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Monday, March 7, 2016

A Life Saved And A Life Stolen


My Mother was in Australia last week and I was asking her (and taking notes) on how she (almost) always caught me when I was up to no good.

Except that one time when I stole her car before I had a license. I never got in trouble for it so I suspected she couldn't prove it.

I was trying to get her to admit how or if she really knew.

What happened was, my parents were out of town and during one of my Grandmother's epic afternoon naps I decided to sneak my Mother's car out of the garage.

As I pulled into my friend Laurie's driveway she wasn't quite quick enough. Her mother, hot on her heels, practically leapt at my window; "Dawn, I didn't know you got your license?" (This would have been big news).

My stomach turned to ice and I will never forget that moment. It was like being interrogated in a movie. I looked her right in the eye and lied.

"I just got it," I replied, trying to be vague and casual.

Laurie's Mom raised an eyebrow but appeared satisfied enough to let us go. Where you ask? To buy candy at the local pharmacy. We might have shared a cigarette. I can't really remember.

When the story came up my Mom asked if Laurie and I kept in touch I said; "No, but I should look her up soon."

A week later I learned she was found dead on her bathroom floor, weeks before her 35th birthday. I never got to contact her.

The car jacking story perfectly encapsulates how dangerously innocent we were back then; ballsy, stupid yet not (too) jaded- we went to buy sour patch kids for Christ's sake. Definitely not worth getting caught over. Well maybe I'm speaking for me because even at a young age Laurie was skeptical, smart, opinionated. She kept a close circle. I always admired that about her.

Laurie died of a drug overdose. And before you judge her, know that she once saved me from a similar fate.

It was another stupid thing I did as a teen. Mom was out of town and Dad was supervising. He agreed to let me have a small party. Two of my mates acquired fake ID's, a gallon of Gin and a gallon of Vodka.

We were sitting in my bedroom drinking Gin and Juice like our Rap idols (what else would suburban white kids do on a Saturday night?) I decided to kick the party up a notch and snag some attention by challenging the boys to a chugging contest. Right out of the bottle, no juice. Things got real messy from there.

I remember someone breaking up the party after I started vomiting. They tried to put me into bed but I continued to throw up.

I would spend the next 8 hours or so on my bathroom floor, violently ill, with Laurie by my side.

She spoke to me soothingly, held back my hair, fed me sips of Pepto Bismol, stripped me down to my underwear when my Dad instructed her to throw me in the shower. I whimpered, puked, called out for my ex boyfriend. It was pathetic. She never said a word to anyone.

I know how it sounds, you're probably thinking it's simply a right of passage- we all have that 'one time' when we are inexperienced with alcohol. But I swear to this day- I almost died that night. I could feel the reaper breathing down my neck. If I wanted to give up I could have. It scared the shit out of me so I fought like hell even though every time I opened my eyes my stomach heaved.

I woke up on my bathroom floor with a pillow and blanket. My skin was grey and I had chipped off part of a front tooth. But I made it.

I know she didn't leave my side until I was completely safe. I doubt she slept at all until she got home. But that's how she was. She always tried to save everyone around her. Never herself though, never herself.

We all do foolish things for various reasons. Sometimes we get away with them, sometimes we get saved and sometimes we don't.

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posted by Unknown @ 3:59 PM   7 Comments

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

I'm Not A Bowie Fan But I Get It


I'm not trying to jump on the Bowie bandwagon here. I just had a conversation Friday night about how I don't find him attractive (and now I feel a teeny-bit bad about it).

It's just that I think David Bowie has been only a subconscious part of my life's soundtrack. I am a self-researched music aficionado. I didn't have hippy parents or older siblings who introduced me to him. My first CD was The Bodyguard soundtrack followed by Mariah Carey's. I didn't discover the Beatles until my teen years and didn't listen to Queen until College.

