To All the Moms With Empty Birdfeeders

It’s Mother’s Day.  This day feels a little like Christmas to me, because it is a celebration of one of my most-prized roles and my greatest contribution to the world - my three sons.

But, as is often the case, when my joy surges, I remember that the same causes for my joy are sources of pain and sadness for others.  And I need to acknowledgement that.

I recently did a “window visit” to a woman in a nursing home, per ongoing COVID-19 visiting restrictions.  She is and has been many things, but is most often identified as a hospice patient and a mother.  As I knelt down by her window A/C unit and her empty bird feeder, we conversed about how we got here, how we didn’t all start out trying to live into the 100’s, how she would gladly give what time she has to someone else, how no one will touch her, and how she has to manage her expectations of her children so she’s not perpetually disappointed, and subsequently heartbroken.

Motherhood.  The source of the greatest joy and greatest pain.

For all mothers whose pain outweighs or comes in equal measure with your joys, this is for you.
 
If Mother’s Day is something to be endured rather than enjoyed, this is for you.
If you always wanted children, but were never able to conceive, this is for you.
If your children lived only long enough to catch a glimpse on an ultrasound, this is for you.
If you carried your child to term, and they went to heaven before you got them home, this is for you.
If your children got a “head start” in the life beyond and left you behind, this is for you.
If your children blame you for everything, this is for you.
If your children struggle with depression or addiction, this is for you.
If you’re a grandmother raising your grandchildren, this is for you.
If you’re waiting for your children to visit and your bird feeder is empty, this is for you.

Mothers are people who make room for others.  Very often within our very own bodies, but very often in other ways, too.  Children can come to us in many ways, and sometimes, it is through the front door.  After all, I am often visiting someone else’s mother while someone else is visiting mine.

Thank you to all of you who have sacrificed your own bodies, preferences, comforts, safety, and living for yourselves, so that others may have life.   Happy Mother’s Day!

Sheltering In Place - Week Four

Just wanted to capture and share a few thoughts during this fourth week of “sheltering in place” for my own mental time capsule, and in case you are wondering what other people are thinking (since it has been about a hundred years since anything like this has happened).

We are continuing to make an effort to prevent the continuous and rapid spread of COVID-19 by keeping to ourselves, 6-feet apart.  My county is up to 97 confirmed cases with 7 dead.  These are the only numbers I check daily.  This practice reminds me of a line in an old Jewel song.  “I’m sensitive and I’d like to stay that way.”  Big numbers in places far away just feel like more than I can carry, or do anything about. I’m afraid that makes me small-minded, but not afraid enough to change what’s working.  Not yet.

I’m writing this post from my new work-from-home station - A folding table set up in my bedroom with a sheet for a tablecloth, and a lamp I will move back to my bedside table each night.

This came about yesterday evening, after finding myself increasingly grumpy throughout the day.  I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, so I did what I do.  Sat down and wrote a list of all of the things that were stealing my peace.  I was surprised at its length.

- Increased emotional pain for the sick, dying, and grieving due to social distancing
- Decreased ability to allay it or accompany those who are hurting.
- Slow computer
- Website access issues
- Uploading issues (for kids’ homework submission)
- No comfortable work-from-home space
- Tension between feeling the need to be at home and need to be elsewhere
- Tension between the risk and benefit of visiting those who are most vulnerable

I felt better when I saw the list had some legitimate and substantial items, and even better when my husband offered and created a solution for the one thing he could fix.  (My solution for the same problem was to go sit in the car.)

So, here I sit in my new “office”, fully aware that if/when this virus affects anyone in my family or anyone we are responsible for, my list will look like a Christmas list rather than a list of reasons I was struggling.

This silent accumulation of things adding their own unique weight, however slight, helps me to understand the way people have been asking, “How are things going with you?” as though we’ve suffered a loss unique to us.  I can see their question as an extension of the compassion they are feeling for themselves and for all of us in our “collective grief”, as we live without our routines, fast food, and contact with the people who bring variety, love, and respite from our own thoughts.

As I rack my brain for ways to love those who are hurting and mitigate the other things on my list, I find myself thinking more and more like a 5-year-old.  In fact, I got my first blister from drawing with chalk today, at age 42.

