sending you a message in the dimes.

So, my dimes.

I believe my father was letting me know he was ok and that we should move on — I’m a big believer in moving on. In case you’re wondering, when my mother passed away, I didn’t find an unusual amount of dimes… I found quarters — she always was a big spender.

And now, a little something from Billie Holiday and Teddy Wilson.

I write something that I’m very excited about and I think it looks nice here on this front page and I hate to see it move down the list. And then, sometimes, I write something I’m not psyched about at all and can’t think of anything to take its place.

This is probably a good indication of how I communicate to people as well. The things I think are meaningful and I want to stick around always seem to get pushed down the line by words that sound stupid or hurtful or too funny (I actually am not sure words can be too funny — I’ll have to think on that some more).

Communication is so difficult. It involves so much that can be mixed up by the receiver. No wonder my entire career revolves around a disorder characterized by an inability to communicate effectively. Here’s one of the most important factors to communication — paraverbals.

(Stay with me here as I delve into the world of autism for a second). Paraverbal communication is the vocal part of speech minus the actual words. It’s how you say what you say. Here’s the problem — the words you say mean nothing if you don’t accurately convey the meaning behind them, and how can you do that on a keyboard? Or rather, how can I do that on a keyboard? Of course a writer can do that… otherwise why would any of us read?

But normal people, those of us who haven’t quite discovered our superpowers, how can we be expected to effectively communicate in typed words when we really need those paraverbals to pull us through?

Communication is difficult at best. It can be slow and tedious or fast and haphazard. It can be filled with laughter or tears or anger or empathy — it can be all at the same time. Communication can win over an audience or throw a friendship into peril. It can hurt. It can heal. It can offend. It can make amends.

So, back to the hesitant disclaimer of sometimes not knowing exactly which story to tell. Sometimes, like spoken words, written words can take on a life of their own — some words, we wish, had a shorter life than others. That’s the story I want to tell today.

She finally proved me wrong (yes, thankfully on a trip to the bathroom and not to the bed). Her face immediately was restored to the right color, her smile came back, she relaxed on her pillow and she drifted off — peacefully (still now, beside me with the glow of the keyboard on her cherub-like face). I settled in as well, it’s always a relief when your kids are finally content. My thoughts drifted off to my youth and my dad and how I loved to go fishing with him.

The town I grew up in was surrounded by three beautiful lakes. Two were close enough to my house that I could actually ride my bike to them with friends, and did on many hot summer days. My dad always had fishing poles and fishing lures and fishing stories — although, I don’t think he was actually good at it. It’s hard to tell with fishing. I liked to gage my fishing experience by how often I got to re-load my hook with a minnow or a worm and cast it out (that was the funnest part, not the waiting for a fish). We would stand on the shore for hours, drinking coke from glass bottles (you know, the small ones that stayed ice-cold until the last sip) and eating bar-b-que fritos.

Like most good fishermen, my dad bought a boat. Even when he first bought it, the boat was already old and worn. But it was his — his boat. He put it up on some cinder blocks in our back yard and started the maintenance of it that would last over 30 years. The motor would break — up on the cinder blocks it would go. It leaked — up on the cinder blocks it would go. The windshield was cracked — up on the cinder blocks it would go. At one point, he removed the motor all together and affixed it to a wood frame then submerged it in a ginormous trash can filled with water (I need to google to see if this is actually a recommended way to fix a boat motor or not — my dad was an engineer, sometimes they get off track).

The trips to the lake to go fishing became fewer and fewer as he spent more and more time “fixing” the boat. I think he must have forgotten somewhere along the way, that we didn’t need a boat to fish. We just needed some shore and some bar-b-que fritos. Eventually, I stopped asking to go fishing and the running joke in the family became that boat (at one point, there was a tree growing up from the drivers seat — a tree). He couldn’t let go of the boat.

“It might work one day”, he would say, “and then our fishing trips could resume.”