When I heard the news of Bowie's death I could not help but recognize his invaluable contributions to music, pop culture and sexuality. He was a talented, influential artist who loved the crap outta his wife and family. By all accounts a really good dude and roll model.

And it's not that I don't like him or his music- it's just that I never latched onto him. I do realize that many of my beloved 90's rappers paid homage as they rhymed over his beats (Ice Ice Baby much?) Without Bowie- there would be no P Diddy.

Like most music lovers (aka everyone) I felt the collective sadness over his passing. Then this morning I learned that in his last few months of life he had been working on an album. I could not stop thinking about that. This song was released two days before he died:

Most people had no idea he was sick. He didn't announce it asking for prayers or attention. Money could not save him. So he did what any artist does. He created. Any background respect I had for David Bowie has turned to direct admiration. In his last moments he did what made him happy, without ever giving up.

I read somewhere that the new album is a goodbye to his fans but I would bet it's much more than that. It's immortality.

When we die all we leave behind is what we've created. When our time is up possessions will be scattered, donated or trashed. The only thing left is our performance.

If you want to live an authentic life, to be happy and to be fulfilled- just take a look at the legacy of Mr. David Bowie.


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posted by Unknown @ 6:36 PM   0 Comments

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

How to Support Someone Who Lost A Child When You Haven't


I have not lost a child so maybe I have no business writing about it-but hear me out. 

Parents who have experienced child loss need support from people who could never begin to comprehend the depth of their loss. The irony is tragic.

So how can we offer better support for something we don't understand? I think one way to do that is to speak about it openly. Child loss and miscarriages happen too-frequently so chances are you know someone going through it.

My greatest fear in life is losing my daughter. I dislike making blanket statements but I know I share this sentiment with all parents. I think that our collective fear is one of a few underlying reasons why the topic of child loss is so taboo.


There are a few common misguided thoughts which surface, almost subconsciously, that may add to our feelings of helplessness and even frustration because we can’t make it better. By acknowledging some of them here along with suggestions on how to help from someone who has lost a child- my hope is that we can all be self aware enough to adjust our thinking and create a safe space for loss-families to share their grief. 


Parents spend energy worrying about child safety every single day. 
Did you cut those grapes in half? Are the power outlets baby-proofed? Are we too close to the street? Is the air safe to breathe? Some of this stuff is within our control but most of it is not- especially when it comes to illness or SIDS. When a couple loses a child they become the physical manifestation of our greatest fear. Facing this reality can be beyond difficult. We may not mean to- but if we behave awkwardly it can make the bereaved parent feel even worse.

We think about the length of a child’s life. We don’t know which is harder- losing one so young, or losing one we’ve come to know so well. Irrelevant. It does not matter if a child has lived ten years, ten minutes or even if a baby has not had the chance to breathe outside it's womb- he or she needs to be acknowledged and grieved. Even an unborn baby will touch the lives of it's parents, grandparents, family and friends. The death of a child at any age means the death of a future. 

We feel awkward and we don't know what to say.
A very close friend of mine had a son who only lived for four days in the hospital. I remember writing to her telling her that someday she would have another chance at having a family- a variation of the old; “Don’t worry you’ll have another one,” comment. Looking back this was an dumb thing to say. Why? Because in that moment I should have realized one child cannot possibly replace the other. I know that now that I’m a Mom. 

I hope we all know that saying, “Don’t worry you can have another one,” is inappropriate on many levels because you don’t really know that for sure- especially if there are fertility issues involved. The parents did not plan on losing their baby and may not have a back up plan.

Note: (My gracious friend never once implied she was offended, it’s only my own hindsight which makes me wish I worded things differently.)

In her grief my friend took to the Internet. She wrote about her experience, of how losing her son changed her life forever. She inadvertently educated those in her life about the emotional roller coaster of losing a son, trying for another, and the scary health complications faced as a result. She wrote about how having her second boy was not a band-aid but actually caused fresh pain. She told us how she yearns to be acknowledged as a mother of two and for her first son to be remembered. She speaks about the struggle to find ways to parent a deceased child when there is no forthcoming advice for that.