I would scoff at a physician if she handed me a prescription for surviving a pandemic that read “Draw with chalk on a friend’s driveway”.  But, I wrote the same prescription for myself today and it didn’t seem so laughable.  “Go outside.  Do something for someone else.  Be creative and get chalk dust on your hands p.r.n. for duration of COVID-19 pandemic.” (signed illegibly, H. Dixon)

While I’m writing prescriptions on my new imaginary prescription pad, I am loaning some out, too.  Particularly to the dying who don’t think about dying, but about taking one day at a time, and to the person who said, “Stay out of your head because it is too dangerous a neighborhood to be in alone.”

COVID-19: Another Perspective

We are on day two of schools being closed and all other activities limited or stopped completely to slow the spread of COVID-19, a novel coronavirus.  People are hoarding groceries and toilet paper, facing extreme illness and mortality, unemployment or crazy overtime, decreased personal interaction, no childcare, and no idea when or where it will end.  Fears for our personal health and for those we love abound.

But, I just keep coming back to what Naomi said.

“I’ve survived the worst thing of my life.”

Naomi is a newly bereaved wife with four young children to raise.  She was one of the ones that didn’t stock up and knows this will pass, as most things do.  She recognizes her outlook on everything has changed, and in this case, that is a good thing.

Naomi inspires me and makes me think about the beatitudes.  Matthew 5:4 to be exact.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

When normalcy, pleasure, fantasies, and distractions melt away because of a worldwide pandemic, a terminal illness, or the death of someone you love, maybe part of the comfort promised in these mystifying verses is that the fear of anything worse ceases to exist.  Your worst fear is behind you and you’ve survived it.  And you know this.   

This gives me hope for those who have faced unimaginable loss and who persevere in living, as well as hope for the rest of us.  Especially now. 

As I ponder the most likely impact of COVID-19 on my immediate family, my thoughts turn to food. It is embarrassing even to admit this considering the threat to life itself, but the shortages tell the truth.  It is on everyone’s mind.  The canned food aisle won the most-ransacked-award when I went shopping a few days ago.  Except for canned peas.  There were plenty of those.  (Who knew?!)

Canned peas aside, we eat well. We could pare down a lot and be just fine.  But, it makes me think about the divide between what we have and what we actually need to live.  This divide is what makes us panic over empty shelves and stocking delays.  We are used to having way more than we need.  We don’t know what we can get by with, and we don’t want to know. 

But, there is a group of people who do know what they need because that is all they have, and all they are used to having.  There is no surplus and no division between have and need,  and yet, an entire kingdom seems to have their name on it.  They are called the poor in spirit.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” 

   Matt 5:3

Being poor and poor in spirit are not necessarily, nor always the same thing.  But, our poor are often poor in spirit, and I am thinking about them.  They are used to limited supply.  Not because the shelves are empty, but because their wallets are.  Food stamps and food banks routinely remind them they are beneficiaries.  People at the mercy of other people.  Making room for blessings not earned is mandatory.  Going without, a way of life.

Mother Teresa said, “Even God Himself cannot fill what is already full.”  Well, guess what?  We are making room.  Our circumstances demand it.  As we tackle the uncertainties of living day-to-day in a scenario we never could have imagined, our shelves and calendars have emptied, but our capacity to survive, serve, bless, love, and receive is growing (if we let it).

Amidst all of the unknowing, my hope is that those who can recognize themselves in the beatitudes will find the comfort and the kingdom they have been promised — and that the rest of us can learn something from their hard-won perspective secured along the way.

 God be with us.

Mom's Heart

I am reposting this with permission of the author, the daughter of one of our hospice patients.  She sent it to me by email earlier this week.  I appreciate her allowing me to share it here, so you can allow her Mom and her writing to inspire and bless you, too...

Life lessons come in unexpected packages. I have long known of a company Artful Ashes in Seattle. They take a small amount of your loved ones cremated remains and hand blow either a heart or an orb incorporating the ashes into the glass. They are extraordinary and there are many color choices for the glass. After much consideration, I chose a heart with brown and amber gold swirls. It reminded me of her.

The heart arrived this week and it is beautiful - and comforting to have a bit of Mother with me. After the first day, I noticed that the heart is more than just a bit asymmetrical as one side is decidedly bigger than the other. My first reaction was that while the heart is beautiful, it was not perfect. I wanted it to be perfect. In anticipation of my call to Artful Ashes, I was prepared to tell them that of course they never knew my Mom, but perfectionism was something she was known for.

