The Best and The Worst of Us

There seems to be little doubt that it is the more extreme and emotional situations in our lives that reveal the true natures of our characters. Our many and varied weaknesses and our incredible and laudable strengths are revealed as we are buffeted back and forth beneath the waves of a relentless force of life over which we have little or no control. There is no escaping these revelations of our humanity to our loved ones and others, who likely are already aware at least to some degree of the existence of them, and to ourselves, who may be basically clueless that we possess certain traits until the very moment we are in the throes of the crisis that brings them bubbling to the surface of our being and shocks us beyond words with our own perfidy or devotion.

I write this because of the realization that I have come to regarding my many struggles with depression over the past several years. I always felt they were due primarily to the circumstances life placed me in that were beyond my control; the loss of beloved pets, the loss of close family members (also beloved), the battles with relentless diseases faced by many members of my family, financial woes, issues of failing health both for myself and for those I love, and so on. I now realize that, although such things are often extremely difficult to bear, the ensuing struggles with depression are not merely "natural" but a reflection of our inner struggles with at least two of our strongest weaknesses: anger and self-pity. The whole of depression is much more complex than that, both psychologically and chemically, so this is an over simplification on my part, but it is one that led me to a personal revelation I had not faced up to before. In many ways, despite the harsher circumstances of my life, my depression has been the result of my struggles with my own weaknesses, my own lack of strength in many key areas of my own character that have left me wanting and in need of help in areas where others people seem to have little or no difficulties coping. This was not so much a self-condemnatory revelation as the realization that we all have these areas of weakness within, as well as areas of strength. Its just that the areas of weakness are the ones that cause us the most trouble and so get most of the attention.

The toughest part of facing up to my own self-pity is the fact that I do not know how to not feel sorry for myself at having lost my younger sister. It has hurt beyond anything I ever imagined could hurt and I still struggle with the tears that come at odd moments as the holidays approach and I am reminded of how much Patty put into them for her childrens' sake. Last year we were still all in shock at this time of year. This year, although cushioned by time, we still feel the loss of the mother of the only two grandchildren of my parents, one of the four of our group of siblings, and the pressures brought to bear upon each of us because of that loss express themselves differently in each case. I am alternately weepy and determinedly celebratory. Our brother, whose own struggles with mental illness have left him utterly defeated and , in many ways defenseless, feels the pressures and stresses of the seasons but may not link them to Patty's not being here. "She who wishes to remain anonymous" is likely burying herself in a multitude of other pursuits, perhaps taking moments to cry, perhaps not and if not, becoming more and more stressed out with each days approach to a formerly very joyful time of year. Dad and our stepmother may be going away for the holiday, undecided as of our last telephone call, and I have assured them I will take my brother out for Chinese on Christmas day and make sure he has gifts to open and so forth. I will miss them if they choose to be elsewhere this year, but I can also understand their desire to get away and experience a different sort of celebration.

My plans for Christmas involve the baking and decorating of a zillion little Christmas tree shaped cakes and the delivery of said cakes as well as candy canes (the good kind) to various places we have done business, and found friends, over the years and to various family members as well. Not a very generous gift in many ways but time, unlike money, is not in such short supply right now and I am looking forward to making each little tree as unique as possible. I hope everyone will know that the same amount of love is going into these little cakes as went into last years packages, bags, and bows. (UPDATE: Due to illness and injury - the usual stuff - I only got one batch of the little cakes decorated and delivered. They were eaten and declared delicious by my Dad and stepmom and one other plain batch delivered to my niece, who had requested that no icing be used on her cakes. The rest of the cakes sat in the prretty green boxes in our kitchen until they grew some very interesting types of mold which, though icky and sort of fuzzy, was quite interesting to look at and squish agaist the sides of the boxes as I dumped all of them out. There were not quite a zillion of them so there was not as much waste as would have otherwise been the case. There was, however, a great deal of regret at the lost work and happiness those cakes could have redeemed. This year. - I.)

Some of those friends the cakes and candy canes will be going to have also been suffering. At least two of our acquaintances have lost very close, multiple family members within much shorter frames of time than we have experienced and my heart goes out to them both. I will shed a few more tears this year that are not on my own behalf and that I know are not born of self-pity, because they are for others who are struggling this year as we were last year. I will try to stop by to say a quick "hello" to both of them and , hopefully, bring at least a little cheer along with the delivery of sugar shock supplies. The gifts will be for all of the people who work for them as well as for the individuals themselves as that seems the right way to handle the holiday issues here. Hugs where they may be needed will also be administered.

Last year, in the midst of everything, I found some little tear-shaped mini ornaments. I bought all I could find wiht the thought of perhaps writing a poem for family members and gifting each with the poem and a "tear" in honor of missing loved ones, but I think I will do something different instead. For years now I have been slowly gathering ornaments - nothing too expensive or showy -with the thought of someday having a Christmas tree of icicles, snowflakes, birds, and a white angel on top. To that I will add the tears, opalescent and crystalline, as a reminder that, in our humanity, there will always be tears and loss intermingled with the beauties and joys of being alive. Such is the price of living.

Many happy moments for each of you during these holidays. May love, peace, harmony and happiness become foremost in life in the years to come.

Izzlebug

23 More Days Until Christmas - Kid Time

As my niece reminded me on the phone last night, it was only 24 more days until Christmas! (Now down to 23 days.) I have a feeling I will hear the continued countdown each time I speak to her until the eagerly awaited event has passed. As with last year, the holidays without her Mom, my younger sister, will be different and difficult, but not in the same way as last year. Last year we were all still in shock. In many ways this year feels like the first one without Patty, but it is a milder grief, more of an intense loneliness than the gut-wrenching pain of having just lost her we were all experiencing last year.

Despite the depressive tone of my blog, I continue to write about my sister because I hope that anyone who may have experienced a similar loss, assuming they happen upon this spot in cyber space, will know that they are not alone and decidedly not abnormal for still thinking of their loved one more than a year after having lost them, especially not during holidays and other special times of year when family and friends are so much more in our focus than other times. We are not alone on this planet, this ever increasingly small globe of rock and earth we call home. It is normal to miss someone we have lost for years after the fact and we need to accept that certain aspects of grief last a lifetime.

