Mireille Was Here

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of spending the entire day with a dear friend. Mireille was my Nana's massage therapist for many years. She was born on a farm in Switzerland; the farm is still in her family, as it has been for 6 generations. Mireille has worked all over the world in her career as a nurse and massage therapist. She lived in the Puget Sound area for nearly 35 years, and then returned to Switzerland to be with her older siblings, their children and grandchildren. She has a beautiful spirit, and her being radiates healing energy.

I picked her up at the ferry terminal, and we took a scenic drive, and then a walk. We went to Poulsbo and sat on Katie's bench. We ate lunch at Paella Bar, toured Front Street in Poulsbo, stopping in at Sluy's Bakery to buy some treats, at Bad Blanche to browse, and waving to Suzanne through the window of Liberty Bay Books. Just as a few raindrops began to fall, we came home to relax and visit with David. Gregg arrived from work, and my parents from their house, and we all had dinner together (green salad, roasted potatoes, grilled wild salmon, with ice cream for dessert). Then we took Mireille back to the ferry so she could return to her hosts in Seattle.

This visit was a wonderful gift. I hope she will do it again, and that we will one day visit Mireille at her home in Switzerland!

Did I mention that she is 84 years old? Amazing!

A Word of Gratitude to My Nana Emilie

Dear Blogging peeps: I love you and this blogging community very much. Lately, my life has been so busy that I feel I'm not able to do justice in writing the depth and quality which I prefer to share with you here. The other writing that I'm doing just now - editing the video transcript - is deep work, delving into memories of the hardest period of my life. I can't seem to write from my depths there AND here at the same time. I miss y'all, and I will be back, but for now, it appears that you are going to get the "fluff."

The enormous pile of laundry next to me on the couch, and the pile of shirts and tablecloth that need ironing are beckoning to me. But before I attend to those, I have to express thanks to my Nana Emilie for something really important that she passed on to me.

Nana & Coco, 1960s

When I was growing up, my grandparents lived a much more luxurious lifestyle than we did. They had live-in help, a large home, the highest-quality of clothes, furnishings, food and  travel. They were charitable and community-minded. They were not religious nor faithful, but they were dutiful and upheld the conventions of their religion.

Emilie Bloch, Mills College, ca. 1925

Nana Emilie was a highly unusual woman for her time. She was a college graduate, had spent a year on scholarship, studying in France at the University of Lyons (with her mother as her chaperone!), had a master's degree, and taught at the university level before her marriage. She didn't want to be a socialite; she wanted to do something more than simply being social. However, when it came to homemaking, she left those duties to others - cook, housekeeper, driver, gardener and even a nanny. She was a devoted wife and civic worker, but not a hands-on mother.

Nana & Coco with Deb, Jim & me in their garden

My parents expressed some ambivalence about my grandparents as I was growing up. They had good qualities which my parents acknowledged, but also difficult ones, with which they struggled. My mother took a different path of wife-and-motherhood - she was hands-on with us. We listened to my parents' conversations about my grandparents' lifestyle and personalities, and we were aware that our family lived differently, on purpose. However, my sister, brother and I found many things to admire and enjoy about my grandparents, particularly as we grew more mature. Nana showed more interest in each one of us as we grew more intellectually capable; she wasn't much interested in babies or toddlers.

Nana telling me that "the wedding is just the beginning; it's the marriage that matters!"

Nana taught us to speak French. She read stories to us in French. Nana & Coco took us to the Seattle Art Museum, to Volunteer Park and to the Arboretum near their home. They took us to the opera and symphony. We were occasionally taken to Canada, or to San Francisco to see relatives and learn about Nana's home and her college days. These trips were a bit strange, for us, because my grandparents were so unaccustomed to doing things for themselves, but it was an adventure in living a privileged lifestyle which we did enjoy. Fancy hotels, room service, exclusive clubs and restaurants and shopping expeditions were fun, special treats for us. The formality was a bit of a strain, but my parents had done an excellent job of preparing us for it. We all remember the night we first encountered finger bowls at our great-aunt and -uncle's dinner table. My father still enjoys the memory of how well the three of us children coped - and it was because he and my mother had taken care to teach us how to behave politely, so that we could go ANYwhere.

When Nana was getting rather elderly, she used to say that grandchildren were the great compensation for growing old.

