Remembering; we don’t have to be alone

10 years ago I was in Fargo with my mom at the hospital. Her doctor told us what my mom had already accepted, that her treatments were no longer working and her aggressive cancer was going to end her life–soon.

Why am I revisiting this now?  Why look back to feel the pain?  Maybe you can only know if you know, but there’s something so comforting and full of love to look back and feel us together in her last days.

The older I get, the more people I know who have lost someone they love deeply–a father, best friend, child, partner, sibling. (And how to describe the pain of watching a whole people murdered for being born in a place deemed not their own?  May we all grieve for Palestinians killed in mass genocide. May our hearts hold the complexity of compassion for the Israelis also killed/kidnapped because of political evil intentions.) 

In the midst of our pain we can feel so alone, at least I did 10 years ago, but we don’t have to be.  We aren’t alone. I’ve been here, a whole world has felt and is feeling the pain of loss. And so many are also like I was then in 2014–in a state of expected grief, knowing someone will die, but not knowing when.  This is our reality of life–but we don’t talk about it enough.  We don’t have to be alone in grief, in expecting and being present for death.  We don’t have to be alone.

So, here is day 8 of my last summer with my mom. I hope to share all of my journals here as I’m able.  May they touch others’ hearts–heal and comfort, as they’ve been a part of my healing and grief journey. Grief, death connects us all.  We don’t have to move through it alone.

Day 8

Thu. 7/3/2014

Tears and more tears, you would think I traded eyes for faucets — they keep leaking.  I used to be such a good plumber, what happened?

So many people, and they all want to look at you at the hospital.  This is not your grief, I do not want to share it with you.

(Even to my mother) “No, I don’t want to sit on the couch with you, I just want to be alone.”

But that is what I’m afraid of.  The loneliness that will creep into parts that she always knew how to fill up with the right words and the knowing that she loves me.

Seeing her tear apart, I don’t know how I feel about it, just that it’s happening, and I’m watching it.

Today is day eight at home taking care of my mom, and they just told me that these days are numbered.

“Do you think I’ll make it to Christmas?” What a blow to the heart.  What will we do if you’re not here; who will buy all the presents?

And the world moves on, and each day is precious. And I just don’t want to have to say goodbye.

When Grief Knocks Softly

Thoughts on loss and my mother on the anniversary of her death.

There has been so much collective grief and loss this past year and a half. Today I sit with my personal grief and remember my mother as she passed away 7 years ago today.

Her voice in my mind isn’t as strong, but it’s still so close. To all of you who have felt grief or loss, be it the death of a family member, partner, friend, or even bff pet, I hope you also feel them with you. Death is inevitable, as I wrote the day before my mom died, but sometimes it really feels unfair when someone we love gets taken sooner than we think they should.

I feel that pain with you today. I feel the anger of missing out on tons of opportunities, to travel, to talk, to get and give advice, a hug, to laugh, or even argue, just to be together, the joy we could have kept sharing.

I also feel the deep appreciation for love that was here, that was felt, that is in me and will live on and on and on.

This date is always really hard…but it is also really good. I love moments that bring me closer to my mom again, and today I feel close to our communal human experience as well.

I am thinking of you out there, in your pain, joy, and memory.

I hope this last journal I wrote the day before my mom died can somehow connect with you and help you feel what you need to feel.

I love you friend, stranger. And I’m glad that you are alive here with me today.

August 25th, 2014

Today was hard, beautiful, overwhelming sad, hopeful, tiring, peaceful.  So much in one day.

I’m thankful that my mom is still here. I don’t want to go forward to a future where she’s not…but it’s all starting to be a little less impossible…and with that I feel a little bit more like the world is going to be okay, even after.

My mom lost her ability to communicate now, almost totally.  She did turn into me when I snuggled up in the bed though, and then held her hand on my leg and then in my hand.

She’s there, she’s just also very far away.

So many people to make sure that they know, so many people to call.  I would hate for someone to be taken by surprise after she’s gone…but it might happen.  It’s just so fast, a few extra days of slowing would be nice to sit, and grieve, smile, even laugh, and do lots of crying.

Which I have to say I will be ready to be done with.  The crying just comes so easy sometimes, but I’m exhausted and don’t want to be sad for the rest of my life.

But, it has been a good one up until now hasn’t it.  And she has gone through it like a blazing star.  So bright you can’t be near her and not be affected by her joy and her positive spirit.  

And this is today.  And if we focus on this moment now it is all a bit easier to bare.  

And death is inevitable.  And we go bravely into the dying of the light.  And we except that it is. And we grieve and we live, always remembering, always carrying her with us.

I carry you with me–i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

And sitting here, next to you with the family…I think you know that.  I think you know that you are still here with us, and you will always be.

Yellow, and Teal, and Green

Can a color teach you joy like a Sunday school lesson?

Come around, children, and listen to how teal taught the sea to part and your fears to drown!