He eventually gave the boat away to someone he thought would finally fix it up. That was only a few months before he passed away from lung cancer. He had a hard time letting go of the boat. For him, the boat was a project — not a catalyst for fishing.

I don’t need a boat to go fishing with my dad — I went last night, as my daughter slept beside me.

And if you’re wondering, apparently my father wasn’t the only one who used their engineering skills for things other than rockets!

Enjoy this picture!

“A bucket list? Why do you have a bucket list?”

“Duh, it’s things I want to do before I kick the bucket — you know, die.”

“I know what a bucket list is, I don’t like it. Can it just be a life list?”

“No, that’s stupid…it’s a bucket list.”

And so ended the conversation about the bucket list — with her at least. The conversation continued in my mind… I listed all the reasons I did not want her to even think about kicking the bucket much less to have a “to do” list to accomplish before that day arrives.

I know death.

It’s real to me.

I envy people who have made it through life without experiencing the death of someone they love. I’m not one of them. I’ve been to too many funerals, said good-bye too many times, wished for one more conversation far too often. I could list them, but I won’t. But, the list includes aunts and uncles who I loved and who loved me, an older cousin whose friendship I cherished and who loved me and let me follow her around, my grandparents who I spent every summer of my life with (including every birthday — yes, even sweet 16), two very close friends who died during our college years, a brother-in-law who taught me how to play the guitar and tennis, and my parents. I’ve had at least one student from the class I used to teach die unexpectedly on her way to school one morning, and I had a young boy die in my arms at school on a beautiful sunny spring day.

I know death.

I’ve seen it, many times.

I have a bad habit of telling everyone to “be careful”. When I leave a phone call, “be careful”. When I sign off an email, “be careful”. When I write a card, “be careful”. Because I know…

When I don’t hear from a friend or family member when I know they’re traveling or just out, my mind immediately goes to the place of “something happened”. I’m the one who tells you to call or to text when you get there, just so I know.

So, back to the bucket list.

I have a bucket list I suppose. Things I need to do before I’m no longer a part of this world. I’ll share #1 with you if you promise not to tell anyone… #1 – meet Cher. Yes, that Cher.

So, my soon-to-be 14 year-old gorgeous, intelligent, witty, fiercely independent daughter’s bucket list — the one that makes me cringe in fear just to type those words — #1 on her list… run through downtown Nashville wearing a chicken suit. I’ll help her accomplish this (and oh yes, I’ll video it!) because my life experiences aren’t hers, my fears aren’t hers, my worries aren’t hers. I’ll help her accomplish her bucket list, and I’ll try not to tell her to “be careful”.

Here you go:

1) “Nightswimming”, by REM comes on the radio station I listen to a lot. I love that song. I listened endlessly to REM in high school and college (all the cool girls did). But, hearing this song doesn’t remind me of those times. It reminds me that I used to play the piano and how I want to learn this song on the piano and play it for my friends one day. It also reminds me of my piano teacher and the time I took my mother’s checkbook to practice writing checks (I was 8 ) and wrote the piano teacher a $200 check (she was really good).

2) “Early In The Morning”, by The Gap Band reminds me of The Pizza Hut. (Now that was a stretch wasn’t it?) It reminds me of high school football games in the small town I grew up in. The Pizza Hut was across the street from the high school and we ended up there every Friday night after a game. This song was inevitably on the jukebox. There really is no better time in a small town than Friday night football games. I remember sitting in the stands with blankets, I remember cheering, I remember it all.

3) “Cuts Like A Knife”, by Bryan Adams reminds me of a water tower in the small town I grew up in. It was on the outskirts of town and we all gathered there every weekend. One night my best friend and I were lying on the hood of a car looking at the stars and a meteor shower began. It was amazing. I’ve never been able to see one since — it was a perfect fluke.

4) “Closer To Fine”, by Indigo Girls, also plays on my radio station frequently.  I can’t help but sing along when ever I hear this song. It reminds me that I re-learned how to play the guitar just so my best friend and I could sing the entire Indigo Girls collection. But, mostly I remember how her guitar was so much nicer than mine. Her’s was a beautiful 12 string guitar that I coveted. Mine, I got in the 4th grade.

