After about fifteen years of silence, I googled an old friend, found her, and we arranged to have dinner together. My memories of her span many years. We worked together in the late 70s. After that job, she became an HR director for a small company, and found a job for me there. We played together, talked for hours, and were just great friends. My memory is... that our lives changed and we drifted apart. She had a couple of kids, I moved in with a woman, we both had different jobs, and we just lost contact with one another. I've thought of her frequently over the years.... about eight years ago, almost reached out to her when the news was filled with the downfall of a former colleague of ours (someone we had known to be less than truthful, and who was finally caught outright in a lie).... but it seemed like it had just been too long, and I resisted the impulse to try to find her.
We had dinner together last night, mostly, as expected, catching up on the events of the past fifteen years. I was especially struck by the clarity of her memories... she asked after a number of my friends. One of those couples had been especially dear to me - their family had become my family, I knew their parents, I was close to their kids, they were deeply woven through my life. That friend broke my heart many years ago by telling me that they really could not invest any time in the relationship which I held so dear - they needed to spend their precious free time with other couples with kids. She did reach out to me a few times after that, but I was so wounded that I could not see my way through continuing the severely altered (and to my mind, diminished), friendship. So last night when my friend asked after them, I told that story.
And this friend told me that fifteen years ago we had in fact *not* drifted apart, as I remembered. She said that I was with a woman at that time, and I told her very clearly that my new lover was not comfortable with straight folks with kids. She told me that I made it very clear that my life was taking a new direction that did not include her... and even remembered saying to me "But I'm harmless! I won't even bring my kids!"
We finished our dinner and our reminiscing, and as we hugged goodbye in the parking lot I told her that I was SO sorry that I had been such an incredible jerk. And she said simply "But I've forgiven you."
I wish that I could forgive myself. I'm finding that too many lines in my address book are crossed out because folks who were dear to me have gone back to God, and I am very aware of my own mortality. I find myself reliving so many things that I wish I had done differently. This one is particularly galling because I did not even *know* that I had made such a miserably bad decision so many years ago.
My spouse reminded me this morning that fifteen years ago I was going through a horrific time in my life - a very difficult first relationship with a woman, a job which was terribly stressful and draining for me, and a financial crash-and-burn scenario which left me fearful and scarred while I tried to get back on my feet.
In general, I try to be gentle with my former selves - yes I made some bad decisions at sixteen, or twenty, or whenever - but I was doing the best I could with what I had at those times. That "be gentle with your younger selves, you did the best you could with what you had" approach has kept me from beating myself up too frequently over the years.
But this one... this was just such a waste of a lovely friendship, and I'm just not feeling very forgiving or understanding this morning.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Moving out of childhood
Two stories....
When I was 10, I received both of the Christmas gifts I especially wanted. A new cowboy gun, and my first pair of nylons. My father laughed about this for years... when we went out to dinner that night, I wore a party dress and my new nylons. And slung over my party dress... my new holster and gun.
Then at 12... the present I wanted the most was a new bike. It was an English bike, with three speeds,and I thought it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. That Christmas day was warm and sunny, and I spent most of the day with other kids, happily riding my bike around the neighborhood. But at the end of the afternoon, I began feeling ill.... and my head began to hurt. By dinnertime, I was flat in bed with my first migraine. I'm sure this scared my poor mother about to death. She had terrible migraines, and now it looked like I was headed in that same direction.
When I was 10, I received both of the Christmas gifts I especially wanted. A new cowboy gun, and my first pair of nylons. My father laughed about this for years... when we went out to dinner that night, I wore a party dress and my new nylons. And slung over my party dress... my new holster and gun.
