Tag Archives: lost sibling

Thinking we were sexy in the blue Berlinetta…

berlinetta

I can see it now.  The baby blue interior of my sister’s beautiful dark blue 1979 Camero Berlinetta as she drove us down the turnpike on one of our pilgrimages to our dad’s house when we were young.  He and my stepmom lived in a nearby town about 45 minutes away, which seemed like a long car ride at the time. We did that road trip so many times I practically had every road sign memorized.  I was around 10 or 11 and she was around 16 or 17 years old.

Let me just say that we ROCKED that 8 track player on our turnpike trips.  I can picture us now, two young brunettes bobbing our heads to the music and singing very loudly while gyrating all over the car while in transit.  (Not super safe but we usually had a hell of a fun ride.)

So when a few of our theme songs from these little sisterly road trips come on the radio I am instantly transported back in time, sitting shotgun in the Berlinetta like my sister’s sidekick who thought everything she did was cooler than cool.  And she was cool.  One of the funniest, smartest and wittiest people I have ever known.

She drove the heck out of that car and it survived much abuse, a flood, even a few wrecks.  I remember the doors were so heavy it almost took two hands to pull them shut. And I’m surprised we didn’t wear that 8 track player out. Man, the stories that car could tell.

The Gap Band You dropped a bomb on me – (click to watch hilarious video – these guys are from Tulsa OK and  band name was based on first letter of the three streets they lived on: Greenwood, Archer and Pine.) .  Don Henley (Dirty Laundry) and the song that most  reminds me of these trips … Rod Stewart … If you think I’m Sexy … and you want my body…. come on suga lemme know….  We would sing out every word along with dear Rod.  I’m sure microphone gestures were involved.

This flashback-inducing song came on the radio as I was flipping through channels on my morning drive today.  (XM radio is my guilty pleasure and I love it so much that sometimes I sit in the car after I arrive just to listen – where else can you find a whole channel just for 70s or Elvis music? Or listen to what the weather is like in southern Asia?  And LOADS of great news channels for news junkies like me.  It’s my own form of crack.)

So as Rod started singing about his sexiness, I drove right back out of my neighborhood and did the long loop home as I blared that music so loudly that I could feel the seats vibrating.  Click to take a quick listen and I bet you smile.

Da'_Ya'_Think_I'm_Sexy_single_cover

The happy tears started running down my face as I smiled and I’m quite certain the crazy lady mascara effect on the way back into the neighborhood frightened a driver or two.

God bless Rod Stewart for his crazy hair, raspy voice and definitely for his sexiness.  And that blue Berlinetta.

What song transports you back in time?

White Christmas Dreams and Santa’s list. Damn that Christmas music. (Grasping for Gratitude)

Christmas tree

I know better.  I really do.  What kind of holiday high was I on to think that turning on old holiday music while I decorated my tree during a Little Red Riding hood visit was a good idea?

Being a bit of a sentimental sap already (especially with old tunes), holiday music has a way of making me miss ‘what was’ more than any other kind of music.  Thoughts of my Mom and sister and I decorating the tree while the Christmas music blared into our fancy room with green carpet and yellow velvet love seats, and all of my Mom’s plants all around the room.

I would get so upset if they started to hang one single ornament or place one strand of silver icicle tinsel garland before I was there with them.  They knew what a younger kid complex I had, so they were very patient with me.  We would get the tree decorated perfectly, just in time for our cat Rascal to knock the whole thing over during the night.

So while my Mom (Little Red Riding Hood) was here today for her Wednesday visit, I thought some holiday music might put a little sparkle back in her eyes while I worked on my Christmas tree so the boys could decorate it later.  Sometimes little things like this can bring her back for a moment. But sometimes reaching for those random lucid moments can be downright exhausting.

I’m really not sure if she even  knew who I was today.  She barely spoke a word and her Alzheimer’s seems to have progressed to a new level. She can’t really dress herself and she seems to have little energy.  I can’t really be sure if she still thinks I even look familiar.  She hasn’t known our names for about two years now.

I kept asking her if the new garland looked okay on the tree and if she liked it.  Not even a smile — which is usually the saving grace of these encounters.  She just looked at me like a was a complete stranger yammering at her and she continued to pick up tree needles from my floor.

As I adjusted my tree ribbon and listened to Bing Crosby drone on about his White Christmas dreams and someone sing about Santa coming to town and checking that list twice, a few tears streamed down my face in slow motion.This isn’t going to get any better and I just hope it doesn’t drag out forever, for everyone’s sake.  And I feel guilty for thinking that.  Nobody gets better with this disease.  They just run out of life.