5) “The Day The Music Died”, by Don McLean. There was a pub near campus when I was in college. It was perfect. It had an outdoor patio…and it had a jukebox. The best jukebox ever. We all gathered there several times a week and always, at some point during the evening, this song would come on. I had a friend that would sing louder than any of us, she was adorable… we all loved her. This song reminds me of her and how I miss her and how her death was hard on a group of college kids.

These are my songs, they are my memories. I hear these songs and they make me smile as I think about youth and the lack of inhibitions that live in youth. But, I’d like to think that youth and uninhibited behaviors didn’t automatically end when I graduated from college or left my small town. I remember night swimming — do you?

I never really understood the saying — in like a lion, out like a lamb — I mean, I understood that it was about the weather of March. But, was that all?

Last March came in like a lion for me. I was the lion actually. I paced. I stalked. I roared.

I was busy with doctor appointments and chemo schedules and follow-up visits and home care visits for my mother. I approached it all like a lion protecting the pride during the droughts on the savanna — I had a plan, I stalked, I kept a vigil. Cancer is a formidable opponent. It’s sneaky. It has many hidden weapons. It lies low until it catches you off guard. I called the doctor many times –frustrated, angry, tired, questioning his credentials, questioning his policy on older cancer patients.

By mid-March, my mother was unable to walk for long distances and once again, needed a wheelchair. She was unable to eat. She was unable to venture outside the house. I placed a baby monitor in her room so I could hear her at all times — she needed help to the bathroom, she needed water, she needed medicine.

Life is a full circle.

The doctor turned her care over to Alive Hospice by the third week in March. They came here to explain to us — explain death. Nurses came, and a minister, and others that I don’t remember what their purpose was. There were medications, lots of medications — and paperwork. My mother was still coherent at that point with brief bouts of confusion — she and I signed her DNR order. That was on a Tuesday.

By Friday, she was increasingly less coherent. The family came over to spend time. That night, the kids filed into her bedroom one by one to say goodnight and goodbye. She was restless that night and began to lose consciousness. Her eyes were glazed — as if either I was dreaming and couldn’t focus on her well or she was dreaming — I don’t know which. But, I stayed on the couch closer to her — with the baby monitor under my head.

On Saturday, she was mostly sleeping. I tried to get her to eat and drink but she couldn’t. I wondered if it was time to make the call to Hospice. That night she was restless and incoherent. I remember someone I worked with taught me a saying — “there’s no there there”. That saying was all I could think of as I watched her that night.

By three that morning, I knew I had to make the call — but I waited, still.

By seven that morning, I called the nurse to come help me make the decision.

By eight that morning, the nurse made the call for the ambulance.

And we marched, out of the house — it was Sunday — a few days from the end of the month. My roar was gone. I was weak. I was tired.

I understand the saying now. Last year, I witnessed March coming in like a lion. I witnessed me, roaring back for a while. This March, I feel more like the lamb…waiting. You can be led around more easily when you’re the lamb, no one expects you to roar when you’re the lamb, you’re more receiving when you’re the lamb — being the lamb is far less tiring.

One of the qualities I started thinking about was selflessness. I was having this conversation with a friend about being selfless and how sometimes one person can perceive a behavior as selfless but the one perceived as being selfless can really think they’re just over-burdened (ok, so that wasn’t really part of the conversation but it sounded good now).

But, being selfless is tricky. I would think it might be close to impossible. Even for a superhero. I needed to know more about selflessness, here’s what I found out:

Selflessness: Having, exhibiting, or motivated by no concern for oneself;

acting with less concern for yourself than for the success of others.

Just looking at these definitions really scares me for those that have the burden to be selfless — or maybe just the burden of others thinking they’re selfless. When I thought about this more clearly, I realized that being selfless can be hard, it can be draining, it can cause you to lose yourself — no one should lose themself in the act of helping another. And really, why would you want them to?