Today, I went to see my massage therapist. The reason that I have a massage therapist is that Nana Emilie used to have a massage every week (toward the end of her life - in her 90s - she had massage twice a week). Nana introduced us to massage by giving us the gift of occasional appointments with her Swiss massage therapist, Mireille, who I love. We secretly thought this weekly appointment was a bit of a wicked extravagence on Nana's part, particularly since she didn't do any real manual labor or exercise that made it seem necessary. I couldn't imagine taking the time and funds to have a massage regularly - until Katie passed away. After that, I gave up one big luxury (housecleaning help) in order to have a massage every other week. I clean my own house, so I can have massage therapy; it's a worthwhile trade. I wouldn't have it unless Nana Emilie had set the example that showed that it is a huge help to our health, and that we are worth it. It has been an essential component of my grief healing work. Meeting Mireille, and learning from her, made a huge impression upon me; Mireille is a healer. Sadly, she moved back to Switzerland a few years ago, but happily, she is back here visiting now - and we are going to see her next week!

Thank you, Nana Emilie, for teaching me about one of the greatest therapies in my life! I don't know what I would do without it now.

Down the Rabbit Hole

You may know that I am engaged in a book study on a private blog, with three other bloggers who also happen to be mothers of children who have died. We are reading a book by an author I love (Joyce Rupp), called "Open the Door." Joyce Rupp came to our church and led a retreat years ago, and I attended it. We studied her books in Lectionary class. I am happy to be sharing this book with such a wonderful group of women.

The reading I encountered yesterday triggered something in me, and I think it's worth noting. Of course, I noted it on our private blog, but I am going to share it here, as well, because if you are grieving, you might find yourself falling down a "rabbit hole" like this one some day, (or, as my friend Karen J. called it, a "dark alley"), and I want you to know that you are not alone. These memories and triggers lurk everywhere in plain sight, and we have to learn to live with them. But sometimes, they knock me down, and that's what happened yesterday.

The reading was fine - it was lovely, in fact - about invisible guides/guardians on our journey. It was the guided meditation that got to me.

"Sit quietly with your attention focused on the in-and-out pattern of your breath. As you breathe in, whisper 'You are with me.' As you breathe out, whisper, 'I am with you.' When you are ready, visualize a sacred dwelling place with dim lighting. See yourself standing before the holy place. On either side of you is a guardian to guide and protect you." - p. 106, Joyce Rupp, Open the Door

This is where the meditation broke down for me yesterday. I wrote,

"Something inside of me screamed, 'NO! Why should I have this protection, when Katie did not?' Irrational? Perhaps. But I can't get rid of the memory - one of the worst of my entire life - of Katie, screaming in pain one evening, 'I want to die, NOW!' My precious, beloved 12-year old girl. Where were her guardian angels, then? I am shaking as I type this. Trauma memory.

'We learned to anticipate her pain episodes after that, and we had them under control, but there were two that got ahead of us in the early days of hospice, and I will take those memories with me...of failure to protect her, of her suffering, of our agony of helplessness, waiting until the drugs kicked in, of the fear of more horrors to come, of compassion for her, and the angry certainty that NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO SUFFER LIKE THIS! I hate cancer.

"So I am throwing in the towel on this meditation for now. Maybe I'll come back to it later."

Later on, after putting the book down,  I took a walk, and it occurred to me that perhaps I was a guardian/guide for Katie during her illness. Not that I was able to prevent her suffering, but I was with her,  giving her love and care the entire time - and when I was out, Gregg was there. David was a companion for her, as were countless nurses and technicians and doctors. We had many helpers in our community, as well.

If I think of guidance and protection as "saving from harm," then no way does it work. But if I think of guidance and protection as loving presence, maybe it does. Perhaps our companions or guardians were not so much invisible, as visible. Perhaps they were not there to "protect" Katie and us, in the sense of preventing what was to come, but in the sense of loving assistance and presence.

I went to see my spiritual director yesterday afternoon, and we discussed this further. I was overwhelmed with a variety of concerns and emotions. I cried and cried until I was exhausted. Then I went home and served dinner to my husband and his parents. I went to bed tense and weeping inwardly, missing Katie, and longing for the feeling of her cheek against mine.

This morning when I arose, I was still exhausted, sad and subdued, but I had a bit more hope than I did yesterday. I decided to try and finish the meditation that I had thrown aside:

"Enter the sacred dwelling place and find an enriching sense of peace. Stay there for as long as you wish. When you leave the sacred dwelling place, renew your desire to give your entire self to the Holy One and to the journey of your growth." p. 106, Joyce Rupp, Open the Door

While I couldn't do this on my own in meditation yesterday, it did happen in my spiritual director's office. Sometimes we need the help of another, and I am thankful to have that in my spiritual director, in friends and family. Just as in the reading, the guides ARE with us. Perhaps I am more in tune with the visible guides than the invisible ones, right now.

After finishing the reading and meditation, one of the saving graces of my life appeared: a massage therapy appointment. I cannot overstate the importance of massage therapy in my grief work. Most of the time, I am not verbal about my grief; I write it, or I keep it inside, but it is there, the longing for Katie. If I don't let it out, I feel as if it calcifies in various places in my body, particularly my neck, shoulders and lower back. Massage therapy releases that brittleness, and allows me to move freely again. I used to think of it as a luxury, but it is truly an essential part of my grief therapy, a release and relief. I have the best massage therapist possible, and she lives right in our neighborhood. That is a gift from God, for sure.

