The Cycle of Life

February 4, 2017

This morning I am wandering about the house aimless, yet with little tasks on my mind to do – picking up this or that, emptying small garbage cans, making coffee, watering plants, etc. I think I am in avoidance mode. Avoidance mode is that place where you know you should deal with something – a thought, an action, an activity – but you just can’t quite make yourself do whatever it is. I am declaring right here and now that avoidance mode is an alright place to be. Not always, but sometimes. 

I know what I am avoiding, and I guess now that all my little tasks have played out and I really need to get on with my day that I can let a little of it out. I am avoiding thinking of those hard decisions to be made in life. Move, or not. Work, or not. Marry, or not. So many things we have to make hard decisions about. I think the most important decision must be the one that takes us down the road to our own destiny. We are born. We die. What happens in between is living, and sometimes we have to make that decision to lead us down the path to our own death; or maybe it is our own destiny. I had to do that for someone I loved a long time ago. It was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever made. It was the right decision, I know without doubt, but it was not easy. My mother-in-law made me her health care surrogate, which means when her faculties shut down and hard decisions had to be made, she asked me to make them for her. It took me a long time to sign that paper, and even after I signed it, I wanted to take it back. But I know it was the right thing to do.
To me, our lives are unscripted, yet somehow with pre-written endings. We have free will to choose the paths we travel, but that path always takes us to where we are supposed to be at any moment, always toward the end of our lives. That is a hard truth sometimes, and it probably goes against what others believe, and that is okay. Maybe I am wrong. It does not matter in the end. We walk the path of our lives wondering if we are on the right path, but I think we always are. To me, that means that every breath we breathe, every step we take, every decision – everything leads us to where we wind up. 

So I think of the little moments of my life sometimes – those gone by. They cannot be changed, but each of those tiny moments has made me who I am, where I am today; it is always the right place to be, the here and now. This morning I had little moments of memory of my early teen and teenage years. Of waking in my old bedroom, patchwork printed curtains tied back at the windows, the antique bed and dressers; the beautiful smooth, mirrored vanity. Of the way the sunlight came in, soft and subtle through the sheers in the windows with their slightly wavy old glass. I think of polishing the banister, of cleaning mirrors downstairs, mixing up cookies on the kitchen counter; of the old Charles Chip can on top of the refrigerator. I think of late nights downstairs in the house – with everyone asleep upstairs, of watching out the front windows at the silent, sleeping village; watching nothing special but longing always for something different. Of the sound of the distant train on the tracks, or the low sound of a boat horn on the river as it signaled for the boathouse to raise the bridge so it could continue on its own journey. I think of the dusty smell of metal screens raised in the summer, of the cold, fresh spring air that would pour into the house as we aired it from the long winters. I think of the gurgle of the pool summer nights, and of the soothing sound of the old box fans in the windows the hot nights, pulling in cooler air from the outside. 

I think of these things, and then I know what I am really avoiding. Thinking of my Mom-Carole. How she’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I think of her teaching me to float in Joan Armstrong’s pool many, many years ago – when I was very young; when my parents were still together, and her Spike was still alive and our world’s touched always until they collided in my pre-teen years. How my father and I moved in with her and the boys, after the turmoil and upheaval in all of our worlds brought us all crashing in together. I think of how happy they were for a long time, of how confused the boys and I were, but how much we all were a family, despite it all. And how hard it was. But I also think of how hard she tried. And I think of how she’s been a mother to me, and so often she was there when my own mother was not. I think of how she has supported me and loved me, even after she and my father parted. I think of the changes in her life, and how she became less independent over the years, and how losing my father, Danny, her parents – how all of that really destroyed her confidence and sense of security, and how hard life became for her, despite her often brave face. How bitterness took hold, and it made everyone sad, but no one was able to fill those voids left behind in her life.

I have tears in my eyes, running down my cheeks. I know that life; her destiny has led her to where she is now, and to the decisions she is making now each day; that hard choice to say no, I cannot do this anymore. I am done. That her life will end, and it will not be pretty or easy. I would not want to do it either. But I am in a different place in my life, and I continue to think of all she has done for me, been for me – good and bad, because life is never, ever perfect, and we are never perfect to those we love or who love us all of the time. I think of her, younger, robust, full of life, pride, purpose. I think of her in more recent years, and I know her existence and reason for living has become a shell of what it once was. 

