Farewell, Ms. Angelou

Maya Angelou
1928 – 2014
Photo Courtesy of Wikipedia.org

I really have no words to adequately describe the loss that the world has experienced with the death of author and poet Maya Angelou.  Not only was she a gifted writer, but even more so she was an activist, teacher and peace-seeker.  Mostly, she had an ability to touch humanity; to understand that in our frailness we are often stronger than we realize.  She knew that we are all perfectly imperfect, yet capable of so much more than we realized.  Hers started as an amazingly difficult life (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maya_Angelou) yet, she was unapologetic and unashamed.  She was brave, smart and simply brilliant.

 

A Brave and Startling Truth

We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth

And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms

When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil

When the rapacious storming of the churches
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze

When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse

When we come to it
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color
By Western sunsets

Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world

When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe

We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines

When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear

When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.

Maya Angelou

Remember Me

“Epitaphs used be to three words: “Mother. Sister. Wife” as an example. If you were writing your own Epitaph, what three words would you want to be your legacy and why?”

This was the question posed to me and my fellow bloggers in my Rising Bloggers group, by Amy over at The Reinvention of Amy.  As fascinated as I was by her question, I have to admit that I had absolutely no clue how to answer it.  I really haven’t ever given it much thought.  Well, and people tend to remember their loved ones differently based on their own personal relationship and experiences.  I know that each of my siblings and I had very different relationships with our father so, while the general story is the same, the details are different to each one of us.  Therefore, our recollections evoke different emotional responses.  I’m sure that my children will have the same reaction when I’m no longer living, however, I pray that they won’t have to deal with that for a very long time.

Just three words….but life it so complicated.

At different times  we are required to be different things to different people.  For instance, we begin this life as babies needing care from our parents, but often by the end of our lives, it is the parent who’s in need of care from their children.  As a wife we are a friend, a lover, confidant, cheerleader, defender and advocate for our husbands. As mothers we are doctors, nurses, nurturer, cooks, teachers, psychologists, hairdressers, etc.  To top it off, a friend of mine recently noted that we are now responsible to provide our children with “cultural enrichment”.  Yep, pile it on! Prayerfully we have strong bonds with our siblings; we are valued and trustworthy employees; and we are loyal friends and neighbors.

No, three words are not enough to do my legacy justice.  My legacy?  Yes, my legacy.

Three words would never be able to adequately convey how strongly I feel about parental responsibility.  Or, how I tear up each and every time I see my girls perform in their dance recitals (for different reasons).    No three words could explain how I love to watch my husband sleep, particularly when he’s had a rough week.  I think my heart actually swells.  There are no three words that can completely describe how I felt each time I sat at one of our older children’s high school or college graduations. Or how I don’t care that my mother doesn’t know who I am any more, I’m just happy to see her. Three words won’t tell you how important my friendships are to me and that margaritas always taste better when I have them with my BFF.  Or how much I miss her.  Would you know how important I think it is to give of what God as given to you?  Your talent, time and money. Would you know how I feel about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?  Yes, Him.  I love Him with all of my heart.

There’s more, a lot more.  Far more than three words could convey.

Then there was the great Rainbow Loom Catastrophe of November 19, 2013.  One of the looms broke and my daughter was devastated.  If you don’t know what Rainbow Loom is, it has something to do with colored rubber bands, a loom and a hook.  If you Google it you will find out more than you have ever wanted to know. I was sure that I could fix it, but I couldn’t.  Thing 1 was insistent that we go out right at that moment to buy another but, it was late and the store was closed. However, Thing 2 was far more understanding, probably because it wasn’t her loom.  She hugged me and said, “That’s okay, Momma. You tried to fix it. You always try really hard.”

There it was…three words.

I’m not perfect and I don’t always get it right.  In fact, sometimes I fall flat on my face, but I do try.  I try to be a “good” wife and mother and sister and friend and neighbor and whatever else I need to be.  My intentions are always good and, usually, my heart is in the right place.  I’m honest and I try to play fair and I believe in second chances.  So, I guess if there’s anything that I want people to remember about me, it’s that I gave it my all.

She really tried.

If you would like to read the other posts on this link-up, click here.

Life Goes On

Grandfather & his girls

Last week I had planned quite a few blog post topics to carry me into this week – some parenting, some food, some social – my usual stuff.  Then life happened and…well… you know how that goes.  My father-in-law passed away and with that everything else simply fell off of the radar.  Along with the normal grieving that comes along with losing a loved one, there was the added logistical stress of getting all five of our children to the same place at the same time and rearranging life in the middle of such pain.  Then, of course, when you have a kindergartener and second grader there are the questions: How did he die?  When did he die?  What happens when you die? Why do all of our friends have grandparents, but we don’t? In regard to that last question, they truly do feel like they have been short-changed since they came along late in our lives. At this point there is only one remaining grandparent, my mother, and she has Alzheimer’s and has no idea who they are.  So, if anyone out there is interested in playing the role of grandma or grandpa to two very loving little girls, they are accepting applications, please forward them on for review.

