Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Our state is rising in COVID cases and we've been trying so hard to be careful that I'm discouraged.  Wearing a mask is something I thought I'd only have to do if I took a spaceship to Mars.  I'm trying to get used to it, but along with not getting deliveries on time or at all, cooking with a half empty pantry, being sick of everything I do cook, and other complaints too numerous and trivial to mention, I'm feeling dreary.  Then there is the huge thing I can do nothing about:  my daughter's death.  I attempted to get to thank you cards today, but just writing the addresses on the envelopes depressed me.  I did take a long walk with a dear friend, and at the end we sat on a bench six feet apart and talked through our masks.  I came home and ate progresso soup and peanut butter and crackers.  If you see me and I look like Mr. Peanut minus the top hat you'll know why.  Grumble, grumble, grumble. 

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I hope my husband had a nice Father's Day.  Two of our kids, their spouses and children came for lunch, which we had delivered.  We ate on our patio and the kids played outside with water, dirt and trucks.  It turned out to be a sunny warm day, so we felt good and the grandchildren went home tired and ready for naps.  Had our older daughter still been alive, she would have sent a gift and called.  Saying we miss her is an understatement, but we go on.  We will treasure our memories and honor our granddaughter as she adjusts to life with her dad alone.  Luckily, she has a fantastic dad, who is everything you hope your grandkids would have, and he will keep her busy and in touch with her feelings.  And I must put a word in for my father, who I was certain adored me and would do anything for me.  He's a big reason I respect myself.  I miss him thought it has been 34 years since he died.  I see him in myself, and most of what I see I'm so proud of.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I was reading about the Tulsa race "riots" of 1921, which I had not known about before, and remembered John Singleton's film "Rosewood", which I saw with my friend a few years ago.  I was ignorant of that history as well at the time.  We do not know what we need to know.  The fact that students in our country are woefully unprepared for adult citizenship is partially because history, relevant history, is not conveyed to them.  Tensions we see now have precedents.  We bury our heads in the sand rather than addressing the elephant in the room.  When I think back on the movement against apartied in South Africa, I feel ashamed, because we should have also been boycotting all the institutions in this country which condoned or looked the other way while people of color were being treated unfairly.  Yes, I marched and protested over black power issues back in the day, but not nearly enough.  The history of our country is full of racism, against Native Americans, Chinese, Japanese and Black, among others.  We need to talk about this history and make reparations and then have reconciliation commissions, and cease tolerating bigotry and hate.  Black lives matter, and we need to speak up, defend them and act like they do matter, deeply and profoundly. 

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

It is Juneteenth and I'm happy to see more celebrants and attention paid.  I played with my three year old grandson this morning, then we had lunch with our one year old grandson and his parents.  He was happy holding the hose and the watering can, even without the water.  Simple pleasures.  My former son-in-law is picking up our daughter's ashes this afternoon.  We will scatter them when it's safe and we can be together.  I'm glad to know she is back home with her daughter, and that her wishes have been adhered to in every way we could manage it.  We are doing our best, and in the meantime, we go on with our lives without her.  How strange this life can be.  And yet we are not without her in our hearts, and never will be.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I talked with my therapist this morning, and it was a great comfort to me.  She is my witness, especially about things I don't want to burden my family with.  I tell her the stuff that I need to tell SOMEONE, and her responses keep me on track.  I felt better after describing the events of my time with my daughter and her exhusband and my granddaughter.  I feel the great benefit of her wisdom and also the teachings of my two Buddhist guides over the last thirty plus years.  I had some skills and tools that supported me throughout my daughter's cancer struggles over the last six plus years.  I hope I was comforting to her, and to her exhusband and my granddaughter, and that I eased situations just a little bit.  Now I am weary and will attempt to take gentle care of myself, and my other kids and grandkids.  My friends have been and continue to support me.  I am blessed.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

One day home and I admit to being comforted by the routines, cooking, seeing my kids and grandkids and my own bed and pillow.  We still had trouble sleeping last night, but we did finally get back to sleep again in the early morning, wrapped around each other despite the heat.  I had a dream about Ramiza's ashes, that they were in a hard metal disk, and I woke up disoriented, but I made scones with dried cherries and chocolate chips, and the baking soothed me.  Still many things I have an aversion to thinking about, but I'm being kind to myself.  I can face those later.  I ordered three mysteries for escape and pleasure, but am reading again a bit.  A biography about a man's father who was a communist and brought up on charges in Michigan in the fifties.  I find myself interested in the era, when I was a small child and knew nothing about politics.  I wish I knew nothing now, as everything I seem to learn is distressing.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

When I read Joan Didion's book about the death of her daughter years ago, I couldn't imagine such loss.  Now my own daughter has been dead for eleven days, and it's like walking through the looking glass:  everything is strange in this new world where my daughter is not alive in it.  The loss is indescribable and fathomless.  She fought to live with every fiber of her being, and though witnessing it was agony, I know how much she had packed into her short life, and how passionate she was about so many things:  her daughter, her friends, her family, painting, writing, traveling, food, reading, teaching, and mentoring others.  She lived a full life, and so many people miss her and tell us of her importance to them.  Right now I have images of the last two weeks she lived that haunt me, but I know all the times we laughed, shared books, went to art museums, traveled together and admired her daughter, my granddaughter will surface again and I will feel joy that she was in my life for 49 years and made my world brighter and filled with love.  Ramiza, we will love you forever.