I think of how much I will miss her, because when we are faced with such a reality of loss, I believe we realize even more how much someone’s presence in our lives really means to us. We don’t know what we have until it is gone; or we are faced with the reality of loss, I guess. 

Here’s the thing that is so odd, though. Life does go on. We do not think we can bear it; the weight of loss, and yet we do. The reality of losing my Mom-Carole saddens me, and I feel lost already, even with her still here. I know I will survive; I always do. I value life and love life, and I love the people in my life. But I have survived loss, and I will now. It makes me think of my own life, and all those little moments long forgotten that have transpired to bring me to this moment; to this now and I feel so grateful. To God, my angels, to those moments and all those people intertwined within my days over the years. And it makes me determined to live my life and appreciate those small moments, because each and every one is vital to who I am right here and right now. I love my Mom-Carole. I always will. She has been such an integral part of who I am, and I love her.

Things Are Spinning 'Round Me

I have so much to do. The truth is, I can't seem to get beyond my own thoughts to get anything done. Writing has helped all of my life – helped to clear my head; my mind. It's a purge or a catharsis, depending on the need. Today, a purge, I think. I began the year with high hopes, and my hopes are not dashed. I am subdued from goings on in the last week, but I still have not given up on the year, and I won't. Life happens. There are things that need to be done sometimes, before others can occur. I just have to be patient and continue to do housekeeping – not a term I like very well, but it is all I can think of. I need to sweep my mind from all the debris tangling there – thoughts of death and life and the huge amount of work piling up around me. 

There is a Jim Croce song going through my head - "Well, things were spinning round me and all my thoughts were cloudy and I had begun to doubt all the things that were me. Been in so many places you know I've run so many races and looked into the empty faces of the people of the night, and something is just not right". That is me the last few days. Spinning thoughts; things are just not right. It is plain what some of it is about – the death of my cousin's wife, the death of Jan Thompson, such a dear family friend. Those things in themselves are hard to wrap my head around. Jan's death –her life was so wonderful and the world she and John created together for 63 years are truly inspiring. Their family – my extended family – they are just the epitome of a family; not perfect, they argue, fight – but they love each other and they come together in times of happiness and sorrow both. I love them all dearly. And Jan will be missed. She and my mom are drinking coffee in heaven, I know. Jan might be sad to have left her worldly body behind, and my mom might be saying, but Jan – it's ok; you will adjust. They will adjust. I have watched my girls for 11 years now, and I promise, it will be ok. They will all join you one day, but for now, look - we can drink coffee and we can smoke, we can laugh like we always did, and we can shine down on them from heaven.

Eryka's death. That is something else. Not planned, not expected, not welcomed by anyone she knew – of course, whose death ever is, right? But she was young, healthy – beautiful; she had a beautiful young daughter who loves her, a mother who loves her – a husband, who, despite their differences, loved her a long time. They mourn her, all these people. I mourn her, and I did not know her as they did. I mourn the loss of her, and I mourn my family for their loss. It is heart-wrenching, and I cannot get my head around why she would take her own life. Suicide is not something I can fathom. I understand, logically, that people are unhappy, and I understand suicide happens. I don't condone it, and I don't believe in it – and I know it is not my place to pass judgment; I am not doing that. I just do not understand it, and my brain says why, why? Why would you do that? No man, no situation – nothing in life cannot be changed. Life changes, minute by minute; hang on; give your life a moment to adjust. I am not arguing for suicide and I am not arguing about it; it is truly not my place nor is it my intention. I just am having such a hard time with the depth of what it leaves behind. The beautiful daughter; the mother; the husband. The friends – the family. The world shifts a minute, immeasurable amount when someone dies. It has to. The course of history changes, even in the slightest bit; the air that is displaced when a butterfly flutters its wings, or a ripple that flows outward in a pond when a pebble is dropped, or someone passes from this world; it can change the world. I feel my heart ripping at the thought of the exquisite pain she must have been in; down inside her soul and how hard her last moments must have been. The depths of that agony are beyond my measure, but oh, the sadness it brings to me; the thought of another human being in so much pain.

