LIFE'S VARIETIES -- OCTOPUSES -- FRIEND'S QUIETUS

Life isn’t much different for me right now than it would usually be this time of year when I would typically be staying indoors during the day due to the heat.  Temperatures have suddenly moved into the three-digit Fahrenheit numbers from this summer’s unusually less-warm July days.  Now, humidity is very low with winds whipping around to combine with these high temperatures creating a climate of high fire danger.

So, as I write this, three fires rage in our Southern California surrounding area with at least one having zero containment, requiring some families to vacate their homes with only one such structure reported lost so far.   Thousands of acres are burning with the possibility arson may be a cause in some situations.  How firefighters weighted down with protective clothing and equipment manage to combat these flames in such threatening conditions boggles my mind.  I’m thankful to not be in danger where I live.

Those residents needing to seek safety and shelter due to fire must also contend with the dangers associated with contracting Covid-19.   This virus complicates life for even unthreatened-by-fire ordinary people, especially those without air conditioning who need to seek cooling centers, a few of which have opened.   People seeking safety from the fires or respite from the heat, or both, are required to wear masks, observe social distancing which limits the number of people facilities can accommodate as well as the activities with which people can engage while there.    

This extremely contagious virus continues to spread excessively with a segment of the population refusing to follow recommended safety precautions.   I continue to find it disappointingly incredible that some of my fellow Americans care so little about their own well-being and not at all for that of others despite the obvious potential life and death health issues.

Life for humans and all of Earth’s other creatures continues to be fascinating to me.   I resumed participation in a book club with which I’d been involved for a few years.  Members have changed considerably since my last presence as death has taken its toll on these primarily seniors, but new readers have joined the group.  This was our first virtual meeting as a few gathered in a local retirement community where they lived, with the rest of us Zooming in from our residences.   

The book we discussed was a unique one which I thoroughly enjoyed reading:   Award winning Soul of an Octopus by Sy Montgomery.    The wonder of consciousness is explored with exceptional writing moving this story along with fascinating facts I had not known.  The author’s educated observations were colored with emotional elements I had never imagined could occur between an octopus and human beings.   Descriptions of interactions with several octopuses – yes, that’s the plural not octopi – clearly evidence they each had distinct personalities.  I could never have imagined these short-lived sea creatures could be so interesting. 

I have since pondered the lives of all creatures, including those many varieties in our oceans.  I consider what is known of dolphins, whales, sharks, fish, along with lesser-known-to-me sea life as well as sea urchins, crabs, lobsters we thrust live into boiling water to then devour their meat.  We humans pride ourselves in our superior intelligence, even our humanity, but what about these creatures? 

I found myself wondering if we do discover life on other planets, or should life forms even eventually find us to visit our planet, what might they be like physically, with what moral and ethical values, if any?  Might habitual lying as a means to an end be acceptable behavior as even some humans exhibit?  What might they be like if in possession of emotions?   What might be the implications for we humans?

Remember the original Rod Serling “Twilight Zone” episode entitled “To Serve Man”? Here’s an abridged version:

Thinking about life and death as occurs in all life forms, I’m reminded of recently discovering on the internet an obituary of a friend who died several months earlier, finally confirming what I had been concerned was likely to have occurred.  She had held the 2006 celebration of life in her home in conjunction with many of my husband’s and our old friends after his death.  My children and I with others had travelled there from our respective homes to share that loving experience with one another. 

She was my last connection with any living friend or family member where I also lived many years of my life having key experiences –- where I met my husband, had earlier become politically active, served my first jury duty, effectively diluted with like-minded friends a covert racial discrimination situation, and shared many still treasured memories with then a large family and an abundance of friends on numerous occasions.        

My friend and I had abruptly ended our last phone conversation when she heard some of her family arriving just as she had begun to discuss some concerning personal family matters, expecting we would resume our conversation later.   We never had contact after that.  My letters, while never returned, or phone messages with the number’s recorded message soon changed to be more formal, elicited no response when I periodically called.  Efforts to reach a couple of her adult children I had never met were unsuccessful.   A rumor had been shared with me a few years earlier that she might have Alzheimer’s but was not verified -- I still don’t know. 

The number of living loved ones I have left have dwindled beyond any total I could ever have imagined.  Seems strange to think of myself as the elder in my family and now even among my few remaining living friends.  Just as many have shared here, one of the more difficult aspects of aging is the loss of friends and family which never gets easier.  We treasure the memories and we get on with life as those who care for us want us to do.  

I expect some of you are reading some interesting books, too, some of which may stimulate your thinking to go in many directions.   Maybe you’re engaged in crafts, or any one of a multitude of other activities attractive to you during these challenging times.  Likely your thoughts may occasionally take you on flights of fancy and speculation as mine sometimes do. 

Do continue to stay safe and as healthy as you can be.  Treasure whatever contact you may have with family and friends.   Take comfort in knowing that in time this situation in which we live shall pass.  My only question is, “will that be before or after I do?” she asked quizzically with a chuckle! 

  

RECAP -- LOSS SYMBOLS -- REMEMBERING

RECAP

I skipped a week writing here as some may have noticed.  I simply wasn’t in the mood to write though numerous topics crossed my mind to expound on during that time.  

