Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I cried at the beginning of a walk with my friend today, because I am so disappointed we had to change my daughter's memorial service to virtual. But after we'd walked, stopped for a cappuchino, and gone to a bookstore, I felt better. I bought a few books for the grandsons and a few for me, to distract me from my sadness. I new Megan Abbott mystery looks good, and I grabbed the new Daniel Silva book, a book on nature, and several vintage books. I'm reading A Gentleman in Moscow right now, which is filled with beautiful language and description, but is sorrowful as well. My friend said it was good, and she is right. This afternoon, after lunch, my husband and I are attempting to go through the rest of the photo albums to find more pictures of our daughter to add to a slide show we will do at the virtual service. This is painful. She was so beautiful, lively and brilliant, and it's impossible to accept that she's gone, and if and when her daughter has children, they will never know their grandmother. This loss is great.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I took a long walk with a friend this morning. Last night our family decided to make our daughter's memorial service, two months hence, virtual. We are all devastated, but with the Delta variant and four toddlers in our family, we cannot take a chance for ourselves and for our daughter's many friends who would have needed to fly to attend. It's a heartbreaker, but we don't want to risk infection due to the service. I feel knocked out, but we will have the same speakers at the virtual service, and a slide show of photos of our daughter and also of some of her paintings. We will have music, and poetry. I know we are among many who have not been able to meet in person to bury our loved ones and speak from our hearts, but at least this will have a record for her daughter to peruse, and for her children one day, to get to know this remarkable woman who died far too young.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Our family is hoping to have a memorial service for our daughter. It's two months away, but already, with the Delta variant, we are worried it may need to be canceled. Today my husband and I had brunch with friends who already have their flights to the service, but are unsure whether they will actually be able to come. Both their daughters asked them not to go on a trip that was scheduled soon, and one is a doctor. It's omninous. Many of our daughter's closest friends and all her family will need to drive or fly. It's been over a year since she died, and the family would like the closure, such as it might be, especially for her 13 year old daughter. None of us knows what to do. The responsibility of people's health is falling on our shoulders, and it's oppressive. Wait and see, wait and see. It's endless.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I got a haircut at 8:30 this morning, along with a big dose of opinion about masks and vaccinations and passion quite intense for early in the morning. Later I called my son-in-law's mother, whom I have developed an great fondness for. We talk books and our granddaughter and other topics without ever running out of steam. She is ten years older than I, but funny and smart and deeply insightful. I know we are two of the people who love our granddaughter best, and her son is doing an amazing job of raising her. One of our topics today is Louise Penny, and her new book coming out the 24th. Evidently, she has cowritten a novel with Hilary Clinton as well, which is in bookstores in September. I told her I'd read the two mysteries James Patterson wrote with Bill Clinton, and though not great, they are action packed and have some insights about the presidency. The second one really made me think about being the son or daughter of a President, and how your life is forever changed. In reading "The President's Daughter" I thought a lot about Chelsea Clinton and then the Bush and Obama daughters. These kids didn't ask to be thrown into a fish bowl, and the scrutiny never ends. Yet mostly they have aquitted themselves well. It must be a strange life, and finding your own path must be extremely difficult.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Our air is slightly worse here. Still moderate, but the light is funny and we are so familiar with that tinge now that it is disturbing. The headlines in the paper tell us the fires up north are worsening, and the dread is upon us. I was telling my four year old grandson the other day a story loosely based on the Princess Bride, about the Dred Pirate Robert, and he is enchanted by pirates, giants, and all things related. But this fire threat is the Dred Fire Coming. Last night my throat was so dry I had to get up to drink water, and this morning I realized my husband had left our bedroom window open and a bathroom window nearby and probably the air had just enough smoke or particles in it I was struggling with a bit of a cough. I won't make the mistake of fresh air tonight. For people my age, the withdrawal in Afganistan conjures up images from the fall of Saigon at the end of the Vietnam war. Guilt, shame, remorse collide. My husband and I marched against the invasion of Afganistan, and our Rep Barbara Lee was the sole voice against it, but still history has repeated itself. It's sad, and coupled with the depressing news about Covid, hard to cope with. Sometimes it seems that the apocolypse is here.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

The last two days have been exhausting, with nine hour days watching the one and four year old grandsons. Their world is topsy-turvey, with mom gone back to work, and the younger boy never having known a time when his mother wasn't just right there. I have so much sympathy for my daughter and son-in-law. They are torn and guilty and overwhelmed. But I have to respect my abilities at my age, and I feel unable to do major child care helping. The next three days I pick up the one year old at noon and try to feed him lunch, get him down for a nap, and entertain him until mom picks him up after four. Today was his first day care day, and the school is easing him in by three half days this week and full time beginning Monday. So when I take him, he may have cried all morning. He'll adjust, just as his brother did, who now is looking forward to being back in his pre-K class. But it's a time of turmoil, and reminds me of all the struggles I had with childcare, and my own guilt and endless worry. I hope Biden can give some support to families and make the pain subside. Why our country is so antagonistic to families with children is unfathomable to me. Except that the men who run this country have never been put in such a position, and have no empathy for those who are not as priviledged as themselves.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My women's group met today and we sat on the patio with coffee and pastries. We have no agenda, and what comes up is often interesting and passionate. I mentioned that one thing Buddhism has taught me is to turn towards the dark parts of myself instead of away. I'm braver now. I can face mistakes I've made, for instance, how I influenced my brother. He was two and three quarters years younger than me, and when we were little, I must have guided him in ways I shouldn't have. I know when we were in school I influenced him in what he read and believed. Our father was often traveling and our mother busy running the household, and when I had my "Doestoyevsky period", reading all his novels, my brother read them as well, but his disposition was darker, and I wish I hadn't shared them. I had no idea I had any influence on him at the time, but I see it clearly now, and it saddens me that I, as mixed up as I was, should have guided him unconsciously. What if I'd had more attention to give him. After I left for college he was a sophomore in high school, and I didn't see how lonely and depressed he was. I did tried to talk to my parents about getting him therapy, but they ignored me and the problem. I probably couldn't have changed anything, but he must have felt so abandoned. I'm not judging myself, I'm just seeing situations more clearly, hopefully without judgement. The clearer the picture becomes, the more I can learn, and as Suzuki Roshi said, "It's never too late".