Such thoughts are clouding my mind. I have other things happening in my life that just seem so trivial in comparison. I am not downplaying my own life and all that is filling my head right now, but those things – work deadlines and responsibilities I cannot seem to concentrate on; health concerns; daily more and more to do, bills to pay, plumbing issues, the need for a new roof, classes to take, books to read for deadlines; my step-mother's terminal illness and the changes that is bringing to life. It's all there, and it is all part of what makes up the fabric of my life. It is weighing on my mind. But it will all get done, somehow. Those things that we encounter each and every day – they do pass. This moments worries will, in a month, be behind me, taken over by the new worries of that moment. I know that. I just can't seem to stop my head from spinning a little out of control. This, too, shall pass. Life has a way of taking care of such things. I am blessed to be alive. Blessed to have these worries and concerns – these minor burdens. It means that I am alive. I am living my life. I am taking breaths, one after the other. My head is spinning, but it is thinking, and it is trying to come to terms with everything; everyone. I am so, so fortunate. Thank you, God, for life.

Christmas and Family

Yesterday was Christmas. I've created a tradition of cooking the holiday meal for my family - whoever happens to be around at the time. Aunts, Uncles, cousins - friends of the family; whoever. It began long ago, even before Steve left, but it became even stronger after that. Family are those people in this world who know us best, despite our quirks, oddities, dysfunctions. My family are no different than every other family, except they are mine, and I am theirs - we are each other in so many ways, and different in so many others. My family, I am grateful to say, treat me with warmth, affection - love, above all. They make me feel special and appreciated. It makes my heart so happy and full. My husband did not love me enough to stay in spite of the fact I gave my marriage and our life together my entire heart and soul - for over 20 years. It was not enough for him, sadly. It was for many years, but in the long run it ended up just not enough. When the best of what you have; who you are; of everything you have to give is not enough, it is soul shattering. I was broken into a million pieces. But my friends and my family helped stitch me together. They rally around me still, and they succeed in showing me that I am worthy of love; of appreciation. Family are the root of who we are. We are born into each other forever, even if we sometimes try, we cannot lose those bonds. I am so fortunate to be part of a huge network of aunts, uncles - cousins. My father was blessed with 12 siblings, and all together there are over 40 of first cousins. They all have so much to do with who I am today. Thank you, God.

When we were growing up, my cousins and I, the majority of us spent Christmas evening together. We had huge Fields family gatherings all together at my grandfathers house; the house my father and all of his siblings grew up in; It was huge, dark, old, and it was the old homestead on the corner of Bridge and Homestead in Phoenix, New York. The old wooden house burned in the mid 70s and my uncle, who lived with Grandpa at the time, bought a new double wide modular home for them both to live in. The house was placed on the same old foundation, and the basement was still the same. The new house was much smaller, but we all still gathered in that house - 13 older siblings and spouses, all their offspring; friends of the family - it was a chaotic, frantic mess; 60 plus adults and children in one modular home for the evening! I can still remember the feel of all those bodies in one place, turning sideways to get by people, the noise, the heat - the smells; the feeling of completely belonging to each other, despite the chaos. The tables, kitchen - every surface was laden with food, drinks, presents, coats, hats, boots, scarves. My cousins and I still talk of those old days with warmth and passion - those were the days that formed so many of us. We gathered at Grandpa's on Christmas night, in each other's houses throughout the year for birthdays, graduations, weddings, births - deaths. We gathered at the lake for family reunions for weekends of celebrations. We gathered and we celebrated all of life's moments together, good and bad. There were arguments, laughter, loud voices, laps to sit on, necks to hug. There were copious amount of food, alcohol, coffee - cigarette smoke. There was always such a welcoming air and presence to all of our family gatherings, and there still are. Even as the Fields family grows and expands, that core group dwindles and the special gatherings are never as loud or large or intense, but they are still special. I think that is one of the reasons that I started having family gatherings here at my house - a longing for those far off gatherings at home in Phoenix. After I left home for Florida and Steve and I began our own holiday traditions, part of me always longed for those huge family events. I missed so many of them living so far from home. I know that as my cousins and I grew into adulthood our parents began slipping away from us, one by one, and the heart and soul of our family shrank little by little with each death, Now all that is left of my many aunts and uncles are the youngest two; my dad and my Uncle Gary. Aunt Betty and Aunt Carol are two of the spouses left to us, and we treasure the four of them, each and every one of us. We can never recreate our past, but those formative years stay with us. I think my holiday celebrations now are a way to pay homage to those days of youth, and as a way to say thank you to all of my family, far and wide - for being my family, for being part of my tribe; for loving me and for allowing me to love back. Family is the heart and soul of who we are, always.