That said, I would like to detour for a few moments to comment on an article I read in the Atlantic in the November 2008 edition. In an article titled Why I Blog by Andrew Sullivan, I found much of interest and much to encourage me about blogging in general. Although my blog has primarily been in the form of an online journal and more of a catharsis for me as my life has turned upside down in the middle of everything, Mr. Sullivan has opened new vistas for me as to the possibilities and true nature of blogging. Anyone serious about blogging, be they stolidly determined to remain the same (which may end up being me, I don't know yet - I'm still thinking about it) in their approach, or whether they are looking for a new way to express their own unique blogginess, will find much of interest in this article. The tone is upbeat and enthusiastic and Mr. Sullivan is both erudite and passionate about his subject but not to the point of being overbearing or know-it-all. I will provide the link, to follow, here but not in a very tech savvy way, for which I hope those of you more adept will forgive me for the moment, my mind and energies having been elsewhere for quite sometime now:

http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200811/andrew-sullivan-why-i-blog

Peace and happiness to all for this holiday season.

Izzlebug

"Be as wary as serpants and as innocent as doves." Matthew 10:16

The above quotation will be explained in a moment, but first I want to both remind and reassure anyone who may be keeping up with my blog that I have not forgotten my project of answering the "presidential" questionnaire. I am working (slowly) on transcribing it into a format that will print properly on my computer, as the copy of th efile I downloaded from the internet refuses to print clearly and I am having to retype the entire thing. As soon as that is complete I will try to begin the process of answering those many questions, albeit with tongue in cheek on some of them - after all, I am not really applying for work with the White House or the incoming presidential administration and the questions are really quite "thorough" in their scope of the lives of the people answering them. That said, on to the above mentioned quote.

In all of the years I spent attending churches, bible studies, etc. I have always wondered a little at the apparant contradiction implied in this useful bit of advice. Perhaps, in part, because of the aversion to formal education certain groups seem to cultivate and, again in part, because the knowledge needed to be as "wary as serpants" seems to negate the ability to also be as "innocent as doves." A conundrum if ever there was one and one not so easily explained away by those apologists more glib than the rest of us or those so certain of the infallability of scripture that they consistantly and persistantly turn a blind eye to the historically provable manipulations of the same by those in power within the church over the ensuing centuries. Scripture may indeed be the word of God, but man has tampered with it, perhaps irrevocably, time and time again. That the truth of what God has tried to communicate in the past may have survived to this day is probably the most miraculous occurrance of all. This is the extent of my deep thought for the day. Please feel free to comment or elaborate upon it as you wish. Conversation and educated argument are always welcome.

Tomorrow is the last weekly session for the grief counseling group, then the group will go to monthly meetings for those who would like to continue with the counseling/sharing. I would like to continue for a while, although the burden of grief has lessened considerably for me over the past few weeks, I feel there are still issues lurking in the background that I will need to deal with as they crop up. It willl be simpler to deal with them if I am still in a group rather than having to try to get back into a group if things build up again. Also, as the group moderator has said, a year really isn't that long a period of time and I still miss Patty terribly in so many ways and still worry about her children, too.

My nephew seems to be doing quite well for the moment, and I will be taking my niece and a friend of hers to see "Bolt" later today. It should be fun and relatively calorie free since finances preclude spending anything on movie theater priced treats for any of us. I will probably treat us to something afterwards though, which should be fun, too.

The holidays are approaching too quickly and, in some ways, feel more like the first ones without Patty than last year when we were all still in shock from losing her to the leukemia. I am hoping to bake about a zillion little tree-shaped cakelettes, which I will then decorate as the fancy moves me, to give to friends and family as gifts for Christmas, and have some small plans for "thank yous" for Ross's niece for hosting us, yet again, for Thanksgiving. I hope everyone enjoys what I am able to manage this year - at least I hope the little cakes will be yummy!

Again, the holidays do not feel quite as bright, quite as cheerful as in past years. Each loss to our family dimms the lights a little more and the celebrations do not carry the same joys and anticipations they used to for me, although the love that wavered on the edge of that horrible emotional abyss of grief has found new footing in new and newly recovered older relationships, made all the stronger by the bonds having been forged during such significant loss to all of us. The love, if not the anticipation, is as bright, but with a different and softer glow. Somehow our grief has softened the edges, made our love warmer and opened our hearts more to one another than before. We are diminished yet, somehow, stronger for having survived, and also more cohesive and less insecure - the worst having already happened.

May your days be merrier, brighter, but also filled with the warmth of love we now share, just without the attendant losses.

Izzlebug

Life Outside My Own Mind

Part of my effort at a full recovery from my personal losses and traumas, I have decided, is to get back to my writing and trying to focus the majority of my musings upon what is happening outside my own ongoing experiences - be they painful or otherwise - and get back into the world again, so to speak. There are two things I will be working on here in my blog that I don't know will be of interest to others, but will be the springboard for my attempt to make as full a recovery as possible from the loss of my younger sister; firstly, I have decided that as a nod to our new and historically very significant president I am going to try to answer the questions that are required of all who wish to apply for work with the Obama administration in Washington, D.C. and, secondly, to try to highlight the actions of certain people who I have found to have been particularly laudatory or that have inspired or moved me greatly. In this way I hope to honor both the period of time we are living through right now in the United States and to bring a little more recognition, however singularly unimportant and humble my efforts may be, to some of those people whose triumphs of spirit and bravery in the face of extreme persecution or threat have touched my mind and heart and left me feeling the type of inadequacy that may one day, hopefully, lead to greater and more generous actions on my part - that I might emulate while never truly equaling these individuals is all I feel I can realistically hope for, but at least I can remember them and try.

I would like to start this project by mentioning the name of one Shamsudin Agha, a mullah in Afghanistan who was brutally murdered by members of the Taliban for speaking out against the use of suicide bombings as a weapon of war. Mullah Agha lead his followers in prayer for the cessation of such practices and, as a result, was kidnapped and visciously, savagely slaughtered by those who would, as always, send others to die in order to insure their own political strength and financial and familial well-being. I have yet to hear that any of the children, family members, or good friends of those higher up in the Taliban have ever been the ones chosen to carry Jihad to the common people and infidels. This is a task in which no well known names are listed, ever, and in which only those too weak to withstand the political and religious manipulations of those determined to remain alive and in charge by any means possible are the victims with the bombs strapped to their bodies; dying in fear for promises no one knows will, or can, be kept - both for in this life and beyond, the last being a matter of faith and the former whatever the chosen sacrifices are promised or threatened with if they do not comply.

Perhaps the Mullah would have hated me on principle. I am, after all, American, culturally Christian, and female which damns me on three fronts in Muslim society, however I cannot help but recognize the bravery, the sheer courage, it took this man to offer any sort of a public protest to what has been going on in his nation for these many years. Whether it excites negative comments and emotions or not, I would like to express the feeling that it is courage such as this, the courage that governments yearn to inspire in their citizens and then hope to control absolutely, that has won wars, our own American forefathers and patriots being prime examples of both the leaders in such courage as well as inspirers and manipulators of the same.

