Stories and Memories

Sad and Sorry

2008-04-09T06:07:00.001-07:00

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.

Moving out of childhood

2008-03-23T16:40:00.000-07:00

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.

My first buddy, Vernice

2008-03-20T12:39:00.000-07:00

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."

Saying goodbye to Eileen

2008-02-12T12:10:00.000-08:00

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.

Eileen had a stroke....

2008-01-14T10:04:00.000-08:00

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.

Eileen and Rick

2007-11-26T15:58:00.000-08:00

One day our friend Rick was taking Eileen somewhere in his car. He got her into the front seat, wheelchair in the trunk... then, just being cute and funny, he threw a handful of condoms into Eileen's then-79 year old lap. Eileen said "No, thanks, I have some." Rick was speechless.... it took them a couple of minutes to sort it out, and then they both laughed and laughed.... Eileen had thought he was giving her breath mints, and she already had some in her purse! Eileen told that story over and over again... she thought it was a hoot.

The following January, I came home to an answering machine with birthday greetings, including Rick's complete rendition of "Happy Birthday." About two weeks later, I received a phone call from a friend -- Rick had taken his own life. He was a handsome, smart, very funny man who had battled depression for years -- and who finally surrendered to that darkness. I talked to Paul, and we agreed to meet at Eileen's at 7:30 the following morning, to tell her in person about Rick before we went to work.

Eileen knew that something was up -- it was very unusual for us to visit her so early on a weekday. We sat at her kitchen table with our tea... and told her about Rick. The three of us sat there for a long time, telling stories and grieving for our friend.

We buried Rick's ashes in the Memorial Garden at St. John's. Eileen continued to talk about him, and continued to tell the story about the condoms in Rick's car.

Getting to know Eileen

2007-11-24T12:37:00.000-08:00

I first met Eileen on Thanksgiving, around 1987. I had attended Mass at St John's (Episcopalian) and had helped with Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless. Our priest was taking a meal to several shut-ins, and I offered to drive her around. Stop #1 .... Eileen. Eileen had polio as a child, and was not able to walk unassisted.... she had been in a wheelchair for years. She was in her late 70s when I met her. I liked her very much -- she had a tremendous spirit, and a wicked sense of humor. So I asked if I could come and visit her again... and so we became friends. At that time, Eileen was also dealing with post-polio syndrome, and with spinal stenosis - both of which were very painful. When I would visit, she would be in good spirits... always interested in any scoop from St John's. She had been a member there for decades... I was a relative newcomer. She refused to eat lunch downstairs in her building - everyone in her building was elderly, disabled, or both - said she did not need that. So she would take care of herself in her little studio apartment.

Things went along like that for a couple of years - I would visit, we would chat. She had a couple of old stories that I had heard many times by then, but that was ok.

One night my phone rang, and it was Eileen - something had happened - I don't remember what -- she had fainted or was in more pain than usual, and she was frightened. I could not visit her that evening - and in desperation, called my dear friend Paul, who lived in the same town as Eileen. I asked him to go to see her. Paul was the most accomodating of men, but this time he balked - said he did not know her, would not know what to say to her, was not comfortable doing this, etc. I was very concerned about her -- it was *extremely* unusual for feisty, independent Eileen to ask for help. So I talked for a long time... told Paul that he would not have to worry about what to say, because after "Hello," Eileen would carry the conversational ball, no problem. And told him I was worried. We went around several times, and he finally agreed to pay her a visit.

They had a fine visit, and Paul got hooked too. He visited her frequently, taking her lunch on a Saturday, stopping by for tea after work. She knew that we were best friends - sometimes we would visit her together. One of my favorite memories - I picked Paul up on Christmas morning, and we headed over to Eileen's, bearing gifts. She buzzed us through the security door. When we got to her floor, she had wheeled herself out into the hallway, and greeted us with a loud and merry "Ho Ho Ho" - and she was wearing a Santa hat. We all had a lovely Christmas morning together - that year, Paul and I had asked a friend to take a roll of snapshots of the two of us. We had framed one of those shots for Eileen, and she was simply delighted with her gift.

In 1990, Eileen had surgery on her spine - very scary for her! The surgery was successful, and she had some relief from the excruciating pain of the spinal stenosis. After some time in rehab, she was back in her tiny little studio apartment, and doing well. Eileen had not been to Mass in years - the priests and lay Eucharistic ministers would bring her Communion regularly, but the social butterfly in the wheelchair missed the social time at the church. So after weeks and weeks of discussion and planning, Eileen prepared to attend Mass. I went to her apartment that morning - she was SO excited! (I was not able to attend Mass myself that morning - long story, but my then-partner and I were in the process of breaking up, and we had made an agreement to alternate Sundays since my being in church made her uncomfortable. I asked for an exception for Eileen's return to church - but my partner held me to our agreement.) So after church I was waiting at her little apartment, and she told me ALL about her wonderful day. She had quite the triumphal return to St John's ... during the announcements, they brought her up to the front of the church so that the community could applaud and welcome her home.

On Sundays when Eileen felt strong enough, one of us would pick her up and drive her to St John's. At that time, there was no handicap access to St John's. Eileen's body was damaged... but she was not small, frail, or lightweight -- three of us would be needed to pick her up, wheelchair and all, and carry her up the long flight of stairs into the church. During this exercise, Eileen would pray loudly and laugh the entire time. A previous rector had called her "the queen" - and she would laugh about how the Queen was being carried royally into the church.

Others from the church became involved... several folks offered to drive her to church on Sundays. Our friend Rick was a visiting nurse, and he first saw her professionally. But after a couple of visits, he was also hooked, and Eileen had another friend.