Listen to how orange tamed the lion in my heart and how red taught me to cry.

Learn from me this morning about the wisdom in the yellow my grandmother’s house used to be and how green couldn’t reach the sky so it instead taught itself how to grow whenever it finds dirt.

And it even can teach you how you ever move on when someone dies;

.
You look deep in the purple, blue of the bottomless ocean and see how we are all atoms connected to the sea and you are with me, mother;
And so is
Yellow,
And teal,
And green.

Pottery I’ve made since I wrote this poem. Colors always teach me to love and feel connected to the life around me.
Bright like the sun and heavy like the earth. This piece is now down in Puerto Rico brightening up some extended family’s home.
Warm and happy, like a hug from Momma Carol.

To Tell Our Story

It’s a funny thing, to hear your own story played back for you.  It gets down into your bones, into the deep parts of your brain that hold smell, and place, and love, not just memories.  

I didn’t know when Colleen emailed me last Fall and asked me to tell the story of our Celebration on her podcast that she would be giving me such a priceless gift, but now I have it.  

If you don’t know me, or didn’t know me when my mom was dying, this is a big part of who I am.  

I can’t talk to my mother any more, I can’t send her cards, or texts, or surprise her with a quick visit because plane tickets are so cheap right now (#washyourhands #donttouchyourface) but I can remember that it is because of her audacity and strength that I am able to live the life I have today.  Even though she would not chose the path I made for myself (to leave the faith she grounded me in and move to Philadelphia, far away from the Fargo she loved) she is the reason why any of it was possible, and I think that she would still be so proud.

And so I sit in that today.  Knowing that she would be proud of the woman I am and am still becoming.  Knowing that that day was so special to Brandon and I, to our families, and such a deep moment of love for my mom.  Knowing that I am giving parts of her joy, love and energy to my students, to friends, blood and chosen family, and I hope maybe and someday to people I hardly even know.  She lived a simple yet incredible life.  Bringing so much joy to the world–let me repeat the sounding joy.

 

Full Transcript of S1E4 I Want to Have a Ceremony with You

First aired on Mar 13, 2020

Betsy and Brandon didn’t want to get married. But when Betsy’s mother was nearing the end of her life, they decided to honor their love in a ceremony called A Celebration of Love and Family.

Weiss: You know, both of our families are actually religious, Christian, and have a different sense of, you know, that you should get married if you’re in this committed relationship but we don’t feel that way. And so there’s sort of this tension, but reality in life of while we feel differently, but that’s okay.

What happens when our values and choices don’t match the expectations of our family? When we grow into different people than those who are closest to us? How can we still keep them close and nurture those important relationships while also finding ways to be true to ourselves? Today we will meet Betsy and Brandon who wanted to do their commitment a bit differently than their families expected. Join me to learn how they did it, and kept their families close.

This is Shame Piñata. I’m Colleen Thomas.

Welcome to Shame Piñata, where we talk about creating rites of passage for real-life transitions. I’m going to share a very special story with you today. Or, rather, our guest is. Betsy Weiss knew she didn’t want to get married. She became clear on that shortly after college, in her early 20’s. She had very clear and thought-out reasons for making this decision. When she met someone and started a relationship that meant a lot to her, that didn’t change. In fact it never changed. What did change is that her mom got sick, and then better, and then sick again. And Betsy was faced with the thought of losing her mother without having had the chance to mark the importance of her relationship with her mother there. She wanted to share the love she and her partner had with her mom. She also wanted to honor her mom for being the cornerstone of the family she had always been. So Betsy and her partner planned a ceremony, a non-wedding. They called it a celebration of life and family.

Weiss: I guess my story actually really starts like how I grew up. I grew up in a pretty conservative Christian family, school, church where I was taught that you shouldn’t have sex until you’re married, that you, as a woman, will serve your husband that he’ll be the head of the household. And, you know, a lot of my friends that I knew when were was young got married when they were 21-22. And I always knew… I was always an independent person, I always know that I was going to wait till I was 26. That was like my, well, I’m not gonna get married at 22 or 23 but I’m gonna wait until I’m a little bit older. Because that felt important to me and that was when my mama got married. She was actually 27. And then when I was in college, I really changed my perspective, my mindset, and actually left the faith that I had grown up in. And it felt like there’s a lot of toxic things, especially some of the things I was taught as a woman about my self-worth about like that I was told that I was causing men to sin and I was a problem because I was a female and an attractive person. And so I decided after college kind of in my early 20s, I wasn’t really interested in getting married anymore, that I might want to have a connection to someone, but that I never wanted to be… to feel like I had to serve someone else like I was lesser. I didn’t want to feel like a religion had power over me in that way and didn’t feel like I needed the government’s approval either. I also really didn’t like the sense of property that used to be attached, and in some ways, maybe still is attached to women and marriage. And so I sort of felt like, you know, that’s just not something I want. But then I met someone. I met someone named Brandon and we became really close. It was the first really healthy relationship I’d had. When I was in college actually, my mom had gotten sick. She had stage one breast cancer but had gotten better. And then a couple years later, it came back a stage four breast cancer and she had really good results through chemo, but in a moment when she was actually doing a lot better, I was in the car with Brandon, we were on the way to see his family. And I was sitting there and thinking, I want to have a ceremony with you. I want to do something with my mom, before she dies, like if something were to happen. And at the time, we’re thinking she had 10-20 years. We thought, you know, she was recovering really well. But I just said, like, I want to do this. I want to recognize our relationship with my mom. And he said, yeah, okay.