If there is truly any justice in some ethereal afterlife for such people, I know it will not be a life that allows them to sit back without a care, but one that allows them to keep on fighting for what is true and what is right and just. Heaven, for me, would be unbearably dull with nothing except my own comfort to think about or concern me. I hope the Mullah would agree.

So, this diatribe is in honor of Shamsudin Agha, a man of genuine courage and compassion whose conscience would not allow him to remain silent and who consequently was murdered by those he stood against. May he, by such a death, become an impenetrable wall of stone to those who killed him in defense of their own selfish interests and viscious determinations.

With much love and gratitude,
Izzlebug

"Thank You" Always Seemed So Simple Before

As time has passed and, of necessity, more and more people I never thought I would meet have come and gone in all of our lives, I find myself both grateful and overwhelmed. Grateful for the kind words and smiles, cheerfully given support and comfort, silence when that has been best, and on occassion a mild scolding for forgetting all of the kindness that has been given under the extraordinary circumstances my family has found itself dealing with the past several years and overwhelmed by the sheer mass of humanity that has taken part in giving all of us this much needed and, seemingly at times, under appreciated support during our nearly endless times of grief and trial.

How do you say "thank you" to literally hundreds upon hundreds of people who may have touched your life for only a moment but left such vitality in their wake? Without all of these people I do not believe I or my family would have been able to survive what we have been going through, especially during my sister's illness and subsequent death this past year and a half. If I ever felt that I was somehow alone in the Universe all of the care and attention I have received over the past several months has blatantly exposed that supposition for the lie that it is - not any one of us is alone, perhaps isolated temporarily, but never alone. If it seems we are alone we should remember that people will come if we want them to or need them to. Maybe not always on time, but never for lack of willingness once a need is known or for lack of trying.

If, in some way, this small effort can even begin to respond to all of the strength that has been shared with us with the appropriate gratitude, then I make its offering here and now in the hope that some may read this and know it is for them. If I am able to expand upon this small missive of thanks at some later date, somehow make it grander or more public, I will do so. It does not seem as if I can begin to make it big enough or beautiful enough to express what I am feeling, what has helped sustain me, because of all of the other people I live with on this earth.

Thank You.

Izzlebug

I Used to Think Roller Coasters Were Fun...Or Was That Tailspins?

The group I am attending for the grief therapy/counseling is structured so that each week we have different exercises or assignments to accomplish (they are not set in stone, so it is not a school-like atmosphere at all) to help us get to the places we need to be in order to get through our grief processes in as healthy and sane a way as possible. It sounds a little odd to try to state here, but it really works out to be very practical within the context of the group. We do have an assignment for next week that, however, sent me into something of an emotional downspiral for several days...we are to gather pictures, write something - poems or whatever - , or make up some sort of presentation to memorialize the loved one we lost that brought us to the group. I did not realize quite how fragile I still was about Patty until I thought of gathering pictures and memories to share with the others and found myself not only grieving, but also panicking. (Sorry about the spelling here)

It never occured to me that part of the way I was coping with the loss of my younger sister was by avoiding looking at certain photographs or other momentoes of her life. Fortunately, since the time is fairly short for the assignment, the group leader is letting me bring in the DVD that our youngest sister and several of Patty's friends made for her memorial service. It focuses on Patty and her life, her special qualities, how important being a mom was to her, and how she chose to face her death. I will have to watch it at least one more time before the next meeting to make certain it will run all the way through on my laptop, make sure the proper software is on board, etc., which will be difficult, but probably not as difficult as trying to gather everything from scratch and trying to come up with something new, which I really don't feel I can face right now.

Life goes on, both a blessing and an annoyance depending upon the current state of mind I find myself in, and each day brings with it new joys and humor, new trials and concerns, new pain, new sorrow, new peace.

The cats are a comfort and a constant source of love and amusement, as they have always been, and I am forever grateful for their furry, funny company and purring animal sympathy and affections. There is nothing quite as nice as a pussycat coming up to you when you're upset to see if you're OK. They look inquiringly up at me, rub gently against my ankles and my hands, jump onto my lap or the desk in front of me, and chirrup cheerfully to me through my various heartfelt and/or pettier miseries. It's a privilege to be allowed to bury a tear-stained cheek into the soft and friendly fur on the side or back of a loving and totally accepting feline friend. That the bringing of gifts of dead mice may also be included in the equation does not lessen the joy of their other gifts to me, I just do not dwell on that particular demonstration of their love and affection for me too much.

Ross is a comfort and a source of continual change and challenge for me, as I am sure I am for him since such is the nature of relationships. I really cannot imagine where I would be or what I might possibly be doing without him in my life. He is integral to my being and I want no other man in his place. Growing older together is both the most comforting and the most frightening adventure I can imagine right now, if only due to the retrospective pains from prior losses and tragedies. He is both my greatest good and my greatest vulnerability. I feel so fortunate to have him here with me and I love him more than I can seem to express adequately. Words are both too tame and totally inadequate but to be unable to use them seems grossly unfair to him as well. I guess there will be some more unpublishable poems being written soon; the ones I have promised to burn without letting anyone else read before I die. (We'll see.)

Dad has been battling a virus for the past week and a half or so and, with the car in the garage, I have had little opportunity to spend time with my niece or my friends. I have, however, gotten to get a lot of resting done and since that seemed to be the key to getting rid of all vestiges of the virus I was dealing with for such an interminably long time, it has been, in my opinion, time well spent. It will be nice though to have the car back, as well as some energy fro doing house work and errands and getting a few one-time only chores taken care of before the major holidays arrive.

Last Christmas was really difficult, but we all managed to get through it. This Christmas will be simpler, at least for Ross and me, and I am hoping to get to bake some little cakes to use as gifts for everyone. As I learned after we lost Mom, the approaching holidays will never feel quite the same as they did before, always and forever to feel a little more hollow, a little less joyful and more lonely due to the loss of loved ones. New times and new traditions, new faces and new ways of celebrating each will come about born of necessity both emotional and logistical. It is the way of things that these changes take place; sort of like growing pains but more of a diminishing than a coming of age.

The night is still and velvet, the house silent except for the tapping of my keyboard and the hum of electronics in the background. Ross and the cats are all quiet and, hopefully, asleep, and I am wrapping up the day with my blog not knowing whether these words shall ever reach anyone who may be in need of them or not. I have been tempted to place a counter on my blog but I am too chicken to find out my only visitor is my young niece making sure her auntie is still the only "Izzlebug" on the internet. I can live with a little mystery I guess.