Eileen was one hot ticket.

Being a child in the 1950s - playing outside

2007-10-27T12:22:00.000-07:00

When I think about my childhood, many of my memories playing outside. We got our first TV when I was around 7. My parents decided that we just would not engage in "Of course I have finished my homework and can watch TV" discussions - so the TV was off limits during the week. Of course there were no video games. So after school, I was right out the door to play. On Saturday morning after breakfast, I would head off on my bike - - and might end up in the woods building a fort, or down the street climbing the tremendous old apple tree (which was frequently a space ship for me... ), or playing soccer, or working on building and flying giant kites. My suburban neighborhood was expanding, and I particularly enjoyed climbing around the houses under construction, and sitting in the driver seat of the various pieces of big yellow construction equipment. ( I was also a serious reader... but that's a different story!)

Today I live in a suburban neighborhood, not very different from the one where I grew up. About two blocks from me there is a playground, and one side of the playground rises up into a hill, and woods. We rarely see kids go by on their bikes. In the morning, each corner has children waiting for the school bus .... each child accompanied by a parent. (Or the parent is discretely waiting in the car a hundred yards or so away.) Only the high school kids are seen walking down to the end of the neighborhood to catch their school bus.

I have noticed similar cautious behaviour in the ladies' room.... where a mother and a girl will stay together, squeezing into one stall.... for those moms, even standing directly outside the stall is apparently not safe enough, not close enough.

Over the past few years, there have been so many stories about abductions, rapes, murders of children. I don't know if there are *more* child-related crimes now, or if our stronger media presence has just made us all more aware. I do understand why the parents are worried. I also grieve the loss of freedom for our children, who are growing up in *such* a different world.

Music at camp

2007-09-29T12:56:00.000-07:00

The songs are perhaps the best memories.... I must have driven my parents crazy singing them! At camp, we sang our way to meals... we sang grace... we sang as we cleaned up the dishes after meals... we sang on our way to each activity, and while hiking... and (of course!) we sang around nightly campfires.

Green grow the rushes ho
Tall Timbers Calling
The Ash Grove
The Bear Song (The other day (echo) I met a bear (echo)....
Boom-de-ya-da
Three Jolly Fisherman
Donkey Riding
Do Lord
Jacob's Ladder
Noah's Ark
Jonah in the belly of the whale
And all of the Girl Scout songs - She wears a G for Generosity; Girl Scouts Together; Our Chateau.

I think today I would be a little troubled by the Judeo-Christian (emphasis on Christian) content of many of the songs... not that I have anything against those songs, which are very familiar to me. But I think that if we were going to sing religious songs, we should not have limited the selection to Christian! Look at it this way... if it's ok to sit around the campfire singing "All night, all day, angels watching over me my Lord.... then would it be ok to have a rousing chant to Krishna? I think not. And of course the Jews and Muslims and Buddhists are not much given to rousing camp-like songs. So there we are.

When I joined the staff as an adult, I always had a guitar with me, which made for some wonderful campfires. Before camp opened, all of the staff spent a week at Zoar Valley. We helped to get everything ready for the arrival of the campers. We played games and explored the area. We each chose a nickname (I was "Dee"). We bonded. And most of all, we sang. And sang.

One of the sweetest memories of Zoar Valley - a creek ran right through the camp, spanned by two swinging bridges. The creek was rocky and shallow, with only a few places where the water could run clear. On the last full day of camp, each camper (and many of the counselors) made a little boat from natural materials... typically a piece of bark, with moss, flowers, perhaps a sail made from a leaf. After supper, at twilight, the entire camp walked downstream a bit. A small birthday candle was lighted on each boat... and the campers gently launched their boats on the stream and watched until the candles moved out of sight around the bend. If memory serves, there was something about wishes coming true if your candle stayed lighted until the boat moved out of sight. As you can imagine, this sweet little good-bye ceremony was also filled with quiet, moving songs and wistful memories.

For many years now, I have had a dream of taking a leave from work to spend a month in the place I loved best in all the world. With each passing year, it becomes less likely that I could handle that level of physical effort.

But sometimes when I'm alone, I find myself singing the old songs. And remembering.

Zoar Valley Camp

2007-09-27T06:22:00.000-07:00

When I was very small -- 5-6ish -- one of my playmates went off to summer camp with the Girl Scouts. I thought this was the best idea anyone had ever had, and I began counting the years, then months, then finally weeks, until I could join the Brownies and head off to camp myself. I think I was about 8 when I went off for two-weeks of overnight camp at Zoar Valley, about two hours from my home.

I was an only child, and really very young -- I cannot even imagine how difficult it was for my mother to leave me there. As for me... I never even turned to watch my parents walk away. I was *so* excited to be there!

I have almost no memories of my childhood - but almost every memory of camp appears surrounded by a warm glow of happiness.

First year -- Jungao. (I think the name had something to do with Kipling.) The youngest campers, in large, solid cabins. Oddly enough, I have only one specific memory of that first year... walking on the trunk of a fallen tree, and falling. The resulting cut should probably have been stitched, but I was just bandaged up and sent back. Still have the scar on my right knee, some fifty years later.

Then Sherwood (smaller cabins), then up a hill for Indian (substantial wooden lean-tos), then up a much steeper hill as a Pioneer (platform tents). and finally up a longer, more gradual hill for smaller tents and lots of camping in the wild as a Trailblazer.

I went back at 18 as a counselor on Indian, and again at 22 as the unit director on Pioneer.

I loved it all.

I find it interesting (but not surprising... ) that I chose this for my first blog post!