     The government, our leader and political shenanigans are beyond commentary here, falling into an almost surreal dimension.   There do now seem to be a few courageous adult statespersons among those we pay to govern for the best interest of ordinary citizens who are actually attempting to do so.  Time will tell.      

     The Super Bowl I previously wrote about continued to have decreased television viewership  according to the Nielsen rating service -- signifying what -- I’m not sure -- if anything -- for the popularity of professional football.   

      Meanwhile, the white-capped mountains behind my home appear to have been dusted by a  celestial sifter covering them with snow to an extensive degree I’ve rarely seen here. At our lower elevation we’ve been receiving one rainstorm after another interrupted by an occasional cloud separation allowing the sun to burst through, sometimes even for a day or two. This pattern will continue through the coming week, more closely resembling our typical winter weather.   We’re delighted since this could mean the end of our drought conditions.   

     Unfortunately, further inland the Midwestern states. especially those around our Great Lakes, are being subjected to really cold temperatures, ice and snow, much like Antarctica as my family member informs me.   Also, one of our Michigan blogger buddies has had power outages from severe freezing temperatures, ice on power lines causing other adverse living conditions at her home affecting water lines, indoor appliances, as she was able to briefly describe – click on link above.    

* *  *

CONSIDER.....LOSS SYMBOLIZES MUCH.....REMEMBERING  

One recurring thought has formulated as a consequence of so many memories fluttering through my mind some nights/mornings before sleep arrives.   On those occasions I find suddenly it’s morning, causing me to arise later in the day in order to get adequate sleep hours, but this upsets my day’s routine.   Perhaps expressing thoughts here will put to rest some of those, generally, gentle pleasurable nighttime, but involuntary mental reminiscences.  They’re  partially brought on by numerous unanticipated losses in recent years narrowing the number of my close intimates remaining among the living. 

I’ve begun to realize there’s more meaning to my feelings of loss than just for the individual than I might have thought would occur.    Others  coping with losses, too, might prefer focusing on different topics, but this is my reality which I’ve been unable to ignore as my 2019 posts  may reflect --  perhaps by writing I can lessen some of my late-night thoughts. 

I’ve been prompted by various events or information I’ve received to engage in some checking on some friends from whom I’ve not had contact for some time.   Searching the Internet, also for various city newspapers can reveal some answers.   In one instance, ways in which to contact one friend have become unusually more complicated, since how we’ve always communicated is suddenly no longer viable.  So, I still await learning more about her status.  

Unfortunately, I sadly just learned another friend died -- last fall.   Perhaps her adult children didn’t have a password to her email account to know of our contact all these years, thus to let me know.    But, a holiday letter I wrote this year was not returned, so maybe it’s been forwarded to the adult children I’ve never met and they will yet contact me.    If not, at least finding her obituary on the Internet, I now know my friend’s status. 

I typically don’t leave comments on those Internet public obituary sites – writing those intimate, sometimes humorous private little personal notes I might want to share only with family.   I did write a blog tribute without naming my last life-long friend who died a couple years ago, but letting her family know.   Her younger sister was delightedly pleased to learn from my blog some of the activities in which we engaged when young – including that we were on a dance team foursome together.   

The loss I recognize feeling now, I’ve come to realize encompasses far more for me than the sense of just being associated with the increasing number of my intimates departing life in recent years.   These most recent friends are the last living individuals who were part of my community in that city where I had so many significant experiences both personally, and where I began my intended TV broadcasting career as a young single woman, then later my early married life.   

Each of several preceding years one friend or another died, culminating now with everyone gone from there except for the remaining uncertainty about one friend’s s status.   There’s no one left who remembers “when” ... with whom so much was shared that no one else would know .... a strange awareness there’s no one left with whom to exchange memories -- almost like losing part of my life! 

I’ve come to realize this also seems like a separation from this particular city and state – a place symbolizing so much significance in my life – that absent these friends presence, no longer would I have that sense of returning home there.   In fact, with no one left in that state of my birth, except a couple distant relatives with whom contact long ago ended,  I’m left feeling quite separated. 

These feelings aren’t  overwhelming by any means, or depressing – they just are – perhaps a melancholy -- an aspect of my life long taken for granted that is ceasing to exist.    Never had it occurred to me such a severance  would ever become true.  In a way we lose bits and pieces of ourselves little by little and ultimately our bodies follow.  

No doubt some of you may have had similar feelings attached to your own experiences with particular people, places and life – losses of one type or another resulting in your being the only one left to remember.

REPRIEVE ---- LOSS

REPRIEVE FOR AFFORDABLE CARE ACT

The Trump/Ryan Health Care Act has been side-lined for now for the wrong reason – only because a minority group within the Republican Party refused to vote for it as they wanted even more draconian measures – not because the Act was a travesty against efforts to provide reasonable health care for the vast majority of American citizens.  

How about the rest of the Republican Representatives, or some of them, meeting with some Democrat Representatives – they could actually try to examine the ACA aka Obama Care to adjust for more cost effectiveness and efficiency.   Some adjustments were expected to be necessary after that legislation was implemented.   Congress could actually perform some meaningful work to earn the salary we hired/elected them to do. 

LOSS

Schmidley's Scribblings  daughter reports her mother has passed away.   I've enjoyed visiting this blogger who offered a true elder's perspective, garnered from years of significant work in our government and a master's degree in history obtained in her seventies.  She was grounded in contemporary life but respected the influence of previous generations she explored in her genealogy.  Her observations were concise, evidencing humor with a sharp wit.  I only knew her through a few years of blogging, but I'll miss her photos, stories, commentary on the world we live in.  