Betsy and Brandon didn’t really talk about it again for months, maybe up to a year. But in the summer of 2014, Betsy went home to help her mom because she was going through chemo again.

Weiss: And actually the day I got home, she told me that she had just learned from her doctor that they didn’t think that chemo was really going to work anymore, and she probably had about six months left in her life. And so in that moment, and as like a week or two went by, I called Brandon and said, I want to do something. I want to like have a ceremony with my mom. And, you know, he needed to think about it. Because what did that mean to him? What did that mean to our relationship? We’d been together for two years, which wasn’t actually that long. I actually was 27, which is funny that that’s sort of the age I had put in my mind when I was a kid that I wanted to get married. So as we started to think well, okay, this isn’t going to be wedding or marriage, what is it going to be?

This is the part of the story where we get to learn about the magic of Betsy’s mom, Carol. Despite having cancer, Carol found unique and creative ways to stay connected to joy and she brought those around her with her on that journey.

Weiss: We actually took, or I took lessons from my mom, who every time she had chemotherapy, she would throw a party. So she did this so that she could encourage herself and encourage people she saw in the hospital. She had told me that she would go in and it just seemed so depressing and sad and everyone was down because chemo is hard. And, you know, and a lot of people are facing the end of their life there. But she thought, well, I don’t want to be depressed and sad, I want to have fun and enjoy, and have this joy. Her name’s Carol and that like singing songs of joy sort of like what she would do with her whole life. So she would have theme parties. She had a twins party because we love the baseball team Twins because we’re from Minnesota. We had like a caterpillar theme, she would have a fourth of July theme and she would always make a little candy goodie basket. The caterpillar one I think she had like, made a line of little cupcakes that looked like a caterpillar. And the hospital would start to know like, oh Carol is going to come in today! And everyone would stop by and see these decorations and themes in the little chemo room. And you know, they would laugh and have this kind of party. And people will come in all dressed up for whatever the theme was, and you know, it’d be a really special thing to go to win a Carol’s chemo parties. And so I wanted to, you know, to keep that going that my mother was dying but, but instead of mourning together, why don’t we celebrate and have this party together of life and love that we’ve had? So we decided to call this ceremony a celebration of love and family.

The celebration of love and family took about a month to plan. As Betsy and Brandon began telling other people about it, it became clear that not everyone understood where they were going with the idea.

Weiss: Especially my aunts all were like, “Well, but so are you getting married? Or are you engaged? Like, I don’t understand.” We’re like, “No, we’re not. We’re just going to have a party and we want you to be there. And we’re going to talk about how we love each other. And we’re going to celebrate our families.”

I love this part of the story because we begin to see how the members of Betsy’s family, while they didn’t necessarily understand the vision for the ceremony, or understand why Betsy and Brandon were not getting married, were still supportive and loving.