When I think about the qualities that someone possesses that attracts me to them as a friend, selflessness has never come up. But, sometimes, it may need to be there, or at least some form of it, in order to keep the relationship going — maybe that would be being sometimes available. So, the difference between selflessness and sometimes available may be the key to having a healthy friendship as opposed to losing yourself. Losing yourself, giving so much that it wears you down, giving more than you’re capable — should never be grounds for a relationship.

So, superheros. Looking at them, they aren’t necessarily selfless. Most superheros from fictional accounts were in love or had businesses; they had something that they cared about for themselves more than the “greater good”. Not selfless. But still superheros.

Selfless is tricky. I’m sure we shouldn’t strive for selflessness. Giving of yourself and being available, but with limits — that should be the goal. Because if you lose yourself by giving to others, would they even want to be around you any more? But giving of yourself because it keeps you whole is poetry.

Friendship is a delicate balance and selfless is tricky.

]]> http://bsain.wordpress.com/2010/03/08/selfless-is-tricky/feed/ 12 bsain http://bsain.wordpress.com/2010/03/05/not-letting-go/ http://bsain.wordpress.com/2010/03/05/not-letting-go/#comments Fri, 05 Mar 2010 20:29:18 +0000 bsain http://bsain.wordpress.com/?p=1289 ]]> Life is full of things we have to let go of, things we have to, have to — no question – let go of. But, what about the things we don’t intend to let go of — the things that we will keep because they make us strong and happy and fun and intelligent and all the good things we can be? I guess the point is, I always hear people say, “I’m letting go of …”, but I haven’t really heard anyone say, “Hey, this I’m keeping, this will never be on my ‘letting go’ list.”

So, I made a list.

An “I have no intention of ever letting these things go no matter if they beg me to, if they go out of style, if they disappear, if they…” . Ok, that may be too long of a name for a list but, I’m not letting go of it.

1) Dr. Marten boots — I have a pair and I’m never letting them go. I don’t wear them anymore. They sit in my closet, in the back, under some other crap. But, I have them.

2) Tennis rackets — I don’t mean good tennis rackets. I mean the ones I used in college. The ones that aren’t made anymore. The ones that people stare at when I pull them out of my bag — yea, I’m keeping them.

3) My guitar — I got this guitar when I was in the fourth grade. It’s strung for a left-handed person because I am. I can play it. I’m not letting it go.

4) My “work girls” — Courtney, Adrienne, Amanda, Lynnette, and Ada. They made me promise to include their names on the blog at some point. They make me laugh and think and talk and hug and talk some more. I’m not letting them go.

5) My kids — I know we, as parents, are supposed to teach them to fly and send them out on their own. I really think that’s just a load of crap. I have every intention of home-schooling my kids when they become college age (no sense in doing it now, public schools are working for them). I’m not letting them go — not yet.

6) A couple of friends that will be stuck with me for life — again, I’ve heard that saying “If you love something, set it free…blah, blah, blah”. I’m a smotherer (something I discovered rather recently). My new motto is, “if you love something, hold it so tight that it will either love you back or die”. Ok — on second thought, I better rethink this philosophy. I’ll let go of the new motto, but not the friends — they’re stuck with me, for life.

7) My love of dogs – I’m not letting this go. In particular my love of my dogs (even the annoying one). I guess they’re stuck with me. My dog is sweet and neurotic and needy and independent — we are good for each other.

8) My memories — I’m not letting them go. I have quite a good memory — almost too good. I remember things people promised me or said to me or events or vacations or cars. Maybe I hold people to what they’ve said too much — not everyone has as good a memory as me. I’m not letting it go.

9) Righteous Indignation — I haven’t possessed this for very long, but I like it. It’s acquired. I’m still learning — I’m not letting it go.