Peace and fair winds. May God speed you to your loved ones and your safe berths where ever you may be in the coming days.

Love, Izzlebug

Flu Season Approaches

Very soon after my last blog entry I caught a flu bug that held on for a good three weeks and is still making me cough - enough of that, but it did impact my getting back on line here. I have also noticed that there are a great many typos and other grammatical and spelling errors I have not yet corrected in many of my blog entries, for which I apologize. I will try to rectify the situation as soon as I am able to, but it may not be for awhile yet.

That said, I would like to put in a positive vote for group therapy/discussion groups. Although I missed the first of eight sessions, the people moderating the group were kind enough to call and ask if I still wanted to participate. It is a group for people who have experienced the recent (or fairly recent) loss of a loved one. I'm not sure just what I was expecting; perhaps more people or perhaps a different format. Whatever my preconceptions may have been, the reality is simpler and more organized. There are only two others participating in the group with me, as well as the moderator/psychologist, and there is plenty of time for each of us to participate and talk about the loved ones we have lost and how that loss has impacted our lives. Because of confidentiality issues I will not attempt to reveal anything about anyone else's struggles with grief other than my own, but my heart goes out to both of the others in that they are less than a year away from their losses while I have had some time to heal, even though the first anniversary of my sister's death was a very difficult time for me emotionally. Even though I still miss her desperately, my grief is no longer so raw and painful as that of the others. They are just starting to emerge from their pain, while I have had a year to get back up and moving again, albeit with a lot of help from the medications, my boyfriend and family, and now this group. I am still hoping to be able to eventually manage without the medicines for the depression and such, but also realize that may not be possible if I want to maintain a certain quality of peace of mind in my life. Time will tell.

It is a good thing, though, to hear what others are going through, how they are handling their grief, and how they feel - the sense of loss, the unreality of feelings that those we have lost can't possibly truly be gone, the realization that this grief has been such a shock to our systems that it does take recovery time to get back into life again. I hope the others are able to make it back, too.

In the interim, we have adopted another cat - my boyfriend's sister's cat - and she will hopefully be able to integrate successfully into our cat family. Her name is Samantha and she is really a very sweet and funny kitty. She is also very happy to be in a home with people again, as she had to be left in a house without her owner present for quite awhile. Although fed and checked on regularly, she was a spectacularly lonely pussycat and is really enjoying having company again. We are trying to follow some advice given to another person by the SPCA, which was to keep the new cat seperate from the others for the first two weeks and then introduce them into the household. The two weeks will be up this Friday. I look forward to the introductions with some interest and not a little trepidation. I'll try to keep you posted.

I have also given the group leader (the group discussed above) permission to use my blog if she thinks it might help the others as it covers a time span from before we knew of my sister's illness until after her death and into the present. I told her it needed to be "vetted" however, because it discusses things such as the suicides of my two cousins and some other family tragedies which I find it difficult to believe would be beneficial to two people so recently berieved as the other two in the group are at this time. Since I started my blog in the hopes of connecting with, and possibly helping, others, if the group leader can use any of what I have written or shared to help someone else get through their own grief, it would mean a great deal to me to think that somethin good had come out of all of the pain.

May most of you have happier times and less difficult lives than my family and may you know peace of both mind and heart for all of your years.

Love, Izzlebug

Things MUST Be Getting Better!

Wow! Two blog entries in the same month - if I am getting this chatty again I think it's a sign that the healing we so long for following life's tragedies, yet the same healing we often feel guilty for having wished for or noticed, is happening more rapidly as time puts space between the event and the present time. Watch out world! Izzlebug is on her way back.

Despite no current major illnesses, there is always something to worry about or fret over. People who seemed to be doing so well a few weeks or months ago have taken turns for the worse - socially, if not physically - and it is with some trepidation that I look into a future that may hold additional pains than those inherent in anyone's lifetime. That said - no details will be forthcoming as I do not want to embarass any of my loved ones - it is just as vitally important to try to keep a more positive outlook as the days trace inexorably through our lives.

As before I continue to be concerned about my niece and nephew, although the qualities of that concern have changed due to my nephew having reached his majority and my niece's being still too young to make many of her own decisions in life, even though she would already vehemently deny that she is not yet able to do so and her brother's entirely too strong a determination to ruin his life as quickly as possible (hopefully not, but...). Anyone who may have encountered similar circumstances will know what I am referring to, and that is all that needs to be communicated here, really.

To My Nephew

When you were born
And we first gazed into each others' eyes
I saw reflected in yours
A recognition
As you heard each of our voices in turn
Speaking to you for the "first" time

They were already familiar to you
These voices
And you knew us without
Understanding why or how
And we also knew you
Deep in that strange and
Frightening place
In the center of our humanity
Where such knowledge dwells

As my heart and your beautiful eyes spoke to me of you
That first time
They speak to me again
As I watch your stumbling
And often bumbling leaps and steps
Into a rather clumsy manhood

I still want to reach out
To catch you before you bump a knee
Or smack your head on the ground
But you are too big now
And I could not hope catch you even if I got there in time

You are now more than I can manage to protect
In my small ways and
Although my heart may still know you
My head too often gets in the way
Saying things that in retrospect
Will never feel right
And I know I have lost you
Forever somehow

Your eyes were blue and bright
Curious and wise as you discovered me in
The world beyond your Mother's womb
I had a place there

Keeping In Touch With My Reality

Today has been an interesting one for me. I have been seeking help in order to help deal with the depression I still feel since losing my younger sister and am finally beginning to realize that all the difficulties, personal ones, I have had over the past years - read that as "most of my life" - may actually have roots in my genetic heritage and are not and never have been imaginary. Unfortunately, the events that have savaged my family over the past ten years have not been imaginary either and the two influences, when coupled together as they have been for me, have been devastating. Today I found myself finally accepting that there are things about me, at least in the physical realm, that I cannot, and have never been able to, control. Those things being the events (plus some) that I have shared in my blog and my DNA. If anyone out there ends up reading this, I hope my words offer some hope, some comfort. We are not alone on this planet and there are a lot of people with kind hearts and minds whose purpose in life is to help those of us not strong enough at certain times in our lives, for whatever reason, to overcome our difficulties and regain more control of our lives as they seem to death spiral around us. I may end up taking a mood stabilizing drug, in addition to the antidepresant, because my brain chemistry, more so than any attitude, habit of thought, or determination on my part, is fighting against my being able to go on with my life and recover from the onsaught of the past ten years.