Weiss: So we did need to figure out sort of what the day would look like. And we decided that we wanted to have sort of this simple ceremony in a park close to my house called Trefoil Park by the Red River in Fargo. This really beautiful spot that we put a canopy up and my immediate family, my dad and mom and brother and then Brandon’s family, his parents and his brother and sister-in-law came and we just told them to prepare some words if they wanted to share about how they love our families. And we were going to share about our love for each other too. We hired a photographer, which is something I’m so grateful for it because now as I look back, and remember my mother, I have these really wonderful pictures from our celebration. You know, Brandon spoke words to me and I spoke to him and there’s a lot of tears and laughter and, and one of the things I really remember that I said, that’s been with me and helped me stay strong as I know and my mom is gone, like you Brandon will be what helps hold me together. You know, she was like my best friend. We were really, really close. And when she did pass that was really true and, and saying those words and having that moment together, I think did bring us closer in a way I didn’t expect. To me, it was when I was planning the party, although it was about Brandon and I’s relationship, I was doing it for my mom and to share with her. But in doing the ceremony, and the celebration, I did feel much closer to Brandon. And I think it did kind of solidify our relationship in a way that surprised me. And then after we all spoke and shared words of love with each other, we went to my favorite Mexican restaurant called Mango’s and ate with my extended family. So my cousins and aunts and uncles were there. And then we… although you know, it wasn’t really anything that felt like we needed to follow tradition, I do really, really love wedding dances and my family loves wedding dances, and we all love to have a good time. So we had bought a hall, a space, and we invited extended friends family to that area. So we had about 60-70 people all come together and we had little, you know, desserts and d’oeuvres. And in the planning phase it was funny that one of my aunts was just like… it was so hard for her not to plan a wedding and so she was like, “Okay, well, we need centerpieces. So I’m going to create these centerpieces and we need a theme.” And they kept trying to ask me these questions. And I was… at the time I was trying to help my mother who was really sick and I’m like, “I don’t care. I don’t want a wedding. Please don’t make it like a wedding. But if you want to make a centerpiece…” Like, it actually was really thoughtful at the same time that they were… Although they didn’t understand maybe what we were doing, they wanted to be a part of it and and share. And so we had these really lovely, sort of like beachy-themed centerpieces on the tables. That was really fun. And then we danced. My mom was in her wheelchair, so we kind of wheeled her around and she even stood up a little bit with her oxygen tank and had a dance with my dad. And there’s these lovely pictures of her dancing with my dad and Brandon and myself. And it was a beautiful night that so many people got to share with us. And then it was actually two weeks later that my mom passed away. And so, I think, you know, she actually also got really excited planning the party just like she had for her chemo parties. And I think it really gave her some of the energy to make it a little bit longer in life. And then when she, after the party, I think she… She shared with us, she just was done. She was done with the chemotherapy that made her feel really terrible. She was tired. And although she wanted to live longer, it was like, you know, I’m okay with letting go. Which was a lot harder for the rest of us, but something beautiful I get to… we got to share and be a part of with her. So that’s really that’s the story of what the celebration was, how it connected, and sort of the story of losing my mother, you know, it’s all wrapped up in and tied in together too.

Thomas: Yeah. Oh, that’s… that’s such a beautiful story, just so much love and so much acceptance of the situation, all the different parts of the situation all together and allowing everybody to be who they are including the aunts who need to make centerpieces because it’s a wedding in their mind and that’s what you do.

Weiss: Well, and that was… it was interesting. It wasn’t just them too. A lot of people when we talked to them that were older and we’d say something about how we weren’t getting married. You know, some of them I think were happy we were doing something but also a bit concerned because a lot of people they were like, “Oh, well, aren’t you gonna get married?” and don’t understand when we say like, “No, we did. We did what we wanted to do. We had our ceremony like, that was it. That was great. We threw the party.” But you know, it also was a moment even when people didn’t understand or had a different sense of what relationships should be, they still came together with us and celebrated and had a wonderful time.

Thomas: I love what you shared about it being… it sounded kind of tiered in my head that you had different people at different parts of the ceremony. So you had like, you brought them in where you wanted them.

Weiss: Yeah. So we wanted… and actually Brandon was more concerned and protective of having some intimate moments. I was a little more like “Let’s invite everybody!” And he was like, “Well, I don’t know if I want that…” Like, he didn’t want it to become a wedding. He wanted it to be something different. And I was a little less concerned about… I knew for myself, it wasn’t gonna be. Like, well, we weren’t getting married. So, you know, that wasn’t as much a concern. But for him it was important that people know like, no, this isn’t a wedding, it’s different. So like he didn’t want every… everyone in our lives to come to celebrate us. And I think some of that protected the intimate moment that we got to have as two families coming together to celebrate us, like Brandon and I wanting to be together and also sharing appreciate this wonderful legacy and cornerstone of family that my mother had been. And they’re actually… Right after the ceremony and a little bit as we processed, both of us had some moments of regret that we didn’t share it with more people, not the ceremony, the moment of celebration, with… The intimate moment in the park, I think we’re really glad that was just our immediate family. But knowing afterwards that it would be my mother’s last couple weeks, and that the ceremony became even more meaningful than we had initially thought. You know, we did regret a bit that we hadn’t just invited everyone. We had friends from Philadelphia saying, “We want to come, we want to come to Fargo!” And I saying like, “No, like, we… it might be too much” or, you know, “No, this isn’t our wedding, you don’t need to come.” But afterwards, we thought, you know, it would have been great to celebrate with them. It was a really meaningful moment, though, you know. We in some ways, didn’t know what we were creating. But the one thing that we’ve talked about is, well, you know, we did it differently before. So if we want to, again, like we can throw another party and just celebrate something different in life. It doesn’t have to be the fact that we’re like committing to be together in my be you know if we have a baby or we might adopt, and maybe like, we’ll have a really big party with family then. And that can be a time when people come together in our lives that are important. And we can have a dance because we love to have dances! And just do it do it differently because who says it has to be just weddings when people get together and celebrate and dance and have time together?

Thomas: Absolutely. That is what the whole show is about that I’m doing so…

Weiss: Great!

Thomas: That’s perfect.