I tried not to let her see my tears, even though I really don’t think she could notice.   I wished I could have called my sister to complain, whine or speculate about what’s next on this dim horizon.  But I haven’t been able to do that for 13 years. She left me here to figure all this out, even though I know she didn’t mean to.

I know in my heart I have so much to be grateful for.  My health, my family, a roof over my head, my friends…..  But this morning just sucked.

So after a few songs, a few more tears, and a few more blank looks from my Mom who was still collecting dust bunnies and needles from my floor, I grabbed the remote from the table, clicked off that damn music and walked away from the tree.  My throat was tight from my pent up tears and I took a deep breath.

I noticed Mom had something in her hand.  It was a grocery list that my stepdad had written and probably thrown away. She must have had it in her pocket. It was in three pieces and she kept looking at the pieces and refolding them. She’s been a list-maker since I can remember. I grinned because some old habits really do die hard.

Who knew what was going through her head while that music played and I decorated a tall outdoor tree in the center of my living room?  Maybe running her fingers over the little pieces of that list in her hand brought her some kind of comfort that she needed.  If that’s the case, I’m certainly grateful.

Grilled cheese with pickles. Gratitude Experiment: Day 39

Thirteen years ago today I woke up and started the day with my sister just a few miles away.  When I went to bed that night, I no longer had a sister a few miles away, or even many miles away.  Still seems so strange, to have someone in your life one day and taken from you the next.

It was my first day back from maternity leave after my youngest son. And my first meeting that morning.  I was getting the full-on data dump from my coworkers who had covered my clients and projects while I was on leave.  They were happy to hand them back over.

As I sat, asking questions, taking notes and trying to catch up, the call came in.  Our office manager had a serious look on her face as she walked into the conference room to tell me there was a call.  I asked if she could take a message and the slight shake of her head side to side signaled to me that something wasn’t right.  The room cleared.

My stepmom was on the line.  She told me that my sister had been in an accident and I needed to get to the hospital, now.  I don’t remember what else was said on that call but I remember the sound of her voice as the words came out and made my stomach feel sour. I can still remember the tan linen blend suit I was wearing and the black shoes that I looked down at while I was processing the words floating in the air.  I found my purse and flew out the door as my coworkers offered me a ride, worried for my worry. My thoughts raced.

When most people have a car accident, they get hurt and then they heal and go home.  I was prepared, we could handle whatever kind of injuries we needed to adjust to.  I could help her however I needed to. All this ran through my head as I drove robotically to the hospital that sunny fall morning.

But as I walked into the emergency room and was directed down a hall, I was greeted by the hospital Chaplain.  I now know that if you are ever greeted by a hospital Chaplain, you better buckle in and hold tight because you’re getting ready to hear something you don’t want to hear.

The next few hours are a blur with family members huddled in the hospital prayer room, taking turns in and out to see her.  I had to hear her injuries described to me a few times before it really sunk in.  Actually I don’t think it sunk in at all that day.  But she wasn’t leaving the hospital.  I think that’s what they were saying.  I was hoping I was understanding it all wrong.  But no, she wasn’t coming home.

I got to say goodbye to her that morning and I think she could hear me.  I really do.  No, I know she did.  The nurse in the room with me pointed to the movement on the machines tracking her vitals which were connected to the machines keeping parts of her body going.  She showed me how they changed as I spoke and told her what a wonderful sister she was.  And what a wonderful mom she was.  I told her that her daughter was going to be there any minute.  I said all of this over and over, in between sobs, as if on a loop.

Her daughter made it to the hospital, being pulled from her junior high class by her dad.  It was as if my sister was holding on until she could her daughter’s voice.  It was right after that when even those few vital signs ceased.  My niece told me she saw a bright light in the hallway outside of that hospital room.  It was her Mother.

We all went home that day with a hole in our hearts that remains today. I know she is with me, with all of us, all the time.  And I am at peace. But the hole remains.

My niece and parents are in town this weekend and we celebrated my sister by being together.

She loved grilled cheese sandwiches with pickles from Sonic. I’ll be making a stop by Sonic tomorrow for sure.

Today I am grateful for the wonderful memories I have of my sister that make me smile, for the time I had as her little sister, and for the joy she still brings us.

The long way home. Gratitude Experiment: Day 35

This post is from yesterday…  forgot to hit publish.