Thank you, Amber, for creating this video of Chrismas Past -
Fields Family Christmas

I Liked My Life

Book Review - Good Reads

This is the story of Madeline, her daughter Eve, and husband Brady. Madeline has died, but it does not stop her from trying to find her replacement in her families lives. Maddy watches and guides her family from where she is - somewhere in-between heaven and earth. As Maddy's death unfolds, we learn the backstory of her life and that of her friends and family. Both Brady and Even struggle to discover what hidden secrets Maddy had, and how she could have been so vastly unhappy without their knowing it. Both characters search deep into their souls and discover truths about themselves that are unsettling, yet enable them to grow into the lives they are meant to live.

Each life has a turning point - many turning points. Eve and Brady find themselves wishing to go back to any moment in time and react differently; live differently, speak differently. Their epiphanies are full of prose, poetry and words of wisdom; self-discovery moments they are guided to by Maddy from her place watching over them. One of the most beautiful pieces of prose is given to Eve by Maddy's sister Meg in the form of "Maddy's Truths". Such great words of wisdom.

As with every wonderful work of fiction the plot twists and turns, leaving the reader guessing at the truth until the very unpredictable ending - I did not want the story to end. As well as surprising me, it left me satisfied and contemplative all at once.

I have been sitting on this review, deciding just what to say. I read the book twice - I should say I devoured it once, then went back and reread it slowly, savoring it. It is such a unique story, and so well written; Abby's words are magic and beautiful. I am completely in love with this book, and I cannot wait for Abby's next , even though "I liked My Life" will not be on sale until January 2017. I was so thrilled and honored to have received an ARC of this book - thank you Abby, for the gift of your words and story, and for the opportunity to read it early.

Thoughts on Paul Harding's Tinkers, Life and Living

Book Review - Tinkers, by Paul Harding

Choosing books for a book club can often be a daunting task. It is so difficult to anticipate what members in the group will like or appreciate. I myself often don’t like the choices, but I am always glad to expand my own reading choices.

This month I selected Paul Harding’s Tinkers. The book won the 2010 Pulitzer Prize, so I thought if nothing else at least we could appreciate reading a quality novel. Book group meets this coming Tuesday, and I have already heard grumbles that it is too hard a subject, too meandering, too esoteric for most readers. Even my friend who has read every single book in the nearly four years our group has been meeting has been challenged to finish it. One of the couples in the group could not get past the first page – his father recently having succumbed to a similar death as the main character.

I admit it was a difficult book to start. I started and stopped a few times over the last month, until last week I knew I needed to get serious and get it read, so I began again. This time the book flowed for me. I found myself captivated, enthralled, engrossed by so many of the passages that I actually had to get sticky notes and mark the pages I found truly beautiful.

Tinkers is the story of George Washington Crosby and his descent to death to cancer. The story of his life is intertwined with that of his father, who left the family when George was a young boy, rather than be institutionalized by George’s mother because of his epileptic fits. George became obsessed with clock repair later in life, and the mechanisms and clockworks are woven throughout the story. Howard, George’s father, had a parallel life with his son, and their stories show the fabric of life and how deep inside, all of us are made of the same stuff as nature throughout the history of the world. Inside the red blood of our bodies lies the rust left behind from Roman armor, and our bones contain the same materials as the stars in the heavens. It is the story of life; of consciousness, of moments in life that can stay with us always, of living and of dying, and how none of us can escape no matter how we live our lives; deep inside we are all one in the same. The prose in this book  completely left me breathless on several occasions.

“..and my father’s fading was because he realized this: My goodness, I am made from planets and wood, diamonds and orange peels, now and then, here and there; the iron in my blood was once the blade of a Roman plow; peel back my scalp and you will see my cranium covered in scrimshaw carved by an ancient sailor who never suspected he was whittling at my skull – no, my blood is a Roman plow, my bones are being etched by men with names that mean sea wrestler and ocean rider, and the pictures they are making are pictures of northern stars at different seasons…” p. 136

This is an incredible book. Yes, it is a challenge to read, and the timeline jumps so much it is hard to keep track of who is speaking or when. I read that Harding printed his manuscript, laid it all out, then cut it up and formed it into what it is today by pasting the bits together. Whether or not this is true, I do not know. However, I can believe it is. Despite the challenges, I found this book to be poetic genius. Thank you Paul Harding.