Weiss: Well, I’ll be listening! And I’ll be like yeah! I’m gonna do… I’m gonna steal all the ideas.

Thomas: And I was also curious what rite of passage do you wish you’d had?

Weiss: It’s interesting, I think with women there’s so much tied up in our sexuality actually. But I think like women there’s this sense of like purity, right? And that this is their rite of passage is like, are they still pure? And then, you know, they were this like white gown to show that they’ve never had any sexual experiences, and then they can finally, with their father’s permission, have sex, you know. And so a rite of passage that I wish I’d had was like teaching me healthy sexuality when I was young, instead of… Like, I had a purity ring and I was told that I needed to… I couldn’t even like, kiss someone until I was married. Those things really were unhealthy I think. And I just wish that people would have said, “You’re a person. A part of who you are is this sexuality. You can experience that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” And that we could have like, celebrated our humanity kind of maybe, you know, in my early teens, not in a hyper-sexualized way, but in something that recognizes like, “It’s okay for you to like other women. It’s okay for you to feel sexual thoughts. It’s okay for you to not.” You know, like those things are okay. And I would love if there was some magical rite of passage that we could do for for young men and women to say like, “It’s okay for you to become a sexual being.” Like that’s a good thing.

Thomas: I love that. That is not traditional ritual that I know of. But should be!

Weiss: Yeah, what we had was, you know, a lot of the keep your purity. Here’s your purity ring. And, you know, the best women are the virginal, same kind of women.

Thomas: Right. Right. Goodness.

I am so grateful to radio fairy godmother Anne Hoffman for introducing me to Betsy and to Betsy for sharing her story with us. I especially love the clarity that Betsy and Brandon brought to the ceremony, their love for Carol, their respect for the family members who didn’t quite get it in the moment, and their commitment to honoring their desire to not get married. Ceremonies can be whatever we want them to be. They are a way to honor ourselves, our relationships and our growth. We can use them to mark transition, release old ties, start off on new paths, and affirm our commitments. Family and society will expect us to do predictable things, but we can surprise them if we want to!

Betsy Weiss carries on her mother’s audacity for life, sharing it as Carol would have wanted her to. You can read how she processes grief and life at the website thethingssheleftme.com.

Our music is by Terry Hughes. If you like the show, please take a minute to share it with a friend. Learn more at shamepinata.com. I’m Colleen Thomas. Thanks for listening.

 

Birthdays

26th birthday

My mom and I cheesing. I always love seeing my moms big smile.

This picture with my mom is from my golden birthday (when I turned 26 on December 26th for those of you not in the Midwest wondering what the hell a golden birthday is). My mom went all out (like she always would, especially for birthdays) and got gold EVERYTHING to make it a truly golden birthday. I remember doing our usual runs to all the places she had researched that would give me free stuff for my birthday and her loving every minute of it.  She brought so much life to every situation!

Today, it’s her birthday.  I can’t celebration with her, but we are still here and can bring her light to each other.

Today I also spoke with a student who just recently lost her dad.  It reminded me of how intense and painful it is to lose a parent who is also your best friend.  I  thought about how much the pain has faded and been replaced with gratitude…but also how much I miss my mom and still wish all the time that I could share so much of life’s connections with her. 

Thinking of her brought me to this email I wrote on

Mon, Apr 16, 2012:

It was so good to talk to you tonight!  After seeing you for four straight days it’s hard not to hear your voice, and laugh, and encouraging words every day.  🙂
I tagged you in a Facebook post about telling me that I was going to have the best Monday ever 🙂 and then had ruchi respond with this as a comment:
Ruchi:  your mom is one of the most positive, hopeful, cheery people i know! it’s impossible to be down around her. i want you to have the best monday ever now too!!!
It was so sweet and actually made me start thinking and get overwhelmed with tears as I was getting ready for bed, brushing teeth, washing my face, that sort of thing.  I admire you so much mom.  I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather be like.  You’re not only fun, and encouraging, and brighten the room, but you are someone I want to be.  I’m so proud everyday to be your daughter.  I can’t imagine our family, my life, my world without having all that you are and have been in it.
I was thinking tonight about how many things I still want to share with you….I really love Brandon, I can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else anymore.
I want you to be there if we get married.  I want you to be there when I have kids someday.  I want to call you up when I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing, and I know you’ll know exactly what to say.  I want to ask you how to cook something …and what to do when I can’t think of any answers…and maybe I just need to cry or have you tell me it’s okay.
It’s really hard for me to imagine not sharing these things with you.  Most of the times I try not to think about it.  A lot of times I just try and be strong.  Most of the time I’m really positive and keep believing good health will come to you.  I want all the best things in the world for you ever 🙂
Always though I love you…
So I want to tell you I’ll fight with you as long and as hard as we need.  I’ll be on the phone when you need.  I’ll fly home if you just really need a visit.  I’ll be there for you in any way that I can.
I love you mom.
Let’s share lots of life together,
Betsy

And we did.