Then at 12... the present I wanted the most was a new bike. It was an English bike, with three speeds,and I thought it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. That Christmas day was warm and sunny, and I spent most of the day with other kids, happily riding my bike around the neighborhood. But at the end of the afternoon, I began feeling ill.... and my head began to hurt. By dinnertime, I was flat in bed with my first migraine. I'm sure this scared my poor mother about to death. She had terrible migraines, and now it looked like I was headed in that same direction.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
My first buddy, Vernice
So many of my friends were dealing with AIDS. One of my friends was an AIDS buddy -- a program which connected folks with AIDS with long-term relationships with buddies. This sounded right to me, so I signed up for the training. I had been involved with AIDS work and AIDs education for years, so was pretty familiar with the basic information. The training consisted of two intense weekends of sessions - everything from AIDS 101 stuff to how to deal with variety of situations which might arise. The role plays and etc were very interesting, but I almost fell asleep during some of the lectures recapping very familiar material. My friend had a meeting with the course folks... and they talked a little about the weekend, and the buddy candidates. Turns out that my occasionally drooping eyes were being interpreted as "not really all that interested in this work." I did make it through the training... but instead of being assigned to a buddy, was asked to come in to AIDS Action for another interview, sort of a pass-fail situation. I passed.
My first buddy was a Cape Verdean woman. She was NOT out to anyone about her diagnosis of AIDS, and really kept me at arm's length. I did what I could... saw her every other week or so, got to know her sister and her nephew. One of the real high points of that relationship ... I mentioned Vernice's passion for the Boston Celtics to the AIDS Action Buddy Coordinator. It turned out that Nancy had seasons' tickets, or had a good friend with seasons' tickets... and a few weeks later, Vernice and I went to a Celtics game. I hate to sound like a Mastercard commercial... but the expression on her face was just priceless. We had a great time.
About a year after we connected, Vernice became seriously ill and was hospitalized in a coma. I visited her daily - made sure that the nurses always turned on her TV for the Celtics games, read to her, etc. She did finally emerge from the coma... but I was still very aware of being held at a distance from her. During that hospitalization I learned that most of her family and friends called her Ola rather than Vernice, something she had never offered to me.
About a week after she woke from the coma, I got a call to come to the hospital. She had lapsed back into unconsciousness, and this time she did not wake up. I sat with her all afternoon... read to her from the Book of Common Prayer, just sat, read some more, sat some more. At one point I tried to do some of that New Age giving people permission to die stuff... and she reacted by waving her arm angrily at me, basically telling me to shut up. I felt badly... but at least I knew that she was hearing me as I went back to more neutral readings!
Late in the afternoon her sister arrived and went to her side and said "Ola, I'm here." Within five minutes, the monitors started to go wild (we were in an ICU, and she was still hooked up). Her sister looked at me with big eyes and a bit of panic and said "What should we do?!?!?!?" I said "Nothing. We don't do anything. Hold her hand." A nurse arrived a minute later, and the three of us stayed with her during those last few minutes. As she died, I read the Commendation at the Time of Death. She was a staunch Episcopalian, and that was the right thing to do.
I don't remember what her cover story was -- kidney problem? Liver problem? But she died with only a very few people knowing about her HIV+ status.
When I got home early that evening, I was very shaken - - surprisingly so, I thought, given that we were never very close. But my friend (who by then was my partner) said "Of COURSE you're upset" and brought me tea and some comfort.
Vernice's funeral was wonderful -- Episcopalian, but a predominantly black congregation, and the music was not Anglo-Catholic and stuffy. The music was more like I've heard in Baptist services - those lovely old hymns. One has stayed with me for years... "Softly and Tenderly Jesus is calling... calling oh sinner, come home."
My first buddy was a Cape Verdean woman. She was NOT out to anyone about her diagnosis of AIDS, and really kept me at arm's length. I did what I could... saw her every other week or so, got to know her sister and her nephew. One of the real high points of that relationship ... I mentioned Vernice's passion for the Boston Celtics to the AIDS Action Buddy Coordinator. It turned out that Nancy had seasons' tickets, or had a good friend with seasons' tickets... and a few weeks later, Vernice and I went to a Celtics game. I hate to sound like a Mastercard commercial... but the expression on her face was just priceless. We had a great time.