Once in a while I purposely take the long way home.  Usually it happens when a great song is playing and the car windows are rolled down or the top is down.  Overcast or misty days are the perfect settings for this.

There is a great winding road near my neighborhood that cuts through part of our state park.  It feels like it’s miles from nowhere yet it’s not at all.  It branches off from a much more direct route to its end, so there are usually few cars on it. And right when I reach my neighborhood entrance, it’s like my car sometimes knows when I need to recharge for a just a moment or two.  And when I need to keep going straight and follow this road, making an extra loop before returning home.

I’ve decided this little road is sort of like my own little spiritual retreat.  Like a drive through recharging station.  This is where I crank up whatever song that most likely inspired me to blow off my original turn.  Usually Janis Joplin is whaling about Bobby McGee, Rod Stewart about his sexiness or the Beatles about places they remember.  Any old song that makes me a little sentimental.

And as I make the wide bend of the road (the best part when I go a little too fast) and refocus, I almost always notice a flock of birds in formation.  I’m always in awe of how these birds can perform such a complex and scientific maneuver. Did you know that birds can fly 70% further with the same amount of energy when in formations like this?

I must admit that I have very little affection for birds.  I had a really bad Blue-Jay experience once when my dog found a baby bird, so I am pretty much terrified of most birds.   I’m not sure what kind of birds these are, but I would assume geese or ducks.  And they never cease to fascinate me when flying in formation.

I love that there always seems to be that one little guy at the end of the formation who can’t quite seem to figure it out, probably losing out on much of the drag reduction benefit of the whole exercise.  I always wonder if his cohorts are giving him a hard time for being a slacker and that just stresses him out even more.

And then at that moment I remember a reference in one of my favorite poems.  A poem that I have given to many dear friends in their times of sorrow.  It’s called “Do Not Stand” and the author is unknown from what I can tell.  It’s written from the perspective of someone who has passed on speaking to someone they’ve left behind in this world.  They urge the reader not to stand at their grave and weep, for they are not there. They are a thousand winds that blow, the diamond glints on the snow, the sunlight on ripened grain, the gentle autumn’s rain. And the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight.

I can feel my heart leap up as I watch the formation pass over me and I think of my sister. Maybe somehow I connect with that little guy at the end of the formation. Like it’s my sister reminding me that everything’s okay, even for the little guy trying so hard to keep up.  I think a therapist could have a heyday with the psychological theories that might explain this series of thoughts.  Probably many theories would be spot-on, or maybe I subconsciously want to be reincarnated as Janis Joplin’s uncoordinated pet bird?  I’m not sure, but I suspect there’s more to it than that. I’ll be sure to save up for that  session.

Then as I turn my car around at the traffic circle and head back home the opposite direction, through this same stretch of winding road, I breathe a sigh and I am renewed.

Today I am grateful for my long way home.

 

A Bittersweet Solstice Approaches. Gratitude Experiment: Day 23

Bittersweet defined is a combination of both bitter and sweet – a feeling that is both happy and sad at the same time. This familiar emotion finds its way back to me each year, just as the first signs of Autumn find their way back to us all.

It’s my favorite time of year and always has been, flooding me with memories of autumns past.  The smells of damp leaves and firewood, the crisp air that fills my lungs, the glorious colors that open my eyes to nature each year, and the sound of fallen leaves underfoot.  My very favorite season.

The approaching September equinox called out to me today, as it does each year when the summer’s curtain draws to a close.  Letting me know that fall is approaching and the time for winter is near. It’s sad to see the summer end, but also sweet to see the cycle complete.

There are two equinoxes every year – one in September and one in March.  When the length of day and night is almost exactly equal all over the world, with seasons opposite on either side of the equator.

Derived from Latin, the word equinox means “equal night.” I explained this to my kids as I drove each one to school this morning, and as I do each year when the sun on the horizon nearly blinds me as if to awaken me from a summer’s sleep.

The autumn equinox happens each year, the moment the sun crosses the equator, always on September 22nd, 23rd or 24th. On any other day throughout the year, our planet tilts away or toward the sun.  But not on each equinox, when the sun shines more directly upon us than any other days of the year, as if to remind us of our smallness in the universe.

Thirteen years ago on September 22nd, just before the autumnal equinox, my sister crossed over and left this world, just as the sun crosses over the equator.  The sun was blinding her way that day, or maybe calling her toward it. It was also my mother’s birthday.