10) Myself — I’m quirky and needy and smothering and jealous and possessive and funny and smart and … some other things. I’m not letting go of myself. I’m actually gaining more of myself — more of the good. Some things I have to let go of — I have to — let go of. But I need to keep enough that it’s still me. Maybe I’m a puzzle with some missing pieces, waiting for it all to get assembled. I think we are always acquiring new pieces of ourselves. It depends on the people you let in your life — what piece of you are they waiting to give you? So, I’m not letting go of myself.

That’s my list.

What are you not letting go of?

I think too much.

I think about what I’m going to say to the point that sometimes I say nothing for fear that my words will make me sound too happy or too sarcastic or too sappy or too anything.

I think about what I have already said to the point that sometimes I avoid the person I said it to for fear that my words made me sound too happy or too sarcastic or too sappy or too anything.

I think about what I’m going to write too much to. Mainly with emails or notes or texts to friends — what if they read it on the other end and interpret what I say as too anything?

I think too much.

I think about events that haven’t even taken place yet. Places I want to visit. People I want to see. What will I wear? What will I say? How should I fix my hair? I think about how they will react if I wear jeans or khakis. I think about how they will react if I greet them with a hug or a weep. I think about events that could possibly never take place.

I think about events that already happened. I think about what I said or what I did or what I was wearing. I think about how it would have been different if I chose different words or even a different hair style.

I think too much.

Sometimes thinking can get in the way of doing and being and living. It’s impossible to plan everything that takes place — every word, every gesture, every outfit. Maybe I think to try to plan it all out. Maybe it’s my attempt to make sure it happens the way I want it to happen. Thinking can lead to positive outcomes when you don’t do it too much — when you don’t forget to act because you’re too caught up in your thoughts.

So, I think too much — sometimes.

But hopefully the thinking will give way to action, to events, to life. Hopefully the thinking stops in time for life to move forward — hopefully.

But, I’ve learned about hugs.

You know I had to google about hugs to see what was so magical, here’s what I found:

Hugging is good medicine. It transfers energy, and gives the person hugged an emotional boost. You need four hugs a day for survival, eight for maintenance, and twelve for growth. A hug makes you feel good. The skin is the largest organ we have and it needs a great deal of care. A hug can cover a lot of skin and gives the message that you care. It is also a form of communication. It can say things you don’t have words for. The nicest thing about a hug is that you usually can’t give one without getting one.

Wow. That sounds pretty serious. Like this hugging thing could be medically related and therefore not just make me sappy (although, I’ve learned about sappy too). I had a friend tell me that a hug that lasts for at least 6 seconds can actually make you feel better. So, of course, I googled and here’s what I found out about that:

When you hug, oxytocin is released in the brain. Oxytocin does more than make us feel good. It lowers the levels of stress hormones in the body, reducing blood pressure, improving mood, increasing tolerance for pain and perhaps even speeding how fast wounds heal. It also seems to play an important role in our relationships. It’s been linked, for example, to how much we trust others.

Now that is significant — I think. Hugging can actually help you trust other people — trust your friends. That statement alone should probably make you go and hug a friend.

I love to hug my kids — that I can do. But maybe I don’t hug them enough as they get older. Maybe the hugs seem to fade with age — I’m sure that’s not the way it is supposed to be. So, I’ve made a conscious decision to give my kids ample 6 second hugs each day — when I wake them up, when I see them off to school, when they greet me each day I arrive home, when I tuck them in at night. With them, it’s easy.

I’ve always had a certain longing to be one of those girls who can hug and touch and hold and not feel completing incapacitated by it. They always make their friends feel so good. My youngest daughter’s kindergarten teacher is one of those girls — she gave me a 6 second hug just today. In turn, I passed it on to a friend I hadn’t seen in a month or so — maybe she passed it on too, that’s what we do as girls — I’m learning that too.

I’m learning that we are emotional creatures — (you’re gonna love this poem by Eve Ensler), some of us just learn it later than others.

So, if you see me, expect a hug. Evolution can be a wonderful thing.

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