Back at 25 (this was before that great golden birthday pic) I wasn’t as understanding about life as I am now.  I didn’t know how death affects everyone sooner or later, I didn’t understand how I could lose my mom and still carry her with me.

But now I do, and god am I so grateful to have her legacy to remember and try to carry on.

 

A Toast to Carol–Celebrating Love and Family 5 Years Later

Five years ago Brandon and I gathered with each other for a Celebration of Love and Family.  We knew that my mother was dying and wanted to have this special moment with her.  It wasn’t a wedding–it was a lot more (and less) than that.  It was our own thing and I’m so glad that it happened–I’m so glad to celebrate, cry, remember, and share about it today.

My mother had told our family that if there was any other city where she would like to have lived it would be Coeur D’Alene, Idaho–so that’s where my dad Joel, brother Jon, partner Brandon, and I met to celebrate 5 years after our celebration and 5 years since we mother died.  Today we toasted to the memory of my mom and to each other. We gathered together again to celebrate our love and our family–5 glasses of wine (1 for her and each of us), her ashes, and shared readings from our Celebration Ceremony.  After laughing, crying, and drinking our wine–with a word of gratitude we threw her glass out into the lake.  I think she would enjoy it out there.

 

20190814_160507

My mother loved to share, loved love, and loved to bring everyone into the family.  Please, today, if you want to add your own words of celebration of love and family I know it would honor my mother and it will bring us all joy to hear it.  Below I’ve shared my own written celebration of love for my mom and for Brandon that I read at our ceremony. 

——–

To my dear mom Carol and to my partner Brandon:

Mom,

When I think about today in my mind it’s actually about you.  I couldn’t be happier to share a part of my life with you and I couldn’t be happier for you to have a significant moment in your own life of dedicating you daughter to someone she loves.  

 

When I look to the future I usually want to stop looking–but the strong part of me that knows I will go on knows I will always have you with me. See, because you are so much a part of me: you are a part of how I see the world, you are part of when I laugh, you are a part of why I’m nice to people, and you are a part of why I plan parties when I know something terrible is going to happen.

 

And, you are a part of why I’m with Brandon.  You always told me I deserved the best, in fact you kind of gave me a complex 🤔 But lots of good came out of it too because you encouraged me to be with someone who had the capability to grow, to be adventurous with me, to challenge me, and to love me back…and Brandon is all of those things.

 

Mom, It’s hard for me to think about loving anyone more than I love you.  You are my mother; you have been my best friend.  I talk to you when I’m sad, when I’m happy, when I’m angry.  You where one of the only people I went to when I had no idea how to feel, what to do, or even how to say it.  And you have ALWAYS been there for me.  Always.  Every phone call, every late night.  

But now, Brandon is that too.

 

And I know when that day comes that I do have to say goodbye, that the passing will be a bit easier because he’s going to be here with me. He’s going to sit with me, hold me, listen to me, and be so many of those things that you’ve been for me. 

 

I love you and I couldn’t be happier to share this day with you.

 

Brandon,

I told you last night that I don’t like to be raw with my feelings about love in front of other people, but I realized that’s actually a lie–I just need to write it down and then I’m a waterfall of affection.  So, let me shower on you for a little bit.

I don’t know what I’d do or what state I’d be in without you.  When I feel like I need to be a rock for everyone you let me be weak and still know that I have strength.  You listen to me, you encourage me, you motivate me to be the kind of person I aspire to be, and you change.

 

And that’ something that’s made me want to, and be happy to, stay.  You’re willing to try the uncomfortable emotions, the scary new environments, the challenging situations.  That’s how I want to live my life, so it’s nice that we an do it together.

 

There’s actually quite a few things I like about the way you live:

 

You’re not perfect, and I love that about you.

You are so fun–you get drunk with me and you’ll stay up past midnight.

You finally learned how to argue with me and now you can’t stop. 😋

But, when we do argue you always try to hear my side, to understand where I’m coming from,, and you respect me even if you think I’m so totally wrong.

You’re now a push-over–I need someone who’s just as stubborn as me.

You don’t give up. You believe in having dreams.  You go after them and then dream even bigger.

You make me feel safe, so loved, and beautiful.

You are okay without me…but damn does it feel good to have you want me by your side.  

You make me watch shooting stars with you, you go camping with me, you keep trying new things.

You laugh at me, with me, and make me laugh sometimes too.

You want to travel the world and help as much as you can along the way.

 

So, no matter what happens, whether we stay together for our whole lives or the opposite, I know that I love who you are and I’m so happy for the things we get to share together.

 

Brandon, you are me rock and my wings, my lightness and my weight.

Let’s keep doing the impossible together.

 

Sending love and joy out to you all today.  Thank you for all the ways you’ve touched our lives and the ways you continue to honor and carry on Carol’s memory.