I’m really not sure what God and the universe had in mind that day, but I’m determined not to let it zap the gratitude out of me as I gear up for this month’s memories, filled each year with emotions, both happy and sad.

When I see the sun each morning so boldly reminding us of its presence near the horizon, I know it is a bittersweet reminder for me to plant the seeds of both appreciation and caution for all that is. Today I am grateful for the sun and all that she reminds me to be thankful for.

Hoarding, buried alive — or in my lamps

There they were again, or maybe there she was.  Staring me down as I pulled into my garage this morning.

These two lamps were given to me by my late sister probably 20 years ago, just seven years or so before she died in a car accident at 36.  She gave them to me when her budget allowed her to upgrade her lamp status and when my budget was in need of free lamps.

I probably thought they were way attractive at the time, but they’re really not.  Or at least not now after years of use and an inexpensive foundation to begin with.  My sister would almost suredly agree.  They’ve served us well as bedside lamps for many years.  I have wanted to change them out more times than I can count.  In the last few years in particular they’ve seemed a tad sketchy electrically speaking.  The one by my side of the bed even had a habit of turning on in the middle of the night sometimes.  Was it electrical?  Hmmmm.

I have just enough belief in what’s out there in the spiritual world to be swayed  by a psychic I once saw in an effort to communicate with my sister.  She told me that my sister tries to communicate with me through lights and at night, in my dreams.   I know you’re thinking – well sure, that’s a classic easy reach that anyone desperate to believe might make a connection with.  I even thought so.  Or did I?

As a true skeptic who even tries to set psychic types up to fail,  I also yearn to believe that maybe — just maybe — they really can help me talk to her.  There are just so many things I would ask her.  There are so many memories from my childhood when I lived with my mom and my sister (the Three Musketeers)  where  I can’t quite recall all of the details.  Who would have imagined my sister would be gone and my mother would end up with Alzheimer’s so advanced that she hardly even speaks?  Who would have thought I should have been taking notes for goodness sakes?   They say it is this kind of love — and love lost — that flames our endless desire to communicate with those who have passed on before us.  Especially those that weren’t supposed to.

Back to the lamps.  So, I religiously watch the Hoarding, Buried Alive television show, which to my family’s amusement is what causes me to go on mad purging binges – clothes, furniture, you name it.  My unneeded hoard finds its way to my donate bins and designated areas at least twice a month.  Afterall, it’s just stuff.  And if I’m not using it, someone could.  Plus, from what I witnessed in the homes of  my late grandparents on both sides,  I’m afraid I  just might have a tad bit of a hoarding gene in me somewhere.

So, finally I decided it was time to donate these lamps and get real “grownup” bedside lamps.  My husband appeased me and accompanied me to many stores in search of the perfect bedside lamps, which we found.  I still don’t feel like a grownup, but that’s beside the point.

But what to do with the lamps? I  regularly give most of my donation worthy items to my housekeepers – furniture and all.  They strike gold at my house at least monthly.  Or I like to think they do. I just wish I could understand what they were saying to each other whenever they bag up my donate bin that I keep next to the vacuum.  For all I know it could be “Look at this crap this lady thinks we want…”  But I like to think it’s not, especially since they take it enthusiastically. At any rate, I didn’t want to give them these lamps in case they really did have electrical problems.  That would keep me up worrying for sure.  And I knew that Goodwill probably has to test everything before they sell it.  Or that’s what I tell myself.

So, on three different occasions I have loaded these lamps in the back of my car to take them to the Goodwill donation center along with my other purge-fest prizes. It’s always right at the moment when the guys helping me unload my Hoarding Buried Alive load of treasures point to the lamps and say “these too?” when I freeze.  I tell them not to take the lamps, just everything else.  Then I carefully drive the lamps back to my house and set them at the front of my garage again until I can figure out what to do with them.

I also have a purse my sister gave me that I will never carry again because it’s such a bad luxury brand knock-off.  But I vividly remember how proud she was to buy it for me and how excited I was to have it (same spot in my budget timeline as the lamps).  I remember how much she smiled as I modeled it.  I will never donate it, even after a hoarding series marathon.  I also have a cheesy belt that she gave me that I will never wear, but that reminds me of us going through each other’s closets and making fun of clothes in need of purging. Both items hang inside my closet where I can see them and just know they are there.

Maybe these lamps are my sister’s way of staying in my busy life when I try so hard to keep her memory alive but life gets in the way. And for that I’m grateful.  I think I’ll find a place for them afterall.