PREMATURE ENDING

A writing group friend’s life ended prematurely -- “…peacefully, surrounded by family,” -- was the startling and sad news I received recently. I’m still processing the thoughts and feelings associated with this loss. Mark, (not his real name,) was one of numerous interesting people I met in the first group I joined for this new-to-me writing activity that I had decided on a whim to pursue after starting this blog.

About five years ago I introduced myself to this group and explained my writing would be for my blog – a term which elicited perplexed looks on almost everyone’s face. I later learned Mark, young talented personable man in his fifties, was the only group member who even knew what a blog was. During the ensuing years he was always very supportive of my writing as I was of his. We shared a similar sense of humor with a quirky thread that often paralleled each others.

Our writing group meetings were structured to be rather casual. Attendance was flexible with necessary late arrivals acceptable. Mark was rarely late and when he occasionally was absent his honest, perceptive, sometimes humorous comments were missed by all. He had shared that he was self-employed, engaged in information age computer technology assignments, so had unpredictable deadlines impinging on his leisure writing time. The group had no required writing exercises, but if new prose or poetry forms were presented we were encouraged to use the opportunity to try them. This was a challenge Mark generally accepted by producing quite remarkable results.

Mark was a prolific writer of material of varying length, mostly fictional stories, which we greatly anticipated reading. A few of his stories were of a science fiction nature or pure fantasy. He created stories that were sometimes peopled by characters who were emotionally wounded and other individuals that were mentally warped who could be wicked dregs of society. Accurate depictions of socially phony individuals with the classic personality traits of various social levels were satirically funny in some of his tales.

Mark had a viewpoint he could express in multiple ways through direct storytelling, with subtle nuances or bold assaults on the readers psyche. He created unusual plots in ordinary settings, often with strangely unique, even weird characters. A few were truly reprehensible as could be their behavior. Occasional descriptive nouns and adjectives he used, or action descriptions, aroused offense in rare instance, but that language enhanced story significance and was not gratuitous.

Eventually, Mark began to share a novel he was writing that he first presented to our initial writing group. We were all soon emotionally invested in his realistic characters, following the complex plot, and appreciating the colorful setting he was creating. The story on the page stimulated strong emotional reactions in the characters and among the readers as their very human behaviors were revealed within his fictional, but specific real life situations.

Mark continued to develop his novel through those five years as our group evolved in member composition, with changes in meeting location and leadership. This past year, after a short summer break, we resumed meeting in the fall. He continued to seek our group’s critiquing, but a year or so earlier had become a dynamic force in a new much more structured writing group that was demanding of increased time commitment. Now his book was ready for further author editing, then referral for professional editing in conjunction with his seeking a book publisher.

Last fall Mark began missing several consecutive weekly gatherings. We were shocked to finally learn this strong appearing, healthy-looking man had been hospitalized. He was in and out of hospital with a heart problem medical diagnosis. We were shocked when eventual medical revelations indicated he needed a heart transplant. About this time we also became aware that he had no health insurance.

These developments raised grave questions in our minds about his recovery and what health services would be available to him. The whole situation seemed almost unbelievable to us, and perhaps to him also. He reportedly carefully considered all factors associated with this major surgery, including organ rejection issues, and finally concluded that the heart transplant procedure was an option he would not choose. He returned home, and after a time, unexpectedly to us, he left this world.

When I learned Mark had died, that fact was mind-numbing to me as I hadn’t grasped the idea his death was eminent. My thoughts that morning I was told of his passing had been focused on a radio news item I heard that the United States has fallen to 37th in life span expectancy in a ranking of countries. Reasons given for this shameful standing included our nation’s lack of a national health care system.

Mark’s death prompted me to not only mourn losing him prematurely, but to wonder how a young Boomer-age man in the prime years of his life, with so much unrealized potential, could have failed to receive earlier-in-life health care that might have prevented his death?

I don’t know all the specifics of his life, but he had shared some of them during these years. He appeared robust and healthy, of normal physical weight and stature. He did not smoke or engage excessively in other self-destructive behaviors to our group’s knowledge. He never mentioned any serious illnesses or diseases that might have been associated with the development of his heart condition. If we had difficulty accepting his medical diagnosis I can’t begin to imagine what an incredible shock it must have been to him.

I recalled that a year ago last spring Mark had traveled with a well-known national politically oriented organization to a large California city up the Coast from Los Angeles. He engaged in pre-primary election campaigning on behalf of State candidates and issues that he strongly supported. He had been equally active in the Presidential election campaign two years ago. Mark had a busy life with his work contracts, social life contact with U.S. family and friends around the country and world. I know he had a vital interest in our nation’s health care system and welcomed expected insurance coverage changes.

Knowledge that Mark had no health insurance has stimulated secondary over-shadowing thoughts about his death. We all could ask many rhetorical questions about why far too many people in our nation lack optimum health care? Why our nation’s health care ranking is so low? How can we best refine the current health plan but not totally repeal it? More questions come to mind that others may wonder about for themselves, much as I’ve asked myself specific questions about Mark’s situation:

Why didn’t he have health insurance?
Was purchasing health insurance beyond his financial means?
Had he believed his odds were high for having no serious medical issues?
I wonder if he had ever received any preventative health care?
How would his life scenario have been different if he could have had preventative health care?