I feel no embarrasment or shame at making these revelations. The antidepressant has helped me manage my life once again, although at a lower level of effectiveness and productive effort than I would like, and at least I am no longer spending days on end so sad I cry incessantly and cannot make myself stop or trying to keep from going nuts with worrying over things that might or could happen, but have not - you would think there had been enough in the way of loss, tragedy, and pathos such that my mind would tend to run in the opposite direction rather than manufacture imaginary possibilities and worries, but there you have it and there I am. In a way, the thought of something that might stabilize my thinking and emotions enough to allow me to get back to my writing (I love to write poetry and would like to finish my novel and, perhaps, start another one) and possibly set me free enough from my anxieties and losses to concentrate some energy on losing weight and getting myself into a healthier lifestyle and shape is encouraging and a relief. The antidepresant has helped me tremendously and the thought of being free of some of the other little quirks and oddities I have had to deal with most of my life, and still encounter even though on the aforementioned medication, is mildly exhilerating. Hope seems to be returning and my focus shifting off of the distinct possibility of yet more tragedy and pain to other pursuits and areas of life. One step at a time.

If anyone is wondering what I am talking about as regards my genetic heritage, it turns out that on my Dad's side of things there is a distinct and traceble trail of manic-depressiveness with some schizophrenia, paranoia, and bipolar disorder thrown in for good measure. I particularly like the tale about my great grandfather who, upon being given the choice of going to jail or to the state hospital, chose the hospital from whence an acquaintance then helped him escape. He made his way out to Ohio, "remarried" (his first mariage never having been dissolved), and was eventually murdered in his sleep by a man he had threatened. He was shot in the head with a hunting rifle.

I also have two first cousins who commited suicide, one by hanging himself in his early twenties and the other by a drug overdose, although she may or may not have planned it that way. In both cases my cousins were found by their mothers. I cannot imagine the grief and pain a mother must feel at such a moment. I hope the doctor and psychologist can help me seperate the chemical from the very real reasons I and my family have to weep. My younger brother has been diagnosed over most of his adult life as schizophrenic, bipolar, and manic-depressive, and I have another relative who, as a young man, had a great deal of difficulty "getting his act together." Another grandparent (according to his wife) would "sulk" for days on end, refusing to even get out of bed. She said she would usually just let him stew in his own juice and get on with the housework, taking care of the children, etc. until he snapped out of it. I am hoping to be able to provide more information regarding the familial aspect of things psychological in the near future, if only for my own understanding if not to help others who may find themselves struggling in the same ways themselves.

All of that and a breast cancer gene - what more can nature offer? (Rhetorical question - PLEASE do NOT try to answer it!)

The past ten years have had a tremendous amount of difficulties in them for both my boyfriend and his family and me and my family. Starting in 1998 or 1999, we lost his mother and one of our baby cats within the same week, followed in 2001 by the loss of my mother. We then lost two more of our precious feline friends and joined the battle with my Dad when it was discovered he had breast cancer (followed over the ensuing years by two more bouts with two different types of cancer - three types in total).

Almost as soon as my Dad's initial surgeries, chemo and radiation treatments were done, and also on the fifth anniversary - to the day - of our mother's death, my younger sister found out she had leukemia. Nineteen months after Patty's initial diagnosis she passed away the evening of her son's eighteenth birthday. A few weeks later, just before Thanksgiving 2007, my boyfriend's brother-in-law passed away. Although his death was not unexpected, it was very difficult for both of our families to get through the holidays. Christmas of 2007 sucked big time. The first anniversary of Patty's death will be this Saturday. My nephew will be spending his birthday with his Dad, stepmother, and younger half-sister, while his other half-sister (my niece) will be spending the day with her father and younger half-brother. I will be at my Dad and step-mothers' house meeting some of her relatives, desperately missing both my niece and nephew as well as their Mom, and hoping my nephew is having a happy birthday despite the many sad memories the day may chance to bring.

There are also many incidents which I cannot currently place within the framework of the above narrative, but which were concurrent with the flow of time involved; the tragic death of a close cousin of my boyfriend's as well as that of her second husband, various illnesses attributable to the genetic heritage of my Dad's family occuring amongst cousins distant and otherwise, bad news about and bad health for beloved pets, the loss of jobs, the struggles with failing finances, the house falling apart under us, worries about the health of elderly, very dear relatives, our own health issues taking our time and energy away from those we love, and so on. Now if I could only emulate the writing style of Lucy Maud Montgomery as she had Anne of Green Gables speaking, all in one huge paragraph which has always left me breathless when I read it, and you would have a small idea of how all of the past ten years has felt to me.

Such is my life and those of the others whose lives are intimately entwined with my own. The evening sun is gleaming softly through the window as I type this, the sound of lawn mowers drift through also as people try to tame their lawns one last time before the New England winters make it unnecessary for the next several months, punctuated by the periodic sqwackings of the birds as they gather together prior to flying south of here for a winter's vacation in warmer climes.

I do not cry today. Perhaps it is the medication, perhaps the healing over the passage of time from the events recorded above, perhaps the soft and soothing air of a beautiful evening. Whatever the reason, there are no tears on my keyboard this evening and I am lulled by the sounds and scents of the day. Perhaps I will try to finish learning a new song, perhaps I will write another poem and post it here later, perhaps I will do some dishes; whatever I choose to do, it will be done with more peace than I have felt in a long time. This may be due to the hope of a further deliverance from wayward emotions and thoughts that have tried to rule my life for years, the effect upon me of the mild and beautiful weather, or the releasing of further burdens by sharing these things with the hopeful thought that maybe someone, somewhere who needs words such as these may find them here, receive help from them, or feel comforted by them - even if only by gaining the knowledge that they are not alone despite feeling that way.

Blessings and peace to all those who may read this far. It is a good thing to be able to live, love, and hope.

Love, Izzlebug

Time Heals

Although the passage of time results in the slow and natural healing grief, it is still difficult to go through each day without my younger sister here. It is still too easy to see something in a store and think that Patty might really like that little something for Christmas, her birthday, "just because," and then have to recall that she is no longer here. I still feel her presence with me, and hope to continue to do so throughout the remainder of my own lifetime, but missing her is still the order of the day and even the fun times I have gotten to spend with my niece and nephew are tinged with that sense of loss and sadness.

I am going to try to get into a group counseling situation, both to help and to be helped, and hope that finally verbalizing things in the presence of others who understand the sense of loss and difficulties I am still having getting through life in general will be the final phase of the healing process and set my mind and heart free to pursue the rest of my life with my memories and experiences fully dealt with. Sorry for the long-winded sentance, I thought it all in one breath and then wrote it that way, too.