It seems like many people didn’t know what to say after her son died so they said nothing at all- which crushed her already broken heart over and over again. 

We need to start listening, really listening, to people who have lost their children. It’s up to us- the ones who do not share that cavernous loss- to make sure we don’t add to the pain with our reaction, inaction or indecision.


Inspired by my friend’s bravery, honesty and strength I wanted to pass along what she has shown me. I asked her “How can we better support someone who has lost a child?” 

Here are some of the answers she gave:

Stay. 
Please stick around. This is the most important one! When close friends and family avoid you because they don’t know how to help- this means to secondary losses for the mother. The loss of a child is more than any person can bare so don’t disappear.

Ask.
All Mother’s and Father’s grieve differently. You would think there are common sense do’s and don’ts but there are not. The best thing you can do for your loved one is ask what they need. Some may need to talk about it and some may need the opposite. If you don’t know what to say and your words are falling you- just say that. Many times they won’t know what to say either but being honest opens the door to allow the parent to speak up if they can.

Talk.
When you lose a child, you feel like you are thrown into this club you never signed up for. There are new terms and sensitive ways of speaking about things- for example the term ‘loss Mom,’ or ‘rainbow baby.’ As the bereaved parents navigate through this new speech and communication they must also educate those around them which can be difficult. Just try and listen, and be respectful.

Check in.
Being around babies can be tricky for a loss-parent. Holding someone else’s baby too soon or hearing giggles and cries may trigger post traumatic stress. It does not mean that they don’t love you or your children, they just miss their own. A good way to talk to a friend about this is to say, “I know being around other children may be difficult for you right now but I’ll check back in with you about this later.”

Expect Change.
If you lose a child you will never be the same again. You will have to find a ‘new normal’ no amount of therapy will help you get back to your ‘old self’ again. Remember that everyone grieves in a unique way so pushing someone to ‘get professional help’ or ‘move on,’ will not expedite the process, in fact it may do the opposite.

Be Patient.
In the end the best way to show your love and support is to hang in there. Check in with your friend. Wait for them to be ready to communicate with your and share their needs but please remember to reach out often- don’t put the onus on the parents to contact you if they need something.

 Much of this advice is common sense if think about it but I believe the problem is we chose not to think about it. Case in point- I've wanted to write about this topic for many months now but I've been putting it off because it makes me sad, which in turn makes me feel like a bit of a coward.

I can only hope that these words can help some of us learn to be better friends to people with broken hearts.

What to say to the grieving.

What not to say- the basics. 

On remembering and empathy. 

7 common mistakes people make when a friend’s child dies. 

How to be there for a bereaved parent- a helpful pamphlet. 

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posted by Unknown @ 12:54 PM   8 Comments

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

One + Four = Life: Change

‘For a seed to achieve it’s greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn't understand growth it would look like complete destruction.’ Cynthia Occelli




Sometimes life breaks down in order to allow you to rebuild. I can’t help but feel like this weekend was the perfect example of how change is the only constant.

Recently there have been changes in my family, my career, my daughter and my home. All of these elements are at different stages in the cycle of life, death, birth, destruction and growth.

I woke up Saturday morning to the buzzing of chainsaws and the grinding of a wood-chipper. The trees in our backyard were being cut down to clear the way for an extension on our home. I guess you could say Saturday was the first official day of the renovation which should have been exciting.

I could not help feeling nostalgic for my beloved Meyer Lemon tree. I don’t know much about gardening but I did know that this tree has produced so many lemons at such a constant rate, that everyone who came to the house mentioned it- and left with a bag of lemons because we could never possibly go through them fast enough.