I’m absolutely sure that Mark’s individual health insurance coverage rates would have been very high, based on accounts from other independent contractor Boomer age consultants with whom I’ve spoken. My own family, in generations following the Boomers, have been subjected to excessive obscene health care rates and increases from which none of us are immune. And insurance rate increases persist. California insurance companies have merely put announced increases on a three month hold. The premiums the insured described above must pay are excessive, and seem unlikely to lessen unless further major overhauling of insurance companies and pharmaceutical companies is undertaken. But that does not presently seem to be on anyone’s agenda.

I’m confident that Mark would be seeking further refinement of our health care system and approve of the perspective here with my writing about him. I do wish he could express some opinions himself. Several times in recent years he initiated conversation with me indicating he was seriously considering starting his own blog and wanted to talk further about doing so. We never had that conversation. He never started that blog. His time ran out too soon.

A young writing group contemporary was stunned Mark had died since she had been unaware of his problems. She emailed me:

“I do keep realizing it is a privilege to be allowed to experience growing old when I consider how many people are deprived of it.”

Rest in peace my writing friend.

Time To Talk

I recall that Saturday, May 13, 2006 morning standing by my husband's bedside, still absorbing the fact of his unexpected death during his sleep. The understanding and supportive police officer stood quietly across from me at the far corner of the foot of the bed. He had arrived at my home within a few short minutes in response to my emergency 911 phone call, after I discovered my husband's lifeless body whose facial skin was already cool to the touch of my fingertips and lips. The officer had offered his help with various questions as to what I might like him to do, or what did I want to do ... whatever. I just recall his calm, rational manner, but I cannot bring to mind many of the specific words exchanged between us.

I'm sure he must have inquired about the circumstances of my husband's death which I vaguely recall describing to him as I, too, was trying to make sense of it all. I think I told him of my husband having just seen his doctor the previous morning for a follow-up visit. For the prior two to three years, my husband had periodically undergone various tests to determine whether or not he had a small abdominal aortic aneurysm. Sometimes the aneurysm appeared to be present, sometimes not, but the medical action plan had been to track the small bulge for any increase in size. Tracking had been an ongoing problem since the bulge often was hidden from view during ultrasounds. The definitive angiogram or MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) tests could not be administered since he had other serious medical problems making either test unsafe for him.

My husband had told me the Dr. said the results of this most recent ultrasound once again failed to reveal the aneurysm's presence, but they could not conclude it no longer existed, much less know its current size. Once I made that 911 call, I know I remained on the phone with the operator until the police officer arrived. I know I phoned each of our children, reaching my son immediately, leaving a message for my daughter for our later conversation, but I cannot recall making those calls, when in the sequence of activities I made them, or receiving calls returned. I do remember my son saying he would immediately begin making arrangements to fly home. He arrived later that night. My daughter and granddaughter came home at a mutually agreed upon later date, but we had frequent phone contact daily until then. I don't recall whether that day or later days I phoned others significant in my life.

I knew I must remain strong for my children and myself. I was very good at that with lots of experience. Always before for me, once the crisis was over would be time to emotionally let down. This time proved to be the same only to a degree, but different in so many other ways including the process that lay ahead of adapting to my life being forever changed.

Later the officer went outside to direct the emergency teams. I expected their arrival would be heralded first by the large red fire truck with sirens screaming, soon followed by a small red paramedic truck, from having experienced that scenario before numerous times when I had to call them for my mother. This time, when they arrived on my street, there was no siren since I presume they had been forewarned there was no life in the balance here. An advance directive clearly specified no extraordinary means were to be taken to prolong my husband's life, but he was past the point of having such techniques administered anyway.

Before the officer went outside to direct paramedics to our house, I stood by my dead husband's side, thoughts racing through my mind of those hours from the last time I had spoken with him, had seen him breathing peacefully in his sleep, until the moment I found him. So many words came to mind. For much too long there had been sensitive topics around the edges of which we skirted, that might gradually emerge from time to time. There were those topics with other issues of more recent vintage where the rocky barriers had only begun to be worn down, allowing our words to begin sliding more easily over their once razor sharp edges.

I told the officer, as though somehow he could call back my husband and we could rectify this matter that was pressing on my mind, "There was so much we needed to talk about...so much that we hadn't had an opportunity to yet say...."

In retrospect now, I pause to think, that fateful Saturday the 13^th day he died was the same day and date we had begun our first full day as husband wife so many decades ago. We were married on the preceding Friday night the 12^th -- the exact same day and date I shared my husband's last wakeful living moments, two months shy of our forty-third wedding anniversary. Just imagine, in forty-three years, we still had much love and laughter to share, so much more we needed to talk about.

Betrayal and Heartbreak

I remember when we first met. He was of quite small physical stature standing next to me, but I cared little about that difference in height between us. I looked into his eyes and saw his admiration for me so apparent. His gaze followed me wherever I went. I began to feel an unbidden affection toward him developing within me. When his brown eyes focused on my own, I was overcome with a sense of commitment to him.