Words are becoming simpler to find again, but they currently lack the energy I became so used to expressing, and I feel lackluster; uninspired and uninspiring. But, this too shall eventually be left behind as time passes and the healing becomes more complete, more tangible.

It is very late in the early morning - an oxymoron if there ever was one - and I must cut this entry short.

God bless all who may read this and may your lives be as blessed as mine has been. The love having made the price of the losing seem less "expensive" somehow.

Izzlebug

Life, and Death, Go On

We've had a break for several weeks now, since we have had to deal with "life" and its attendant, and really not that morbid, consequence of death. My Dad has finished his round of radiation and has no chemo currently scheduled. I guess they hold off on that in the event of a recurrence which, hopefully, will not happen. But, while the human action-equation has slowed down somewhat, the lives and aging process of our beloved cats goes on in just as determined a way as human lives do and the combined effects of dealing with both "flows of being" keeps us somewhat on edge.

As I type this I am keeping company with one of our kitties, Callie who, at the age of nineteen, is proceeding toward the ultimate physical conclusion of her life. She is in a basket behind me, and slightly to my left, where I can reach over and pet her now and then, just to remind her how important she has been, and is, to our collective household. It was only with numerous reassurances from our veterinarian that Callie is in no pain that we decided to bring her home to spend these last, too few and precious days with her human companions, who will miss her intensely when she is gone.

As is the way of pussycats, the others leave Callie to her dying while they tend to their own living. I, however, being a more evolved and intelligent being, try to keep Callie company without wallowing in premature grief. Callie sleeps peacefully and, unless she makes it sufficiently and decidedly known to me that she prefers being elsewhere in the house, will stay in her "nest" until I move her to the bedroom. I know many people prefer to die at home - as long as it is not more comfortably done in a hospital - and I am hoping the familiar surroundings will bring at least some peace and comfort to our dying friend who has helped fill our lives with so much love, amusement, and joy for so many years.

Callie is a long-haired, dilute calico, which is how they describe the lighter shades of greys and tans as opposed to the black, brown and dark brindle of the "undiluted" calico cat. She has a definite, and firmly twerpy, "animality" (which is a term I coined to help prevent any accusations of anthropomorphising) that has successfully held true against the onslaughts of several other companion cats her entire life. She is the only one of our cats to have successfully held Bootsie (our "street-tough" sweetie pie) at bay and, I think, even frightened him a little - an unusual experience for Bootsie (who, by the way, can be an enormous, furry chicken on occasion). She used to take great joy in blind-siding our other kitties and could really pound out a resounding drum beat on the floor when she was telling any of the other cats to back off. I recall the first time I heard this "concert" when I was downstairs and it happened almost directly over head. It was extremely loud and alarming and when I ran wildly up the stairs expecting to see pussy cats squashed beneath major pieces of furniture, I saw only our sweet, feminine, little kitty, Callie, delicately licking a dainty paw and glaring about at the other cats with a wicked gleam in her eyes. (She showed 'em - and nearly caused a coronary event in a woman far too young to have rated one.)

Although made gentler by the necessity of aging's effects upon her corporeal being, all of her "pepper and spice" are still very much evident in her tail twitchings, which have become quite eloquently communicative as she has had to trade one form of communication for another. (There is this one particular tail twitching which I can only translate as "Good kitty, like Hell!" - which certainly seems to be fairly accurate, and definitely apropos, to both her animality and the moment at hand.) I am hoping that I am reading her desires fairly accurately, as we want her to be happy and relaxed for however much more time is hers. She also naps a lot - something I know a little something about from the human perspective - and I am assuming this is all a part of the ultimate process.

Callie seems to appreciate the occasional chin-scritching and mommy-cat commentary as long as I do not overdo it - which is again signaled with various twitchings of one very fluffy and very communicative tail. Somehow the word "dilute" does not fit in here, even if it is the accepted standard of description for the color of her coat, as opposed to the color and flavor of her life and animality.

I hope we will be a stable and reasonably secure family for awhile after Callie passes (which we hope will be further in the future rather than nearer - as long as she is not in any pain or suffering in any way), in that it seems as though the animal companions and the human ones trade off crises - first one and then the other - giving little respite in between. Part of the price of continuing to live, I suppose, is watching some of those you love and know intimately pass away, leaving only memories and emotions for comfort, along with the other companions still active participants with you in life.

If there is some way to explain this so it is able to impact upon the sensibilities of those younger than me, I would like to convey that, although by fact and definition death is morbid, there is really not too much to fear from that determinedly avoided aspect of life as the younger of us might suppose. It is no wonder that various religious literatures and philosophical treatises have described life, and death, in terms that have rendered it both ethereal and frightening. We are here, with one another, for so short a time - certainly food for thought in light of our continuing fights with those who do not share our own particular beliefs in life - as though we had all the time on the world to contend rather than accept and love; care and mend; communicate and learn. We really should measure all of our imaginings of greatness or what that should be against the overwhelming wisdom of the observation that this world will end, not with a bang, but with a whimper - all of our striving and self-delusional imaginings snuffed out in one frightened little squeak - a tethered lion incapable of a genuine, triumphant roar.

For whatever reason it exists within me, I have always yearned to speak as many foreign languages as possible, although I am singularly lacking in talent at that pursuit. To communicate, or to be able to communicate, with as many people as possible has been a dream - perhaps "daydream" is more accurate - for as far back as I am able to recall. Desire versus a decided lack of talent and drive, however, and I can only manage a few pathetic words and phrases in a minimal number of tongues. My one really solid phrase in French is, however, "Je suis arrivee'," "I have arrived."..."I think, therefore I am." Perhaps I am closer to my daydreams than I fully appreciate - I will keep trying.

While my sister was in the hospital, I remember hearing her doctor warn her, "There will be tears." The statement has remained with me and I am hoping it will be the title of an eventually viable poem. I think I will try to write that poem, and rework it, here in my blog - in case there is any interest on the part of anyone who may stumble across my mutterings and meanderings.

For my sister and my Callie-cat:

There Will Be Tears -

Your every instinct has been
To comfort and befriend.
You do not want to see
The pain losing you will be to me,
But little can prevent,
Alleviate or change
The hearts, minds and emotions
Of those who will remain.

You need to know that you,
In your vastly underappreciated,
Misunderstood "humanity,"
Are sufficiently important
To rate the grief and tears
Of these few of us who stand
By your side, who recall the many years
Of love, sacrifice and joy
You have rendered in our lives,
Sometimes through fault or mistep,
Sometimes through triumphant choice.

Do not resent our hearts' cries
Or the tears that come unbidden,
We would not have any hearts at all
If they could not, at times,
Be broken.