So, we’ve traveled to and fro and now we’re home and ready to settle into our new normal, which seems so odd to me.  You know? You lose someone who has been such an important part of your world, like…forever, but life continues to go on.  I remember right after my father died, I pulled into a grocery store parking lot and looked around at all of the people going on about their business  and I thought “How can they act like nothing has happened?” Obviously, they were perfect strangers and had no idea, nor did they care, who my daddy was to me.  Yet, it all seemed completely wrong.  That day, I was the crazy lady walking the aisles of the grocery store, crying while purchasing my Easy Mac and grapes (there was more on the list, but that was all that I could manage).  Thankfully, I have moved on into my new normal but, it took a while.   We do have to keep living, don’t we?

Life does go on and we will make many more memories for our children to treasure.  I am assuming that the Dynamic Duo will hire new grandparents and gain some understanding of the “Grandparent Experience.”  Although we never forget our loved ones, we learn to live without them.  We will romanticize our past with them and all of the little things that they did to annoy us will disappear. In legend and stories told and retold, they become larger than life.  Even the most bitter recollections will become fond remembrances.  I think that’s the way that it’s supposed to be.  No matter how bad the reality may have been, at the very least their memory can find a soft place in our heart to rest.

I have no idea why, but a poem by Maya Angelou entitled “Touched by an Angel” popped into my head during the funeral service and I want to share it with you.  Until next time…

Touched by an Angel

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love’s light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

Maya Angelou

Happy Birthday, Karen!

Back in 1993, after briefly returning to my home town, my son and I headed to the western suburbs of Chicago to start the next chapter of our lives.  I had lived in Chicago right after graduating from college and Mr. C had been born there so in a strange way, it felt like I was returning to where I belonged.   Shortly after arriving, I started working downtown and enrolled my son in daycare where he quickly became best friends with an adorable little boy named Christopher.  Every day held a new “Christopher story”, the adventures of two three-year-old little boys filled with burps, farts and Power Rangers.  Apparently, Christopher had been sharing these stories with his mom, too because soon I was approached by a woman with a warm smile, kind spirit and infectious laugh.  Her name was Karen and at the time I had no idea that she would become one of the best friends that I would ever have in my life.

Karen and I may have met through our sons but, we shared a lot more than that.  She and I were both single mothers at the time. Not only did we provide moral and emotional support for each other but, on a more practical level, we were there for each other in the care of our children.  We provided a shoulder to cry on, sleepovers for the boys to give the other a break and she was one of the few people close enough to me to be able to tell me when I was wrong.  She taught me that Chuck E. Cheese is a lot easier to handle when drinking lite beer and how to spot a bachelor in the grocery store (it has to do with deciphering the items in his cart).  She also had this amazing family that she so willingly shared with us.  On holidays that we couldn’t travel back to be with my family, as well as other family occasions,  they graciously opened their doors to me and Mr. C and were always so generous and caring.  Beautiful people.

After I got married, Karen and I didn’t see each other as often and after Thing 1 and Thing 2 came along, we talked when we could.  Mostly my fault, not hers. I was  too caught up in the business of life but, ours was the kind of friendship that no matter how long it had been since we last spoke, we could pick up where we left off without missing a beat.  I spoke with Karen several months before leaving Chicago and exchanged emails right before I left, but I didn’t get to see her. Two months after my move I received word that Karen had died.  What seemed so sudden and shocking to me was, in fact, not at all sudden for her.  In reality, at the time that we last spoke those several months ago, she was dying.  She had said nothing, not only to me  but, also to her family and most of her friends.   Although I would have wanted to see her, to laugh with her, to tell her how much I loved her, death is probably one of the most personal things that we will ever experience and she wanted to deal with it on her terms. I can respect that.

Two things have struck me since her death:

• I knew her for nearly 20 years but, as I reflect on her and our friendship, she came and she left.  It feels like such a brief period of time; and

• For as long as I knew her, Karen always said that she thought that she wouldn’t live past the age of 50.  When I asked why not, she would say something about people dying young in her family or about it being just a gut feeling.  I thought she was nuts.  Today, January 31st, would have been her 51st birthday.  Now, I don’t think that she was clairvoyant but, I do believe that this speaks volumes about the power of our words.

I’m still working through this.  Just the other day, I was thinking about something going on with one of my kids and I thought “I should call Karen.  She will understand all of this.”  Then I remembered that I can’t call her.  It’s going to take a while for me to get my head around it but,  I wanted to take a moment to remember her…her laughter, the way she told a story and how she loved to dance.  And I wanted to wish her a happy birthday, so…Happy Birthday, Karen!