We had considerable time together learning so much about one another through the ensuing months. We delighted in pleasing each other in a manner that required little effort. Neither of us had to sacrifice our own sense of individualism in that process to achieve the respect and retain the affection we both wanted.

We looked forward to moments when we engaged in playful teasing games. When we chased one another he usually could catch me, as he was much quicker and more adept at darting and dodging. I generally couldn’t catch him unless he wanted me to do so. In the winter we had fun making tracks in the snow. During the warm seasons, the two of us took long walks together along narrow dirt paths that I imagined to be hidden trails into some unknown world. On either side of the trails, tall growing grasses swayed in the quickening breezes. On an opposite hillside unseen fantasized figures emerged disguised as wild flowers scattered randomly in the field.

Then came the day when I was unexpectedly informed my beloved friend and I must part.
He was going to be fully engaged elsewhere in working activities he would enjoy.
We would no longer be able to spend time with each other. I was certain this was not his choice. I knew I could not prevent this separation. The only hope I had was to make our parting as painless as possible. I knew his departure would bring me such intense pain, that I believed I could not be present to witness his leaving. I was familiar with loss experiences from an early age, so was sensitive to the prospect of having even one more.

Also, I did not want him to think I had wanted this parting, nor did I want to mislead him into believing I endorsed his entering the situation to which he was going. The fact was, I did not fully know specifically what sort of situation in which he would find himself. All I knew was, at some unknown time in the future, he and I would be allowed to meet again, if I so wanted. Any such meeting was to provide me with reassurance as to his welfare.

The day came for his departure, and I hid in my bedroom. I heard loud talking, shouting, increasingly angry sounding voices outside. I was lured with great reluctance to my window to see exactly what was happening. What I saw was greatly distressing to me. My friend did not want to go. He was resisting all commands from everyone, refusing even to walk. Those involved with taking him away were resorting to force, dragging him, to get him into the cab of their large shiny new pickup truck.

He gave the appearance of being undisciplined, uncooperative, generally disobedient. I did not want him viewed from this perspective. I so wanted those with whom he would soon spend all his time to fully appreciate his fine qualities. He deserved to be treated with respect, would respond in kind when trust was established. I knew he was proud, truly regal as the name I had given him implied, he was "King."

So, I rushed from my bedroom to his side. He immediately calmed and walked with me to the pickup truck, entered the cab at my direction. He trusted me implicitly. My point of view was, I was betraying him to I knew not what. The cab door was closed and they drove away. I returned to my room, fell on my bed, sobbed into my pillow to muffle the anguished cries that tore outward from deep inside my body.

Many months later to reassure me as to his welfare, I was offered the opportunity to exercise my option of visiting him. I quickly accepted the offer, but with mixed feelings at the thought of enduring the pain of separation when we would have to part once again.

When we arrived where he was now living, before we even left the car, the man with
whom he had departed in that pickup truck came out to caution us that my friend had developed a rather unpleasant and dangerous habit. He approached people from behind, not just nipping but biting them in a totally unfriendly manner. I was shocked to hear this, as I knew this was not my friend's nature.

I exited the car with only slight trepidation. There was silence for some time, then I heard a scuffling noise coming from the dirt driveway somewhat in the distance behind me. I never turned around. Instead I stood stark still with my arms stretched out at my sides, the palms of my hands open with fingers extended. The noise drew closer and closer, evolving into a scurrying sound more directly behind where I stood.

Soon I heard cautious sniffs for scent, alternating with short slight bursts of air at my feet. I felt the breaths against my bare legs. My body posture remained rigid as though I was frozen in place. I heard increasingly rapid sniffs, the sound increasing in loudness with movement upward on my body. I then felt the airbursts against the palm of my right hand, finally followed by the touch of cold moist skin against my own.

The sniffing figure began jumping up and down, circling around to face me. He quickly raised up on his hind legs, placed his front paws on my shoulders as in an embrace, so I hugged him close to me. This was, indeed, my friend, who could hardly contain his enthusiasm at finally seeing me again. During our separation he had grown to become a full size handsome black colored stock collie trimmed in a golden brown with touches of white at his neck. We only had a short time together before I had to leave.

Somehow I think he hoped I had come to rescue him. Had it been within my power, I would have taken him with me that day. There was little doubt in my mind that my friend had been subjected to what I would have termed abuse, but which his new owner probably thought was appropriate discipline to train him properly. My heart figuratively broke that day as I experienced such feelings of anguish and sadness when we drove away. My tears were suppressed with even greater effort than I had to exert from the heartbreak I felt when we first parted.

During the years since that reunion, I have sometimes dreamed of him, fantasized about the life we might have had together. I wonder on the occasions when he lay sleeping, maybe rapidly moving his paws and legs as though running, perhaps even uttering a slight whimper, as dogs sometimes do, if he, too, would have been dreaming of me? I have remembered him always with such bittersweet memories though I never saw him again.

Story of a Friendship

(The final portion of my early employment years story will be posted at a future time. I felt compelled to write what follows, but oh, how I wish thare had been no reason to do so.)

Story of a Friendship

Our families met when she was in her early thirties and I was pushing forty. All of us sometimes gathered at a neighborhood pool on those late summer afternoons where we all enjoyed the outdoors, the light warm breezes that wafted through the air around us, and the cooling water. Our children became friends in those early years. We kept busy with our own separate activities, only occasionally crossing paths. She was teaching part time at a local college, completing academic classes in English literature toward her doctorate.