So, "there will be tears" and memories,
Fond, silly tales and sweet remembrances;
You will live on in heads and hearts,
That hold no thoughts of forgetfulness.
Those first tears, and the ones to follow,
Like precious jewels will remain
To decorate your eternal crown
And help you live again.

I will try to keep working on this and let you witness the "process," such as it is, here in my blog. Maybe, if some of you would like to contribute to it, we can all write a poem that expresses these ideas much better than merely one individual is able to manage. If not, oh well. Another piece of paper for my survivors to wade through. (Hee, hee, hee!)

In closing, I would like to share a poem by Emily Dickenson, quoted very loosely, that has stayed with me since I was very young and struggling within myself. It has brought me tremendous comfort in times of need, yet has also challeged me - I'm not really sure just why - to strive for better things, more knowledge, and to grow as far as possible in compassion - perhaps more a reflection of a collective familiarity with its author, rather than of this single piece:

"The bustle in the house
The morning after Death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon Earth.

The sweeping up the heart
The putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity."

Love and Best Wishes Always,
Izzlebug

To My Beautiful Niece

Sweetheart,

As your fat old auntie sits at her computer today, crying, it has occured to her (me, that is) that there are so many things I want to tell you about your Mom before I can't even if it is only due to lost opportunities rather than life's predations upon our family. It has been a little easier with your brother in some ways because he is older and is able to understand more right now, but it has not been simple trying to figure what to tell you, or when, and then trying to determine how much is too much, and so on. I hope you will forgive me if I have been remiss in any way in this task, sweetie-bananas, although I have often tried to figure it all out so I could do my job in the way that is best for you time and again.

I have tried to tell you some of the funny stories about your Mom when she was a little girl, and some of the naughty ones, too, so you will know that Moms (and Dads, too) used to be kids and had to learn all the stuff you don't want to pay attention to, right now. I also want you to know enough about your Mom so when you might be a Mommy some day you will understand all the things it is so difficult putting into words for you while you're still so young and missing your Mom so much. I think I will have managed to do my job as your aunt if I can help you realize the most important thing about your Mom was how much she loved you and how very hard she tried to stay with you. I have seldom witnessed such a fight from anyone as I saw from your Mom. I always knew my sister was a determined person, but I saw her through newly reopened eyes during her fight to stay here and be with you and your brother. Sweetie, she loved you so much and wanted to be here to see you grow up; to hold you, comfort you, and most of all, protect you, because that is what Mom's are supposed to do.

I admit I was selfish and I did not want your Mom to allow the doctors to try out their experimental treatments on her, but they told her the chances of her recovering were becoming less and less likely as the leukemia kept holding on and coming back no matter what they gave her to fight it. Your mother was willing to take some pretty big chances with her life in the hope that one of the newly developed treatments might be the one to cure the leukemia and save not only her life, but the lives of others as well. Your Mom wanted her life to count for something not just with our family and to her children, but to the entire world as well. She did her best and I think she did a really good job at making a difference. I know that you were the one most on her heart the last day she was alive, mostly because she knew you could not be there with her as the rest of us were.

I want you to know that I sat with her as much as I could. I held her hand and sang lullabies and other songs to her, so she would not have to be alone. I talked to her about how I worried that I could not be a very good auntie without her here to do the "Mom" part of the job, and I know she loved me even thought she could not say so out loud. Most of all, I did not want her to feel alone. I hope she thought of all the things you got to tell her before she died, and of the time you got to spend holding her hand. I am so glad you had a chance to talk to her by yourself, sweetie, because I know there were special "mom-only" things you needed to tell her.

I have never seen such a hard fight for life as the one I watched on that last day. Your Mom held on so your brother could have his birthday before she died. I know she would have held on even longer than that if she could have because she loved you so much.

You are my younger sister's beautiful daughter. You will have your mother's poise, her intelligence, her beauty, and, I hope, her slightly evil sense of humor so maybe, when you're older and allowed to be improper if you want to, the two of us can laugh together the way your Mom, me, and your other auntie (who does not want me to use her name in my blog), used to laugh sometimes when we were together. It is a special kind of laughter that does not happen a lot, and that requires an entire lifetime of love - no matter how short or long - to fully understand. If I can also share that with you, along with the knowledge of how very much your Mommy loved you and wanted to stay with you, my job as your auntie will have been well done.

With all the love in my heart,
Auntie Liz

Tardy, But Still Viable

After reading my last blog, I realized that some of the hope it expressed was a little premature, there has been a lot to deal with despite the absence of continuing tragedies in the interim. Dad's radiation treatments have started and will continue for several more weeks, then (I think) he has chemo to look forward to, although I need to double check with him on that. Our family's struggles seem to be subsiding - for the moment - and an uneasy calm, made uneasy by past experiences, has descended. The healing from our mutual losses is still going on and there have been some setbacks - thank goodness for friends, relatives, and antidepressants!

More and more it feels as though my mind, still fragile in many unexpected ways, is reawakening as thoughts of continuing work on my novel - which Patty was helping me vet - and ideas for other things to write about and poetry to write begin to come, becoming more and more persistent and insistant as I am able to shed the pain of loss and reclaim those inner portions of my life that were so devastated by Patty's illness and death. If I manage to finish my silly and grotesque "work of art" it shall be dedicated to my sister - more for her help than any inspiration derived - Patty's mind and thoughts were so apropos to my need for an objective second opinion that I am still feeling a little lost knowing I can no longer call her to read chapters to her and have her mention the flaws I need to correct in continuity or consistency. Sigh, sigh, sigh!

My young niece seems to be feeling her mother's death more now, although the adults are healing. It is a terrible thing to lose your mother at so young an age and only have fat old aunties to remind you of her. I worry about her, but feel in my heart she will be alright; that she will do better than she seems to be doing right now - she is her mother's daughter - the progeny of a survivor and a fighter, the daughter of a woman who won every fight in her life except the last one. Recalling all of that, perhaps some of my concerns are misplaced although very natural under the circumstances.

My nephew is doing really well. After all of the heartache and loss, he has been happier than we have seen him for many years, staying with his Dad's second family. He will be graduating from high school this June and is making some enormous strides toward full adulthood and personal independence. I think his mother would have been extremely proud of him had she been able to see him achieving his own personhood, maturing as a man and son in the wake of all the toil and torment.