I have a vivid memory of accompanying Mom on a visit with her alteration lady, Mrs. Simmons, at her home. She had a fitting room complete with a three sided tall mirror on a raised platform and all the fascinating accouterments of sewing - pincushions of all sorts, one of which was worn on her wrist, and a skirt hem marker that with a squeeze of the rubber bulb would make little horizontal lines of chalk as the client slowly turned. Fascinating stuff indeed. The purpose of this visit was to correct a back zipper in a skirt that did not lay completely flat against Mom's backside. This newly purchased suit still had the tags, but Mom absolutely would not wear it until the offending zipper was replaced with one that laid properly. In my child's mind, and perhaps in Mrs. Simmons' as well, was the thought - who cares, the jacket covers it! I can still see Mom on that raised platform in her stiletto heels patiently saying to Mrs. Simmons, "It simply does not lay right." It was not perfect.  Mother struggled with this idea that all had to be perfect for most all of her adult life. A notion that also dovetailed with the "I'll be happy when . . . " issue.

So as I gazed at this imperfect, asymmetrical heart I thought that Mom simply would not want this to be how a part of her spent her eternity - in this decidedly one sided heart. And then I began to think. I thought about how Mom was in the last few years and I started to form this realization that she definitely had two sides to her heart. Almost to the very end, Mother could be demanding, petulant, and critical. She could make you wish you were anywhere else on the planet rather than have to deal with her! But more and more in those last few years, that side of her heart got smaller and smaller, and the side of her heart that was kind, generous, and loving got larger and larger.

Daughters inherit many things from their Mothers and both my sister and me inherited this desire for perfectionism - we struggle with it even now. When I would call Mom with some complaint that something I had attempted to do did not come out as I wanted - that it wasn't perfect - she would say, "Oh honey, I'm sure it's beautiful. It will be okay just like it is." And then I thought - she was always like this with us - loving us in spite of our imperfections.

This heart, that I will look at every day for the remainder of my life on this earth, will be a reminder to me to let the good side of my heart always be bigger than the other. So Mom, thank you for the life lesson. You continue to inspire me.

Fruit, Death, and Reason

My little neighbor brought me a bowl of fruit yesterday.

A wonderful thing to receive from a 5-year-old, anytime. Only it was completely her idea and inspired by a dream that she gave me a bowl of fruit.  With lemons.

I can’t help but wonder about the timing of the delivery and the dream that inspired it.

Sometimes, children are placed on hospice.  I’ve known this, but I got to know it in a new way last week.  She was 6-years-old and died on the same day my little neighbor dreamed she brought me a bowl of fruit.

I told my neighbor’s Grammy about my emotional week and how a fruit delivery from a little one couldn’t have come at a better time.

I explained that I couldn’t sleep during the wee hours of the previous morning, so I got up and prayed.  I prayed most especially for our newest and youngest patient and learned later it was at that time when “our” earthly angel became a heavenly one.

She thought that was interesting because my little neighbor had the same trouble sleeping and called for her, at the same time.  Grammy mentioned something about us being “connected”.

Are we connected beyond living next door and having a mutual love for one another?  Are we connected in ways that sometimes wake us up or we can sometimes feel, but never see or comprehend?

During that couple of hours of way-too-early, I was searching for God’s presence.  I needed to know He was aware and at work amidst the upside-downness of a child dying.  I needed to know that I wasn’t showing up without Him.

He is used to hearing from me on my way to situations that are too hard for me.  “If You aren’t coming, I ain’t going!”  He hasn’t let me down, yet.

And this is what He gave me that morning when I was looking for Him...

“Who has ever said that the presence of God - in his actions and his words - has to be felt?  Sometimes God grants that sensation.  At other times, he doesn’t.”

This, from Blessed Conchita.   A wife, mother, and laywoman who just happened to be beatified when we were in Mexico this past May.  We sat in folding chairs outside the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in the blazing sun, and we watched the man who was healed through her intercession, walk into the Mass of her Beatification.

Attending a Beatification Mass because we were “in the area”, two people not sleeping at the same time, a timely quote from the beatified, the death of a child, a child’s dream and conviction to act, and a bowl of fruit, hand-delivered.

Maybe they are only connected because I put them together in the same sentence.  But, maybe not.  

I don’t know what to make of it, but I’m okay with that.  I am enjoying the possibilities. 

“For they reasoned unsoundly, saying to themselves, 

‘Short and sorrowful is our life, and there is no remedy when a man comes to his end...