She had a special rapport with younger students, so was sought after each year to teach entering college freshmen writing skills they had been unable to hone adequately during their high school years. She had established her credentials as an outstanding instructor, warm, personable, a caring individual with a sharp keen wit, who was quick to laugh when the situation warranted. Her knowledge, teaching skills with young adults, and personality had resulted in her obtaining a steady position at a time when others did not, as she pursued her own higher education.

She could be demanding with high expectations for a student's performance, but also recognized their limitations. She was able to maintain just the right tenor in her relationships with students, sometimes having to tactfully cope with those who developed a crush on her. She gave every indication of being on a path that would allow her to successfully meet her goals and fulfill her dreams. Some of her dreams shattered years later due to circumstances not entirely a consequence of her actions.

But before those times, over the next few years our friendship grew as we seem to come into contact more frequently. Our trust and confidence in each other evolved, ultimately resulting in our recognition that on occasion we might have need of each other for additional support toward reaching our goals. By that time, I had returned to university classes as a student to fulfill plans of my own. One afternoon, I remember the frantic phone call I received from her. There had been a meeting of mothers to select volunteers to assume responsibility for various committees in our daughters' branch of a national girls organization.

Because my friend had not been present to explain her unavailability at that time, she had been appointed to head an activities planning committee. Her daughters were pleased and she did not want to let the group down either, though she was annoyed that someone else had confirmed her availability to do this in the first place, having not checked with her. This may not seem like much, but was the proverbial straw that could have broken our camel backs.

I certainly didn't have the time to take on those duties myself either, so for our children's sake we agreed to share the responsibility. I knew between the two of us, we would complete the task quickly and efficiently. We did so within several days or so, then we were no longer burdened with the matter. We only had to show up once a month to accompany the girls to each different scheduled activity location.

During the ensuing years there were times in both our lives when, having settled our children for the night, we noted our husbands were engrossed in their own interests. We would engage in our own studies, then one or the other of us would spontaneously phone the other to determine if a study break was being scheduled there, too. If so, we walked to a nearby restaurant for relaxing conversation, coffee and an accounting of how we each were progressing along this part of our life's journey. Yes, there were sometimes serious matters we discussed, but we always found something about which to laugh before returning to our homes, and often more studies, into the wee hours of the morning.

Then we were always up bright and early to send household members out the door to work and school. We had to think about and perform all the household duties, go to our respective classes, study, and in her case teach, too. There were other family responsibilities for each of us associated with parents. You could say, we were "sandwiched." Those were extremely hectic, challenging, times, mixed with periods of pure joy and happiness for each of us. Our families managed occasional varied vacation trips though not together. My friend's family often enjoyed camping trips driving off in their VW bus on their journeys.

As I write this, I am aware that last night at this very time, my good friend was making that final journey we all make at some time in our life. She was entirely too young to go on this journey. She was only in the early years of the second half of her life. Her youngest daughter phoned me from along the Atlantic seaboard across the miles this afternoon. I was quite unprepared to accept her words informing me of the finality of her mother's life on this earth.

Only this week, the thought had crossed my mind, wondering if my friend's California family had moved as planned to the Midwest, or if she might come west anyway, and we would manage to spend a few hours together. I remembered last year at this time she had phoned weeks earlier to express her sympathy when she learned of my husband's death, then let me know she would be coming later in the summer. I remembered just how much that time together had meant to me, though what brought her here was related to the death of her parent some months earlier.

During this time we had together, we had shared a humor predicated on similar type unique coincidental events associated with circumstances that occurred long after our loved ones deaths. We had each long since shed many tears, so we indulged our residual pain by engaging in a type of emotionally releasing humor that we could not have shared with anyone other than each other.

We laughed, then laughed some more. I held my side from the ache of laughter, leaned my head on my hand with my elbow on the table, pounded the table with my other hand as I was regaled by the real life story I was being told. I shared my own in similar manner. My friend and I shared a special bond in our ability to find humor in what to others might have seemed irreverent or even disrespectful to the loved ones about whom we were sharing memories. This was the kind of conversation I could only have with someone who knew me intimately and I them. This was the kind of relationship that had developed over many years, many confidences, many shared experiences, that rarely occurs with anyone known for a lesser time.

We had much history together, our families, each other. There had been additional sorrows, an earlier death, and other tragedies of life. There was a mix of joys from our children and more positive life experiences, we each had, along with some we had shared together. Our family members had gradually scattered about the nation those years ago. I had once given much time and energy to this friendship, but the distance of miles and changing circumstances had resulted in a lessening of contact between us.

Mostly our contact had dissolved to an infrequent once a year holiday greeting by mail, or that additional visit if she happened to come this way. We just seemed to be on different paths and I was quite preoccupied with my own activities as she seemed to be with hers. Yet, on each of her visits westward she always arranged for us to spend some time together and I made myself available. I didn't initiate contact other times, perhaps I should have.

When we did talk, I skirted asking specifics of her day-to-day life, nor did she volunteer them. She carefully painted a rosy picture in generalities and I left the matter at that. She did not die from any intentional deliberate act, but then she did not have a traditional terminal illness or disease, either. I don't think she consciously meant to die. I think she died of heartfelt pain from within, deep inside her, not associated with any one individual other than herself. I think she ceased to love herself.