Our brother (Patty's, mine, and "she who declines to be named") is off in his own world still, although his thoughts emerge from the fog now and then to acknowledge missing Patty. He also seems to take more of an interest in our niece and nephew, although cigarettes are what take up the majority of his attention. He got over his bout with pneumonia this winter and emerged seemingly convinced that the smoking really is not good for him, but old habits, and old delusions, die hard and, in his confused and frightened mind - struggling for security in an unsecure world - the myths have again overcome the blatant realities. He did seem to understand what I told him about the possiblities that the pneumonia could have damaged his lungs further and that might be the reason for his not feeling well again now that he has resumed smoking incessantly, etc. I would think the emphysema would knock some sense into him, but this is not the way things work with my brother. We are all trying to brace for the inevitable heartache of losing him as well, although we know the pain to come will be more immediate despite any preparations we may attempt to make ahead of the actual fact. A brilliant mind defeated by the ravages of lies and the needs of a physical addiction.

I repotted a hydrangea the other day, and tried to save a dying rose. The cats are all a huge comfort in more ways than can be enumerated here, and my boyfriend is more chipper than I have seen him for many years. The small birds still come to our newly installed bird feeder, although the "squirrel-proof" feeder seems to dispense more to the little red squirrel than to the juncos, chickadees, sparrows, and blue jays. Also, since we are no longer scattering the seed all over the deck, as before, the number of birds appearing is smaller and more infrequent than before. I think I will go back to the old scattering technique and hope to see flocks again instead of the few scattered individuals we now have attending our bird buffet.

Life marches on in its relentless fashion, as does nature. It brings a strange and arid comfort to me in knowing that, when all of us are gone, the sun will still peek above the horizon each day, tinting the clouds those particular sun-inspired hues, and the moon will still be seen in the darkness of the sky, even though no one will be there to appreciate its ethereal beauty. Perhaps, despite the destruction humanity seems utterly determined to bring upon itself, there will be birds and Spring showers, flower bulbs will continue to appear above the earth as winter fades away, and the burgeoning of life, minus that of the interminably self-destructive, will reclaim the sunshine and beauty nature has so generously shared with us the entire time humanity has had its existence.

May all of those in need of healing find it, and those who have healing to give find those who need it most.

Love, Izzlebug

It's Been A Long, Long Time!

Hello out there! It does not seem possible that I have not blogged for over two months, but the dates on the website confirm it. It's good to be back, though, and I hope no one has completely given up on me during the past 60, or so, days.

Following Patty's death, we also lost my boyfriend's brother-in-law, with whom I had been acquainted for almost thirteen years, just prior to Thanksgiving. Then my boyfriend had major surgery - from which he is recovering very nicely - although he is still not able to drive by himself quite yet, and then this past week I learned that my Dad, whom I love dearly, has cancer - again. When does it stop or, at least, slow down? Fortunately, this time around, Dad's cancer is a very slow moving type that has a very high cure rate from the available treatments. It has also not been detected in any of his lymph nodes or bones, which is also a very promising indication that the present treatments will likely eradicate the cancer - still, it does not seem fair that my poor Dad should have to endure the loss of a wife, cancer - surgeries, chemo and radiation, the loss of a daughter, and then cancer - radiation and chemo yet again all in the space of less than ten years.

My mind still feels a little numb from the onslaught yet, at the same time, I find myself slowly healing. Patty's death no longer causes me to break down pathetically, although there are some poignant moments now and then as memories trace themselves throughout the days and weeks as they pass. I was placed on academic suspension from my master's course following Patty's death - I simply could not get my grades back up before the end of the seminar/semester (we are doing two seminars per semester) and had to step down until this coming June, when I hope to be able to return to school and complete my degree. I was able to see - however slowly or reluctantly - that the dean's decision to suspend me was actually a very sound one, especially as I am beginning to feel that old creative/energetic/scholarly spark reigniting as the days and months pass - despite what they have held for our families (mine and my boyfriend's).

The time I have been taking off from my studies has given me an opportunity to look around, read for the fun of it and not because I have to study, take a few deep breathes, and begin to see the possibilities in life again instead of only the pain and loss. I am also able to recall more and more of the events following Patty's passing with more clarity; everything also seems a little more orderly as well.

Both Patty's and our Mom's ashes were laid to rest in a small, rural cemetary that has hosted several members of our extended family for, I think, the past three or so generations. Mom and Patty rest in their urns - both chosen for them by my nephew - side by side in the same spot that will eventually cradle my Dad and step-mother and this seems very "right" to me - that a mother and daughter, first wife and second, husband and father, should all be together in death in a way simply not possible in life. It is the final statement of "family" that we can make, this unity in death as in life - at least expressed if not always actual.

The cemetary is a quiet spot, lovely in its rural simplicity and touching in its seperation from the trials and continuing strife the world and this life seem to bring at so constant a pace. As my other sister - "she who declines to be named" - and I stood by while the person dug through the soil to make room for our sibling and parent, we were a little disconcerted to see bones - a lot of them - coming up with each shovelful of Vermont earth. He - the digger - explained that the cemetary was located on the site of an old slaughter house, that the bones belonged to the cattle, pigs, and presumably a few sheep, that had been dispatched only feet from our then present location. At least the prior occupants had not been former relatives, which is what gave us the creepy feeling initially, although it does seem a little sad that the remains of the animals must routinely be disturbed to make way for more death, although of a very seperate species and the consumers of said animals, at least relatively speaking.

There is a slight uphill tilt to the land as it rolls gently to an old stone fence and meets the edge of a still rather young forest. In a few more years there will no longer be room for any more of the human occupants, leaving the animals remains still in a vast majority.

The day of their mutual funeral was a beautiful and gentle Autumn day blessed with warm breezes and sunshine, and various relatives we thought might not be able to be present. Our grandmother was there, some cousins, and some of Patty's friends, as well as the more immediately bereaved. The graveside service was very homespun and short. Those of us with something to say or share were able to do so, while those present out of affection and respect who did not know what to say were not made to feel awkward or unwelcome because of their silence. Patty's two sisters (myself and "she who declines to be named"), and also our mother's remaining two daughters, stood beside the grave as the urns were hidden from sight, at least until the larger vault arrived. It seems as if the constant movement and disorganizations of life must also intrude upon death...the headstone was scheduled to arrive later in the week.

Perhaps, I think, I find this blog something of a shoulder to cry on, a release for the thoughts crowding my mind and edging out the grief, even though many of those thoughts are about the many losses my family has sustained in the past seven years. My thoughts and prayers are for the moment, however, with those of you who may have yet to begin to feel the healing of time, who may still need a shoulder to lean upon or a sympathetic whisper in your ear, or maybe just a tissue to dab away those few sneaky tears that seem to have a will of their own as they escape your eyes and slowly make thier way down your cheeks, unbidden. Please know that these words are also for you.

Izzlebug