About a year after we connected, Vernice became seriously ill and was hospitalized in a coma. I visited her daily - made sure that the nurses always turned on her TV for the Celtics games, read to her, etc. She did finally emerge from the coma... but I was still very aware of being held at a distance from her. During that hospitalization I learned that most of her family and friends called her Ola rather than Vernice, something she had never offered to me.
About a week after she woke from the coma, I got a call to come to the hospital. She had lapsed back into unconsciousness, and this time she did not wake up. I sat with her all afternoon... read to her from the Book of Common Prayer, just sat, read some more, sat some more. At one point I tried to do some of that New Age giving people permission to die stuff... and she reacted by waving her arm angrily at me, basically telling me to shut up. I felt badly... but at least I knew that she was hearing me as I went back to more neutral readings!
Late in the afternoon her sister arrived and went to her side and said "Ola, I'm here." Within five minutes, the monitors started to go wild (we were in an ICU, and she was still hooked up). Her sister looked at me with big eyes and a bit of panic and said "What should we do?!?!?!?" I said "Nothing. We don't do anything. Hold her hand." A nurse arrived a minute later, and the three of us stayed with her during those last few minutes. As she died, I read the Commendation at the Time of Death. She was a staunch Episcopalian, and that was the right thing to do.
I don't remember what her cover story was -- kidney problem? Liver problem? But she died with only a very few people knowing about her HIV+ status.
When I got home early that evening, I was very shaken - - surprisingly so, I thought, given that we were never very close. But my friend (who by then was my partner) said "Of COURSE you're upset" and brought me tea and some comfort.
Vernice's funeral was wonderful -- Episcopalian, but a predominantly black congregation, and the music was not Anglo-Catholic and stuffy. The music was more like I've heard in Baptist services - those lovely old hymns. One has stayed with me for years... "Softly and Tenderly Jesus is calling... calling oh sinner, come home."
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Saying goodbye to Eileen
A few months later, Paul and I were called early one morning when Eileen had another, even more devastating, stroke. She was uncommunicative. This time there was no argument - Paul, Eileen's doctor, and I were all in complete agreement about NO extraordinary measures being taken to extend her life.
We set up a rota of folks from St John's - Eileen was rarely alone. In the evening, about three days after that stroke, our friend Carole-Jean and I were sitting with Eileen. She became restless, and then it became clear to us that she was dying. We had the Book of Common Prayer with us, and Carole-Jean began reading the Commendation at the Time of Death. I have done this now for a number of friends as they died, and I find it so powerful. "Receive, Oh Lord, a lamb of your own flock, a sheep of your fold." Eileen began to bleed out from her mouth, which was not unexpected. I grabbed gloves and a towel from the bathroom so that I could keep her clean and comfortable. As she was dying, I was telling her goodbye, and telling her that I loved her -- and all the while, the solemn words of prayer were cradling her on this new journey. Eileen died after just a few minutes.
Carole-Jean and I finished the Commendation at the time of death, cleaned up Eileen, and then notified the nurses that she was gone. I called Paul, called St. John's, called the funeral director Eileen had requested. I stayed with her until they came to pick up her body.
We had the usual funeral service at St. John's -- received her body in the evening with prayers, had visting hours from 7-9PM (like a wake, but in the church). I hate open coffins... I find the custom meaningless, and for me an open coffin pretty much typifies the "american way of death." And this is the ONLY time I have ever said this... but Eileen really looked fabulous. She was almost 80, and had aged terribly in those last few months after her stroke. But the funeral director did her makeup and her hair just beautifully. After the wake, we closed Eileen's coffin and covered it with a pall, then all chanted Compline (Evening Prayer) at 9PM. For the next twelve hours, members of the parish took turns at the overnight vigil, sitting with Eileen and reciting the Psalms.
Eileen's funeral was fine, and I think she would have been pleased with her sendoff from St. John's. I did lose one argument - -I wanted "Abide With Me" as a hymn at the funeral, because those lyrics really spoke to me of Eileen's lifelong devotion. But the music director felt strongly that the old traditional hymn had no place in that liturgy ... which made me sad.