Heaven only knows, had she sought love outside herself, there had always been an abundance of that available wherever she looked, had she wanted it. She had the admiration of adults and students, love of family, love of friends, but she self-destructed. I cry for her, for her family, for all those who knew and cared for her, for all those who will now never have the opportunity to know her. I will miss her.

MORE SORROW TO REMEMBER ...

Thank you to "oldoldlady of the hills" for this link to "pearlies of wisdom" whose April 15th post is of special significance to what I've written here, including a video with audio of the song I described below, "Ani Ma'amin."

And now Los Angeles KNX Radio reports a tragic shooting in Houston at NASA; also, a young man in LaVerne, Calif. USA is reportedly missing from his home with weapons. Does this never end?
Friday, April 20, 2006 4:30P.M. PDT

By way of updating: The young man mentioned above has been located, with those same radio news reporters saying authorities indicate the boy "was never a danger."
Sunday, April 22, 2006 1 P.M. PDT



lives forever altered

In sympathy and remembrance for the lives lost
and in tribute to those who remain
following the April 16th

tragedy at Virginia Tech.

I wanted to add a brief summary of my experience when I attended the Sunday evening "Remembrance" Yom HaShoah service about which I initially wrote. (Scroll down here to the previous April 15th piece.) Then the Virginia Tech events occurred Monday and I added the above. Subsequently, I have learned on the news that one of the casualties at Virginia Tech was a Holocaust survivor. What a tragic loss of his life, that of others, as are the injuries which additional instructors and students received.

I do want to share a few words about that earlier memorable Sunday evening Holocaust Remembrance Day commemoration service as I had originally intended.

There were some performances of heartrending music compositions created many years ago by artists, not all of whom survived concentration camps. There was a song "Ani Ma'amin" (I Believe) reportedly sung by some on their final walk before perishing in the gas chambers.

Especially meaningful was a poem "Each of Us Has a Name" written by Ukranian-born Israeli Poet Zelda Schneersohn-Mishkovsky, better known as "Zelda."

Numerous Holocaust survivors were present including these whose personal histories were presented by younger people during a candle lighting ceremony:
Mrs. Paulette (Amariglio) Sevi
(Isaac Sevi)
Dr. Joseph Rebhun
Gabriele Silten
Jeanne Fisher
Eva Stricks
Nina Morecki

As I recall and relate only one of the experiences from many described by these survivors, a woman of small stature, I think of the wet snowy bitter cold weather currently occurring along the U.S. east coast which we refer to as a Nor'easter. This survivor as a twelve year old girl in Europe, realized the risk at which she was placing a family who had offered her refuge. She left their home to reside in a foxhole in a nearby woods where she lived for a year and a half, including through fierce winters of long duration with weather much as described here and worse.

We must always remember those from the past and now the present, who didn't survive, or whose days have since ended.

CORTEX KINKS - - A DIFFERENT VARIETY

The real adjustments to a loved ones loss come not during the first 8 or 9 months following their death, but afterward, or so it seems to me presently. I expect the adjustments are different for each of us with many situational factors resulting in each individual’s experience being quite unique. Even for me in another situation the loss experience was different -- losing parents, close friends, other relatives -- from loss of a spouse.

Typically, as I realized had been true with me, I was solicitous of others who had experienced a trauma event, including loss, during that early time frame of months. I've come to wonder if perhaps during that time period there evolves for the bereaved an unrecognized gradual acceptance of that solicitousness that develops into a degree of dependence. Perhaps it would be better to not have so much attention then, as inner resources are often rallied to take us through the briers and thorns along that rugged path when we may automatically have been able to muster the inner resources to navigate successfully on our own. Perhaps the solicitousness would be of greater benefit later.

I always rally well in a time of crisis, quickly erecting my temporarily less-than-substantial fortress with thick tall walls of whatever materials are readily available. But then, if I reach out through any windows in the fortress others are most likely to respond. Not all who offer solace can be postponed to provide it for a later time, nor would most understand that was the sole intent to have them in reserve. There seems to be a qualitative and quantitative element and time limit, as I, too, have likely followed, on providing immediate comfort versus that reserved for later, that can result in abundant resources that are inadvertently squandered before a time when they may be more desired. Perhaps, that, too, is unique to each individual -- both the mourner and the comforter.

I've come to think, I had been running on emotional high gear, or even overdrive, most of these past months. But, something happened following fast-paced Christmas holidays joyfully spent with family, though I'm not sure what -- giving way to another life adjustment phase, I suppose. I realized after the first of the year that I needed to slow down and allow life to catch up. After denying my son's suggestion that might be the case, I began to reassess my perception and could only conclude I did, indeed, need to anchor at one spot for a time.
.
My pace became more measured -- more like a vehicle moving at a steady speed in drive, though with an unsteady foot on the accelerator, occasionally resulting in sudden high rates of movement, or including even periods of being on cruise control. The early roller coaster ride became more like a boat ride skimming across the smooth slick calm of ocean waters in balmy weather conditions with fluffy white clouds floating in the blue skies above me. However, there was not one speck of land in sight, not even a sand bar, an atoll with a tropical palm tree, or a northern hemisphere evergreen waving welcomingly in the distance.