Because we were born by mere chance, and hereafter we shall be as though we had never been; because the breath in our nostrils is smoke, and reason is a spark kindled by the beating of our hearts...

The Wisdom of Solomon 2:1-2

Untouchable Superpowers

My little neighbor came over yesterday to pay me a visit.  We pulled up a stool so she could help me peel potatoes, but that was pretty hard and boring.  So, she waited as patiently as she could until we could go outside and jump on the trampoline.  In the meantime, she played the piano, and fed the dog, the fish, and the cat.

She jumped to her heart's content and I mostly chased her per the "You can't catch me!" invitation she offered.  I learned she was going to be Wonder Woman for Halloween.  At one point, I picked up a handful of dead leaves and threw them in the air.  When they landed on her, I told her they would take her super powers away.

As she held one, she looked me in the eye and said, "These kind of leaves can't take my superpowers away.  My superpowers are in my heart, and only green leaves can take my superpowers away!"  Then, she threw the leaf with a look of royal dismissal and promptly took my superpowers away with the flick of a magic strand of trampoline skirt.  Not only that, but she sent my superpowers to land in the branches of a neighboring tree.

Naturally, the next thing she did was give herself flying powers, and left me cross-legged on the trampoline.  Proud, powerless, and highly-entertained.

Her grammy came back for her and my soup needed tending, so we called it a day.  And I've been thinking about my little-superhero-neighbor ever since.  Mostly, I'm amazed at how wise she is to know that her superpowers are in her heart, and that whatever you happen to be holding or might say cannot take them away.

Interesting how little bodies can hold such big truths!  Makes me wonder how different things might be if the truth only grew with us, instead of shrink or disappear altogether, as it seems to do.

Thanks for the reminder, little one.  You should come over more often.

Maybe I Should Have Turned Around Sooner

I walk to reset.  Physically, spiritually, and emotionally.  Preferably where no concrete nor buildings can be seen, but where at least a little bit of water can.  Where dogs can run free and there are more dragonflies than people. 

I have my favorite places, but they're a little too far when I only have an afternoon, so I tried somewhere new today.  A little closer to home. 

Just a couple of miles in, the levy I wasn't supposed to be on came to an end.  It was on one end of a lake, so I thought I'd just keep going and make a circle, eventually.  I looked for the trails indicated on my map, but the only ones I found were being used exclusively by spiders. 

But, I ran into a fence, so I followed that.  Until it came to another fence.  And the only way to keep going was to get really skinny and squeeze through a poorly aligned gate.  So, I did that, and my dog did the same. 

The grass was tall and there was no trail to speak of, so I consulted Google maps and saw a road within walking distance, so I just kept going.

But, what Google maps didn't show, was another fence that met another fence between me and the road, and no way out except the way I came. 

Ugggghh.  My dog and I were four plus miles into this thing, shade wasn't nearly as plentiful as the sun, and the thought of trudging back the way we came was more than I had time, energy, or water for. 

So, I did something I've never done before.  I dropped a pin and called for help.  My husband does Search and Rescue for a living, so I thought I'd give him a chance to rescue his wife.  And he did.

I hung my Camelback on the fence as a signpost and waited in the shade with my dog and the fire ants. 

As we waited, I relished the relief I was feeling and remembered something I read once about being rescued...  

"Stranded and starving, somebody has to get packed up and sent off into the unknown for food, taking what water is left, hacking a way through the undergrowth, hoping somehow to forge a path to something somewhere.  But then the noise of a helicopter, and rescue approaching.  That changes everything.  The one thing needed now is some space, so that what is coming can come...God is an approaching God, and our main job will not be to construct but to receive; the key word will be not so much 'achievement' as 'space'.  Making space for God in order to receive."

Nothing more to do, but wait, and receive (and answer a few questions).   

 

"Now, tell me again why you couldn't just go back the way you came?"

...

"You'd understand if you saw the way we came."  

This all reminds me of one my favorite C.S. Lewis quotes.  "If two men are traveling in the wrong direction, the man who turns around the soonest is the most progressive man."

I'm sure the other guy, had there been one, would have been the most progressive man today. 

But, he would have deprived himself of the opportunity to receive and his spouse of an opportunity to be a knight in shining armor.  He wouldn't have had an opportunity to remember that God is an approaching God, and his sock line probably would have been embarassingly unnoticeable.  I mean, you can't get those just anywhere.