After the funeral, we processed to the back of the church... but no one was there from the funeral home, and the hearse was not there. We waited. And waited. And called the funeral home. And waited some more. It was really hard!!! And at one point someone made us all laugh by saying "Can you just *hear* Eileen saying 'Isn't this just like St John's!!!'") The hearse finally did arrive.
About two weeks later, we buried Eileen's ashes in the Memorial Garden at St John's, as she had requested. (Paul and I were surprised by how very heavy Eileen's ashes were... Paul joked with me and asked whether they might have also cremated her wheelchair... ) She is buried not far from our friend Rick, who had also been her friend.
Eileen was a feisty, funny, spunky old lady who had an amazing life despite, or maybe because of, her many many trials and tribulations... and knowing her enriched our lives immeasurably.
We set up a rota of folks from St John's - Eileen was rarely alone. In the evening, about three days after that stroke, our friend Carole-Jean and I were sitting with Eileen. She became restless, and then it became clear to us that she was dying. We had the Book of Common Prayer with us, and Carole-Jean began reading the Commendation at the Time of Death. I have done this now for a number of friends as they died, and I find it so powerful. "Receive, Oh Lord, a lamb of your own flock, a sheep of your fold." Eileen began to bleed out from her mouth, which was not unexpected. I grabbed gloves and a towel from the bathroom so that I could keep her clean and comfortable. As she was dying, I was telling her goodbye, and telling her that I loved her -- and all the while, the solemn words of prayer were cradling her on this new journey. Eileen died after just a few minutes.
Carole-Jean and I finished the Commendation at the time of death, cleaned up Eileen, and then notified the nurses that she was gone. I called Paul, called St. John's, called the funeral director Eileen had requested. I stayed with her until they came to pick up her body.
We had the usual funeral service at St. John's -- received her body in the evening with prayers, had visting hours from 7-9PM (like a wake, but in the church). I hate open coffins... I find the custom meaningless, and for me an open coffin pretty much typifies the "american way of death." And this is the ONLY time I have ever said this... but Eileen really looked fabulous. She was almost 80, and had aged terribly in those last few months after her stroke. But the funeral director did her makeup and her hair just beautifully. After the wake, we closed Eileen's coffin and covered it with a pall, then all chanted Compline (Evening Prayer) at 9PM. For the next twelve hours, members of the parish took turns at the overnight vigil, sitting with Eileen and reciting the Psalms.
Eileen's funeral was fine, and I think she would have been pleased with her sendoff from St. John's. I did lose one argument - -I wanted "Abide With Me" as a hymn at the funeral, because those lyrics really spoke to me of Eileen's lifelong devotion. But the music director felt strongly that the old traditional hymn had no place in that liturgy ... which made me sad.
After the funeral, we processed to the back of the church... but no one was there from the funeral home, and the hearse was not there. We waited. And waited. And called the funeral home. And waited some more. It was really hard!!! And at one point someone made us all laugh by saying "Can you just *hear* Eileen saying 'Isn't this just like St John's!!!'") The hearse finally did arrive.
About two weeks later, we buried Eileen's ashes in the Memorial Garden at St John's, as she had requested. (Paul and I were surprised by how very heavy Eileen's ashes were... Paul joked with me and asked whether they might have also cremated her wheelchair... ) She is buried not far from our friend Rick, who had also been her friend.
Eileen was a feisty, funny, spunky old lady who had an amazing life despite, or maybe because of, her many many trials and tribulations... and knowing her enriched our lives immeasurably.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Eileen had a stroke....
After a couple of years of doing better... and VERY much enjoying being able to go to St John's for Mass a couple of times each month... Eileen had a severe stroke.
Paul and I were her healthcare proxies. We spent time with her at Beth Israel - she was unable to speak, unable to move very much, and unable to eat. The doctors wanted to put in a feeding tube. Paul and I argued that Eileen did NOT want that level of "extraordinary measures" - that feisty, independent old lady would hate the idea of continuing to exist in such a diminished state. The doctors really dug in their heels, saying that despite this catastropic stroke, the feeding tube would enable Eileent to enjoy many more months, possibly years, of excellent quality of life, When it became clear that we would end up in court if we continued to push back, we allowed them to insert the feeding tube.