In January I began making a more successful concentrated effort to follow a regular early sleep time routine. This was haphazard at best as I like writing in the night, also being up and about in the day, but with such a life, when is there time for sleep? I had no difficulty sleeping, if I just stopped long enough. I began concentrating on an even more scaled-back part time work schedule, having eliminated completely for now one work location to which I had previously gone. I've found it is the actual going out to work each day that is vital for me, otherwise I could easily fritter away every wakeful minute with nothing accomplished. I have the utmost respect for anyone who is able to prioritize their activities at home for constructive gain when they don't have to leave the premises for work. This had not been an issue for me in past years, but for some reason seemed to become an issue with which I have had the most difficulty.

I ceased trying to work-in an afternoon adult education class around my work, instead taking only one night class. That seemed to feel more realistic. I limited all other commitments as much as possible though some unexpected events still arose. I lessened activities that I experienced as being obligations as best I could. I had mixed feelings about whether or not that was wise. Ordinarily, my experience is that the more I have to do, the more I get done; that I work well under pressure and time deadlines; that I thrive on situations with potential for the unexpected happening; that with not enough to do I procrastinate, not even accomplishing a meager task until the last minute. So the choices sometimes seemed like a Catch-22 – would I or wouldn’t I get more done?. Obligations might have had little or nothing to do with what I was experiencing, as I really couldn’t tell, but I just felt I must change some things and see what happened.

Uncharacteristically, I experienced some sense of accomplishment when a number of annual medical and professional requirements were completed in January, though some remain. These once seemed all quite routine to be worked-in throughout just the normal course of events, not meriting special recognition for their completion. I look forward to approaching them in that manner once again.

I relinquished a self-imposed idea of blog obligation. Instead, I was satisfied with just writing about ... whatever ... whenever ... seeing where my mind and heart took me. I had all sorts of ideas, even a few drafts written on pertinent serious topics of the day about which I had genuine interest and concern, but seemed unable to complete them in a manner I found acceptable for publishing here. I hoped that would change in time.

I indulged in a couple of DVD movie marathons as the mood struck me, but found I did not become personally invested in most movie comedies or drama plots and characters. Laugh lines, stories, just passed through my eyes and ears barely registering, much less taking up residence for any meaningful recall at a later time. Did I enjoy them? I think so, but am inclined to think they merely filled my mind, absorbed my attention.

I wasn’t drawn to recreational reading, as I was unwilling to focus intently on the words, much less relish their meanings, nor did I wish to concentrate to a degree necessary to mentally store all that information to access later. That said, I also purchased more books to read during that time. I am fairly confident, their content was not going to be absorbed by placing them under my pillow at night, so what was I doing?

I made little or no effort to attend the free Sun. afternoon jazz concerts on a regular basis in which I initially took refuge. That regular attendance pattern was broken when rare rain-predicted weather conditions cancelled one group. When I did resume going, I often arrived late or didn’t stay the full time though that is acceptable in that informal setting.

I restricted my Internet use of the computer. I still found I was unable to resist writing some notes to myself in notebooks in my purse, car and on paper pads scattered about the house. Finally, I wrote many of these words (in the present tense which I have changed) as a draft that I might or might not post. I felt strangely relieved to have them out of my mind -- I hoped -- but wondered if that peace of mind would continue, or how long before new thoughts would come to once again begin the cycle of distraction.

A few days later unexpected storm clouds blew which sent me to depths I had mostly been able to avoid, but there was nothing to do but take the soaking from the rain, while in the process the thoughts traversed the wrinkled brain eventually releasing those cortex kinks, a different variety from those about which I previously wrote HERE.

I found myself thinking that instead of my trying to relate to others, a distancing and detachment would be much more desirable including jettisoning this blog. Memories of times past with loved ones no longer present often intruded. The questions, insecure feelings, self-doubts, loss of confidence in trusting my own perceptions arose. Recriminations those few times in past years, for being so open, so trusting, for risking, muddled my thoughts. The most innocent comment or observation by others could set off waves of thoughts, even concerns, affecting my feelings and attitude when I was alone at home.

I was aware that for some time I did not always relish spending time in this house. I did not consciously feel a cloud descend upon me when I passed through the doorway, but I was aware of a decidedly differing atmospheric change that often slowly seemed to envelope me. Perhaps it's simply that there was time to think, that there was the once longed for, but now uncharacteristic quiet, this household had not known in over forty years. I had forgotten the pleasures of quiet inside a house, and now it seemed strangely out of place. I refused to regularly turn on a radio or television just for company. I wanted to readjust and once again take comfort in stillness that previously I could only seek out by staying up after everyone else had gone to bed, often into the wee hours.

I relished the quiet as I wrote those thoughts above with only occasional outside sounds penetrating my awareness – short quick high-pitched clicking notes emitted from an iridescent green-throated hummingbird hovering over a bird of paradise in full colorful bloom outside my window, the low muffled distant sound of an occasional environmentally polluting vehicle – a long standing nemesis which I ignored for the moment.

A number of weeks, maybe even a month later, I’m now skimming along the surface of a calmed ocean, the skies are blue, the house is quiet except for the sound of soothing orchestral melodies uncluttered with lyrics, the throbbing pounding of drum beats, the metallic twang and screech of guitars, or the toy piano artificial sounds of a keyboard. I’ll save all that loud raucous music for another time when I’m in a different mood.