So if you find yourself at the bottom of a rabbit hole, you are not alone. Perhaps a prayer, a friend, a spiritual mentor or a massage therapist can help you.

Proof

"It is not the objective proof of God's existence that we want but the experience of God's presence. That is the miracle we are really after, and that is also, I think, the miracle that we really get." - Frederick Buechner

I couldn't have said this better myself. It's a far cry from the Christian Science paradigm, and it is what I now believe to be true. This is what I think is sometimes called, "the contemplative stance." There are many things that we can interpret as proof of God's love and presence. Just a few of them are: friends & family, nature, therapeutic touch and gifts of the spirit.

On Tuesday, I had the privilege of meeting Ann Lovejoy, a writer and an active member of the local community. A couple of our mutual friends suggested that we meet about a year ago, but I haven't been ready to get out in the community in this way, until now. We met for coffee and had an instant rapport. I am grateful to Ann for taking the time to meet me and share our stories, and I look forward to whatever God has in store for us in the future. I'm also grateful to our friends for suggesting it.

I recently worked with my friend and spiritual director, Bev, on getting her blog started. It's called Soul Wisdom Notes (there is also a link in my sidebar). Bev is a wonderful, funny, humble, deep, unconditionally loving person, and she has many gifts to offer. This is a new way to reach out and share those gifts, and I pray that God will use it freely to bless many people. Keep an eye on it for upcoming classes and news.

Yesterday, I went to the fire department yesterday and got a "burn permit." Now we can roast marshmallows and make s'mores on the beach, as well as burn a bit of the brush we've cleared.

I also had massage therapy. I cannot recommend this highly enough to anyone, and especially to those who are grieving. I have my Nana Emilie to thank for this awareness. When we grandchildren were younger, she introduced us to her masseuse, and gave us the gift of occasional treatments with her. Nana had a massage every week of her life after her marriage, and in her 90s, she had massage therapy twice a week. For someone who did no manual work whatsoever in her life (no cooking, dish washing, cleaning, laundry, etc. - none!), she was a mystery to me in her need for massage...until now. Now, I see that it's not just for sore muscles or physical aches; it's for emotional pain, as well, and it is absolutely a gift in my life. It's the reason that I am now cleaning my own house: I'm willing to work at cleaning in order to free the resources for those massages. Housecleaning has resulted in a greater appreciation for my home, and more groundedness, too. Interesting circle there...

Now, the sun is shining brilliantly on the waters of Puget Sound, and it's time for me get out in it, taking a walk & doing some yard work. I hope you have a beautiful day. I'll leave you with this quote from Richard Rohr:

"The pattern of the universe is that we are one and that it is radically okay. God is on our side. So we can be at rest. We realize that life is a school. And I want to give myself to that school so that my soul can be formed." - From Creating Christian Community

WWW>ADD?

I wonder if I am developing some form of ADD. Maybe it comes from being on the WWWeb more than I ever have. I don't know. But I have done alot of moving back and forth from one thing to another lately. Today, I exercised, washed clothes, folded clothes, ironed fabric, cut and pinned fabric, sewed a little, made dinner, did the dishes, and am now trying to decide if I should sew more or fold more laundry. As you can see, I am doing neither. It's not very interesting in itself, but the switching back and forth is the thing I'm wondering about. I noticed that I did it all day, in the midst of the chores. Maybe some of it started in the hospital, with all of the interruptions, all of the time, around the clock. Maybe my attention span is shrinking. Maybe my brain is misfiring.

Lest you think I am just "an old scullery maid," I also had a massage today. Our friend, Joanne, is a fabulous person and a fabulous masseuse, who works right in the neighborhood. I can walk to my massage and home again. It was a healing gift, as always, and for those of you who wonder how you can help a friend who is in crisis (or even just going through a bad patch), consider giving her a gift certificate for a massage. My family did this for me when we were in the hospital last year, and it was a great help. Our church provided meals when we were at home and swamped with medical responsibilities (and deep in the first days of grief). Those were so helpful. It's hard to tell people what I need, because I usually think, "I can do it myself," or "I don't need it," or that someone else needs it more than I do. But sometimes you do need help, and you deserve it. If you are a person in need right now, I hope you will let others lend you a hand. It makes people feel better if they can do something to help you.