Eileen was moved to a nursing home in nearby Brighton. After a couple of weeks, when it was 100 percent clear that Eileen would never be able to live at home again, Paul and I went to her little apartment and cleared it out, freeing that space for another disabled person. Not the first time I cleared out a living space... nor the last... but it's always an emotional and difficult task.
One day when I arrived at the nursing home, I could hear Eileen yelling all the way down the hall. She never regained much meaningful speech, but those yells were pretty eloquently conveying that she was VERY unhappy... and that was just not like our Eileen! So I looked into it a bit... turns out that the nursing assistants were unaware of, or not paying sufficient attention to, Eileen's hypersensitivity to touch, caused by her spinal stenosis. When she was at home, she dressed in as little as possible - usually just a very loose housedress - because she could not tolerate even the feeling of cloth on her skin. When the aides changed Eileen, they were handling her exactly as they would handle anyone else -- not roughly, but in a brisk "get on with the task" fashion -- and this was causing excruciating pain for her. When we engaged with the nursing supervisors and talked to the aides, we learned that they really had no idea - they thought she was just a cranky complainer. (NOT!)
Our concerns were effectively conveyed to the aides, and I did not hear Eileen yelling again. During that terribly difficult period, it did occur to us to wish that the doctors from BI could visit Eileen and bear witness to her "excellent quality of life."
One of the hardest things for me during this period -- Eileen seemed to lose most interest in her faith. Eileen was the most faithful of Episcopalians, and had just about worn out her old prayer book. But after the stroke, when we would bring her communion, she would allow the prayers, but not seem particularly engaged by them.
I could apply many labels to those months in the nursing home, but "enjoying excellent quality of life" would not be one of them.
Paul and I were her healthcare proxies. We spent time with her at Beth Israel - she was unable to speak, unable to move very much, and unable to eat. The doctors wanted to put in a feeding tube. Paul and I argued that Eileen did NOT want that level of "extraordinary measures" - that feisty, independent old lady would hate the idea of continuing to exist in such a diminished state. The doctors really dug in their heels, saying that despite this catastropic stroke, the feeding tube would enable Eileent to enjoy many more months, possibly years, of excellent quality of life, When it became clear that we would end up in court if we continued to push back, we allowed them to insert the feeding tube.
Eileen was moved to a nursing home in nearby Brighton. After a couple of weeks, when it was 100 percent clear that Eileen would never be able to live at home again, Paul and I went to her little apartment and cleared it out, freeing that space for another disabled person. Not the first time I cleared out a living space... nor the last... but it's always an emotional and difficult task.
One day when I arrived at the nursing home, I could hear Eileen yelling all the way down the hall. She never regained much meaningful speech, but those yells were pretty eloquently conveying that she was VERY unhappy... and that was just not like our Eileen! So I looked into it a bit... turns out that the nursing assistants were unaware of, or not paying sufficient attention to, Eileen's hypersensitivity to touch, caused by her spinal stenosis. When she was at home, she dressed in as little as possible - usually just a very loose housedress - because she could not tolerate even the feeling of cloth on her skin. When the aides changed Eileen, they were handling her exactly as they would handle anyone else -- not roughly, but in a brisk "get on with the task" fashion -- and this was causing excruciating pain for her. When we engaged with the nursing supervisors and talked to the aides, we learned that they really had no idea - they thought she was just a cranky complainer. (NOT!)
Our concerns were effectively conveyed to the aides, and I did not hear Eileen yelling again. During that terribly difficult period, it did occur to us to wish that the doctors from BI could visit Eileen and bear witness to her "excellent quality of life."
One of the hardest things for me during this period -- Eileen seemed to lose most interest in her faith. Eileen was the most faithful of Episcopalians, and had just about worn out her old prayer book. But after the stroke, when we would bring her communion, she would allow the prayers, but not seem particularly engaged by them.
I could apply many labels to those months in the nursing home, but "enjoying excellent quality of life" would not be one of them.
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