 

100 Blankets

Today is 4 years since my mom’s body stopped working.

A lot of time has passed and my family and I carry on now pretty well.  We laugh and take trips.  My dad is doing well learning how to move on, my brother is growing in his independence (my mom would be so proud!), and I’m learning how to create again.  Maybe I will keep writing even though I chose to back away from it for a bit.  My mom always loved to see what I would create.  I think I may just keep sharing what words are in me.  So many of them are because of her.

Of course today has had it’s hard and painful moments, but it also was my last day of summer before I start teaching again.  It was a day at the beach with 3 people I love.  It was breezes, iced lattes, and a good new book.  It was belly laughter about the difference between hotdish and casserole and feeling my partners arms around me in the waves of the ocean.  It really was a beautiful day.

She taught me to appreciate these moments.  She told me not to find wealth in material, but to see richness in friends, art, and optimism.  She taught me to be grateful.

Today I am so grateful for the love and memories I have of her.  And, I’m grateful for a world of  “family, friends, even strangers who are willing to love.”

This journal entry from 2 days before my mom died really stuck out to me today.  I wanted to share it tonight.

August 24th, 2014

And I’m back here again, ready to write.

The sad story of a mother who’s dying and a world that has loved her so much.

My aunt says today how she didn’t want her picture with my mom because she doesn’t want to remember her like this…  I want to remember it all.  

I want to sit in bed with her and see her smile when I ask if she wants to cuddle.  I want to wait for that lucid moment when I know she’s listening to us talk around her.  I want to do my best to walk her to the bathroom, move her body for her when her mind says get up and her muscles just stay like jelly. I want to be here, helping her with it all, because she is alive and I love her.

Not that it’s not the most difficult thing ever…it is.  But maybe it’s a part of the healing process already, doing everything I can to take care of her through it all.  She cared for me as a screaming, incapable baby; how could a part of me not be happy to take care of her as a dying adult.

I love her so much.  The pain is too strong because of that…but people bring in so much joy everyday.  Flowers, talks with friends, and friends, and friends, time together, feeling emotions, holding hands.  It is both true that there is so much beauty still in this world, and that the world feels heavy, dark, and gray.

So ending today with a reminder…not to do any last minute relationship building that guilt could whisper will make it better,  (We’ve done it; we’ve had an amazing relationship, and although we did not do all things we sure did a lot and should feel content with a close, loving mother-daughter relationship.) but to take it day by day.  Do not be concerned about tomorrow, tomorrow will worry about itself.  Instead fix your mind on now, and the love that you hold in each moment.

Because I think I’m realizing that even when she leaves there will always be love.  I will miss her and be so sad to not share things with her, but I will not be naked, in a world without connections.  I will be surrounded the the 100 blankets of family, friends, even strangers who are willing to love.

She taught me that it was out there, and I will remember it even when she is gone.

I love you now as much as yesterday

Today is my mom’s birthday and I have to count to remember that she would have been 64 today.  I’m sure my dad has thought a time or two about Paul McCartney’s song “64” and that McCartney wasn’t with his first wife at that age either, although their separation was for much different reasons.

 

My mom would have sang it to my dad and they would have laughed and smiled together.

 

But most days I’m not dwelling on what it would’ve been like to have my mom with me anymore.  Most of the days I’m just enjoying my job at a high school that lets me get to know students instead of just teach them.  I’m settling into our new old house that my mother almost feels a part of because I know she would have loved all the intricate parts.  She would talk about the stained glass windows, wood floors and mantle pieces, and how “they just don’t make houses like they used to.” I’m appreciating time with Brandon and how he is such a perfect match for me.  This year for my birthday he made me feel so special with secret gifts and guests, just like my mom always used to.  I’ve been realizing that he helps make missing her less painful because he has so many parts of her personality in him.  Most days I’m getting to focus on building stronger relationships with my dad and brother.  There’s always a bright side that you can find in tragedy (something my mother taught all of us).  I’ve found a real relationship with my dad and a renewed closeness with my brother. Those things would make my mom so happy.  It makes it all better to know she would be so proud of all of us.

 

Most days now I don’t cry when I think of her.  Most times when I’m telling stories I’m laughing and happy to remember.  I feel grateful that so many people that I’ve met after my mom died have told me that they feel like they’ve met her just from the stories and pictures I’ve shown them.   It’s an honor to carry on her stories, to continue her legacy of optimism.

 

So, today when I feel sadness and grief come back I welcome them.  Grief no longer overwhelms me; now it reminds me of the gift that my mother was to all of us.