We bought our home from an almost 90-year-old woman. We gutted and restored it before our daughter was born and when elderly Joan came over to see the results (she keeps in touch with the neighbors) her last remark was to ask if she could have some lemons from 'her tree.' It was such a tender moment, Joan seeing a brand new home and a brand new family where hers once grew. Despite the modifications inside, 'her lemon tree' remained gnarled and strong in the backyard, unaware of time passing, still hard at work, pumping out its juicy yellow fruit. 

For some reason though, for almost six months this year, the tree has produced next-to-nothing. I cannot remember a time where this happened in the five years since Matt bought the house- even when we had tenants in it. 

Perhaps the tree was going through some sort of metamorphosis itself. I had to purchase lemons at the supermarket for the first time in ages. I checked often, willing lemons to appear and when those first green fruit-buds peeped out of the branches I thought to myself- Finally! Now I’ll be able to get back to experimenting with Limoncello and salt cures. 

A tear rolled off my face when Matt told me the lemon tree was the first one tackled Saturday morning. I fought so hard to keep that tree but in the end it was too risky and expensive. Matt told me the tree removalists had been kind enough to pick all the half-ripe lemons from the center where we were not able to reach (I had already made Matt scavenge everything he could the night before.) Unfortunately most of the lemons were sacrificed, too green to pick and won't ripen off the vine.

As sad as losing the tree was, nothing prepared me for the news to come next.
“I spoke to your Mom, and your Dad this morning,” Matt started. I could tell he was choosing his words carefully.
“What is it,” I said, eyes narrowing, more as a statement than a question.
“It’s Bella...she’s gone to doggy heaven.”
“No!”
And then the tears came for real. My dog, the one I got when I was 21 ,who was my companion and roommate for 8 years while I stumbled into adulthood. The one who was there through broken hearts, moving-boxes, job-hopping, and indecision. She was the one I came home to. My constant and my companion. 

When I moved to Australia I gave her up because I could not bear risking her health- flying for more than 24 hours as cargo and entering quarantine for a month. It broke my heart but I gave her a better, happier life as a grand-dog, and in turn I gave my Mom a little piece of me to keep while I moved thousands of miles away.

And now she is gone, just two weeks before I could have seen her one last time. I could have been there to hold her in her last moments. And be with my Mom so she would not have had to experience that heartache alone. After losing my grandmother less than three months ago it just triggers and stings.

The only thing that could make me feel better was to hold my daughter close and smell her hair and remain grateful for her health and warmth.

This weekend I was cheered by friends who made me smile and laugh. I’m looking forward to the new addition to our house, the upcoming visit to my hometown, hugs from my Mom, Dad and Brother. And not least importantly, the new beginnings of a career in art- the fulfillment of my dreams.

And as these changes swirl around me, caught in the middle, I will undoubtedly change too. 

I think it's how we accept and absorb these transformations which provides the opportunity for renewed grace.

One
All that is left of the 40 year old lemon tree, but it will make the way for our spacious new family home. Matt has promised we will buy a new lemon tree and use it in a topping out ceremony, once the roof is complete (oh the things you learn when your partner is in the construction industry!)

Two
National Geographics from the 1920's and 30's that I bought at an auction with my Grandmother. They are my inspiration behind a new art project I will be starting once time allows.

Three
Our dearest Isabella. Loved by many, loyal to all and particular as the day was long. She will be forever in my heart and her name forever tattooed on my ankle.

Four
My love, inspiration and new beginning. We can finally get that hair into a 'pony.' Her conversational capabilities astound me on a daily basis. Today she asked to go to 'eshoping' in the 'beep-beep.' She is definitely an apple who didn't fall far from the tree...or should I say lemon?

How has your week been? I'm hoping for a less intense one next week. 

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posted by Unknown @ 7:49 AM   4 Comments

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Holding On And Letting Go


Three years ago right before Easter, I booked a flight to go home and say goodbye to my Grandmother who was dying. The night before I was scheduled to leave, she made a miraculous recovery.