I have something wonderful to tell you. A man who met David last year in Seattle (his daughter was at The Hutch School with David, while his son was in treatment at SCCA for cancer) recently signed Katie's Caringbridge guestbook. (I am thankful to be able to say that his son is in remission.) This dear man shared a memory of David playing the piano for his daughter at school, and said that David's playing had sparked her love of Phantom of the Opera, and that they had just been to see it on stage. I told David about it, and what do you think happened? David started playing the piano again, for the first time in MONTHS. David has a natural love for music, and he has enjoyed the piano from the beginning of his lessons. Gregg and I both loved hearing the children play, especially as their own styles developed.

Katie never wanted to learn to read music, so she memorized her pieces; she had artistic talent, and put her own interpretation into the music. David was diligent about practicing, learned to read music and made rapid and steady progress. While we were in Seattle last year, he had little access to a piano, and rarely played when he did. After Katie passed away, he chose not to resume his lessons, and stopped playing altogether.

It is lovely to hear him working on his favorite music again, patiently playing until he remembers what he has forgotten. The energy it creates in the house is so nice. It reminds me of the days when I was growing up, listening to my brother practice piano and guitar. I am hoping to persuade David to start taking lessons again this summer...It's time to take a moment to thank Grandma and Kappa for giving the kids the gift of the lessons for so many years, and for helping us to buy our piano.

Another change of subject (ADD?):

This photo is a great example of Katie showing some "attitude." She is holding David's bear, who is named "Katie Bear." When Katie was born, a friend of mine sent the bear to David, knowing that Katie would be receiving lots of gifts as the newest member of the family. David named it "Katie Bear," which shows you what a nice guy he is, and always has been. Sibling rivalry wasn't his issue; he actually named his bear after his new sister!

Here is one of my favorite photos of best friends, just because.

And here are a few more.

Massage, books, etc.

What is helping these days? Massage, walking, my favorite authors, blue skies and spiritual direction. Being at home with David and Gregg. Avoiding the telephone. Writing --in my head, and here. This is subject to change, of course (notice that I said, "these days").

Massage is a gift that first came to me through my Nana Emilie (the one who lived to be 96+ years old). She gave herself the gift of a professional massage, every week of her adult life -- and toward the end of her life, she had two per week. WOW. She had live-in household help, too, so I'm not sure why she needed so much massage, but that's another subject. Anyway, she gave me the gift of a session with her massage therapist when I was in my 20s, and of course, there was no going back after that (except for the fact that my budget has never been like hers, so my massages have been occasional treats). Until now; now, it's a huge help, and it feels necessary.

Last year, when Katie was in the hospital, my mother and my sister treated me to massages in Seattle on some Saturdays, while Gregg was with the kids. Being able to get away, have a "girls' lunch" with them and be pampered for a bit was a wonderful, much-needed, temporary stress-reliever. (Gregg's not into massage, or I am sure they would have offered him the same treat.)

When we came home last spring, our dear neighbor, Joanne, made time for Katie, David and me to have massages. Joanne used to own a spa, and now works out of her beautiful cottage, right down the street from our home. She is trained in the Rolf Method of Structural Integration (if you are interested in learning more, go to http://www.rolf.org/ or http://www.rolfguild.org/).

After having had such a huge surgery, Katie had a scar running the length of her abdomen, from the hollow of her throat past her belly button, and from one side of her abdomen to the other; massage was good for the scar tissue, as well as relaxation. Katie loved her visits with Joanne, and used to sit on the couch afterward, enjoying the affection of Jo's two cats and Beamer, her Welsh Corgi. David exercises Beamer for Joanne nowadays, and has taught him some tricks.

I have always loved massage, and one of the recent benefits has been relief from the body-work of grieving. I walk and/or run every day, and that seems to help clear my head. However, since I am not frequently given to tears, I sometimes feel as if the tears get "stuck" inside. Having a skilled massage therapist work the knots out of my muscles helps to ease the physical tightness and pain of grief. It is comforting to have someone take good care of me for an hour and a half without wanting anything in return. I think most of you mothers know what I am talking about!

Richard Rohr is one of my favorite authors (his Center For Action and Contemplation's website is listed on the right side of my blog). He has written many books; for samples of his writing, you can go to the website and sign up for a daily devotional message that will be emailed to you. These are a light in my day.

I was, and still am, drawn to true stories of mountaineering, especially in the Himalaya and other extreme places. David Breashears' High Exposure, Ed Viesturs' No Shortcuts to the Top, John Roskelly's Nanda Devi, Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air, Robert Roper's Fatal Mountaineer, Maria Coffey's Fragile Edge and Where the Mountain Casts its Shadow, are some of the books that I've read and enjoyed. For some reason, stories of survival in harsh conditions, under intense mental and physical stress strike a familiar chord in me. Though these people chose to enter dangerous landscapes, and we did not, they still work with some of the same emotions, human strengths and frailties that we faced in dealing with cancer. It's an interesting parallel.