 

It’s a strange thing– this moving on and living life.  Sometimes I fear that as life continues I’m walking further and further away from the memories of my mother.  But today as I celebrate her I know that I don’t have to worry about losing her in that way.  I hear her voice through my brother when he tells me that mom would be proud of me for standing up for what I believe in, and for working to educate and elevate those experiencing poverty and oppression.  I feel her in the hugs from friends and coworkers who probably don’t even know that they remind me of my mother when they give that good squeeze.  I see her in my own blue hair that I wouldn’t have had the guts to get if I wasn’t able to tell myself, “my mom would LOVE this!”  And I hear her again and again in my head telling me she loves me.

 

Happy birthday mom.  I love you now as much as yesterday, and I always will.

 

 

2 Years Gone Tomorrow

Missing my momma today (not like I don’t miss her every day–I do, but today is different.)

 

I’m to that place where I know nothing will bring her back.  I’m at that step when you accept that the person you love, your mother, your best friend, is never coming back.

 

I’m not telling sweet stories about how everything is going to be okay, because it would’ve been better with her here, us telling stories to each other about the last adventure and mishap we went through.

 

The hole doesn’t get smaller, you just get used to it as you walk through your day, always a little more empty than you were before she died.

 

2 years gone tomorrow.  I wish I could wish you back.

 

But you’re gone. And I know that.  And I’ll still make you proud momma.  I’ll still keep trying to fix everything and enjoy life while I’m at it.

 

I’ll still keep holding you, your memories, your lessons, your love with me forever (or for my forever—as long as that may be.)

 


 

No one knew how to make me feel better like my momma did.

 

I’ve dealt with depression probably since middle school, I just didn’t realize it was depression until I was an adult.

 

At night when I was a kid I used to get sad and I didn’t know why. I would usually find my mother, or buzz her on the intercom from the basement and tell her that I wasn’t feeling well.  She’d come down to my room and I’d tell her how overwhelmed and bad I felt. She would always hold me and tell me that it’s okay to cry. “Sometimes we just get full of emotions and have to let them out.”

 

I still struggle with my emotions, usually now it’s in the morning; not wanting to get out of bed because what’s the point. She used to make me get up too ( I always hated that) and would tell me, “Don’t waste the daylight!”  Now I have a guilt complex about sleeping in, even though I do it all the time.  But it can be a good voice in there too, telling me to live this life and not let the dark thoughts and corners eat me up.

 

“Get out there and do something!”

Not today though mom.  Today I’m going to sit inside, cry, and remember you.

And I think you would say that’s okay, and want to hold me if you could.

Loved and remembered. Carol Ann (Comstock) Weiss ~ January 22 1953 - August 26 2014

Loved and remembered.   Carol Ann (Comstock) Weiss ~ January 22 1953 – August 26 2014

 

Fireworks on the 4th

Not only did my mother love fireworks, she also loved to try and capture a good one with a photo. Usually they are pretty elusive, but my mom got a pretty good one in this shot here.

Not only did my mother love fireworks, she also loved to try and capture them with a photo. Usually they were pretty elusive, but she got a good one in this shot.

Two years ago today my mom sat in her wheel chair at MSUM’s Nemzek field.  A yearly ritual, we would park nearby, walk up to the stands, listen to the cover band play old American classics and wait for the lights to dim.  Once it was fully dark we would see the first reload shoot up with a “thwump”, a swirling smoke stream left in its wake, and then the first “pop” and “ahh” would echo the stands.  My mom was usually the loudest to “ooo” and “ahh”; sometimes a pop would sparkle so impressively she would start to clap.  She always remembered to tell us that the “palm tree” ones were her favorite—an opinion that I shared either because of her immense proselytization of their beauty and “awesomeness” or just because they really are the best and most awesome—I’ll never really be sure.

 

Two years ago was different though.  This time we sat on the side because my mother would never be able to make it up the steps of the bleachers.  We brought her walker/wheelchair and parked in the handicap spots about 100 meters from where we plopped our chairs on the grass.  It was still a great view and you could hear the music off the side of the bleachers.   My mother had wanted to go and had rallied a significant amount of energy just to make it to this unorthodox spot.  We talked about small things that I can’t remember much until the fireworks began. After the first pop or two it wasn’t an “ooo” and “ahh” that I heard, but a remark filled with knowledge and sadness, “I just keep thinking—long pause—that these are the last fireworks that I’ll see.”

 

And right away I quipped back with a, “You don’t know that mom.  You might be able to see them next year.  Things could get better like they have before!” But, she did know and had grasped something remarkable that few of us get to experience.

 

What would it be like to see fireworks with eyes that knew they were the last you’d ever see?  What would it be like to be aware that it was the end?  Even in old age it’s rare to know exactly when you’re going to go.  How good and bad and overwhelming and peaceful would it feel to get to say goodbye to someone with finality?

 

My mother, in her brown wig with highlights and her uncomfortable walker/wheelchair sitting outside the Moorhead football field, knowing this would be it; “ooo” and “ahh” she continued after we both let the comments be forgotten.  “These palm tree ones are my favorite.  I always love the way they sparkle.”

 

Me too mom.  And I still do.