I cancelled the flight for a full refund and made it a point to visit the US for thanksgiving. I considered it a great gift to be able to see her ‘one last time.’ We had turkey, I took her shoe shopping, I asked her about her life and she told me about the farm where she grew up. 

The visit conjured up a million more questions about her life. There was so much I needed to know and not enough time, especially because we lived on different continents.

A year later, right before Christmas she was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. A death sentence. I felt like I was losing her all over again and it physically hurt. Turns out it was a misdiagnosis, she indeed had cancer but a much less aggressive form. The pain for our family was tangible as it felt like we lost her twice...but then we got two more chances to appreciate her.
The following Christmas my Grandmother gave me the most valuable gift I had ever received. She knew about my interest in her history so she gave me a handwritten memory journal. It's super retro-looking so she must have had it for ages. The little album has questions about her childhood, teen years, marriage and children. In her true matter-of-fact style, she does not wax-on emotionally but answers simply, sometimes with one or two words in her secret (barely legible) handwriting. 
When I start missing her now, I open the little book and it reminds me of how down to Earth she was. She would probably tell me to cheer up- that death is part of life, that she was lonely, ready to go, and that I should just get on with it. Oh and to pray. She definitely would definitely tell me to pray.
One question that struck a chord with me was "What fads do you remember best?"- and she writes that in the 1940's they wore rolled up jeans and men’s white tee shirts. How cool is that? I love the rebelliousness and the androgynous confidence such an outfit embodies. As a way to reconnect with her I’m going to rock this simple look with the bright red lipstick she wore when she was young.
Doing my best to channel her strength
After she died I mourned all the conversations we would never have, especially about parenting because I'm so new to the game. Then I found this letter she wrote me years ago- right before I married Matt, when my Mom was having trouble coming to terms with me permanently living in Australia.

My grandmother said “give your Mom some slack, she misses you and knows she won’t see much of you or the grandchildren. She will accept whatever makes you happy. We Moms think we know that is best for our children but we are not always right.”
Words of wisedom
Now that I'm a mother myself I see her point from an entirely different perspective. A little snippet of the parenting advice I craved just sitting around in my nightstand for me to discover at just the right time (I had been using the letter as a bookmark.)

The last time I saw my grandmother, one year ago at Easter, she had gone downhill. Our visit was cut short due to her poor health but I was able to snap the only two photos  I have of my-sweet-Lavinia in her great-grandmother’s arms.
On my trip to Tasmania in January I found a vintage spoon with the Sydney Opera House on it. My Gram had a souvenir spoon collection of her travels so I bought this one for her. I remember talking to the postal worker (he thought spoons were an odd thing to collect) and we chuckled about how the postage costed more than the spoon itself. Amidst our chatter and corralling my toddler, I almost forgot to include the little handwritten post-it note I wrote to include in her package.
My Grandmother's collection
That little post-it note would become my last words to my grandmother. Had I only known when I wrote it, I would have penned her a novel, told her how much I loved her and how she was one of my strongest role models growing up. I would have promised to tell my daughter where she gets her hands and eyebrows from, how her Great-Gram was a pillar of the community being an elected official and working mother in the 1950's, how she was funny and beautiful without realizing it.

She took a turn for the worse in late February and again I found myself willing her to hang on for just one last time. Unfortunately my 'just one last time's' were all used up.

My grandmother died in March and it was killing me that I couldn't remember when we had last spoken or what we talked about specifically.

I was beside myself because I didn't know if my Grandmother received the gift I sent her before she went into the hospital for the last time. Eventually my Mom sent me this photo: 
She found the spoon and my note next to my grandmothers favorite chair. Gram would have seen it just a few days before she passed away. I would go out on a limb and say that this would count as our last conversation, as one-sided as it may seem. But she knew I was thinking of her and I was able to have my 'one last time.'

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posted by Unknown @ 8:30 AM   16 Comments