I haven’t written in a while. I don’t know what to write. I keep waiting. ‘I just have to get through this month.’ And then another month goes by, and, ‘I just have to get through this month. It seems it’s always something. The house closing getting delayed time and again; learning my year’s lease will be only six months, which means a move around the holidays when all the snowbirds head back south. Big things. Little things. No sleep for me.
I rented a condo just inside Daytona Beach, the last place I really wanted to live. But it’s nice. Small; very small, but nice. And it’s right on the ICW, so the view is relaxing. Another move. That’ll make nine in 11 years. Then there’s the trouble with my credit union for well over a month. Changing banks. Address changes that don’t quite take. Cleaning out said condo, slowly re-packing this place. Trying to order/buy furniture for the new place without money. I signed our house sale contract in April. We were scheduled to close on the 8th of June with the possibility of an extension to the 23rd. Now, ‘We’ll close on July 5th” . . . Wait. “We’ll close on the 7th.” I’ve never experienced such a shoddy, unprofessional, debacle as this house sale.
If I try to sum up the last four months of my life, it needs to be done in bullet points. Oddly enough, 11 years ago I was enmeshed in a similar set of life-changing events that forced a move from Michigan to Florida. Between the years of 2007 and 2009 I lost my dad-my champion; I lost my little yarn shop to the big box Hobby Lobby; I lost my 30-year marriage, and I ultimately lost my home; life-changing events that nearly plunged me down the rabbit hole that is so difficult to climb out of. And now I find myself, 11 years later, in a similar situation.
My 95-year-old mother had been living with us over the past year and loving Florida. When January came around, we discovered we had major water damage to our home that involved a complete tear out of the master bathroom and laundry room. We were without hot water for four weeks. And then the insurance company pulled the plug (no pun intended) on our claim.
In less than four months:
With the water damage came a critical mold issue that seriously affected my health and my mother’s to the point where we were forced to very reluctantly move her back to Michigan the first week of February.
A month later I was at her bedside when she died.
While my mother lay dying, my husband never once asked how I was doing; he never even went to the funeral. I filed for divorce.
In April, while I helped my daughter move to New Mexico, he moved out and left me to deal with all the bills, the emptying and the sale of the house.
Mid-May my son’s family relocated from four miles away from me back to Michigan taking my two young granddaughters with them.
After finding a new place to live, the never-ending process of emptying the house began. Countless items were donated, tossed, or stored with the help of some incredible friends.
With the help of these same friends, I moved into a little rental, a wonderfully sweet bungalow on a canal where I am attempting, on my better days, to begin again at 67 years old.
I feel so extremely fragile right now. It takes very little to send me to the precipice of that darkness. I know I need to avoid any more stress; an online stress test revealed a 476 score. Anything over 300 raises my likelihood of illness in the near future to about 80%. So I know I need to surround myself with positivity, joyfulness, and gratitude. But I’m not sleeping. My stomach is constantly in knots. I dread phone calls because I’m tired of my own voice.
But I also know I’m my mother’s daughter. I am made of pretty sturdy stuff. I’ve been through a similar period before, albeit at 56 and not 67. I need to constantly remind myself to give it over to God, offer it up as a prayer and keep telling myself that with His help – and Mom’s – I can do anything. That rabbit hole will just have to wait.
I was treated by my cousin Julie to a psychic reading by a medium named Lori Lipton. Because we lived far apart, we did it via Zoom the last week of March. (Mom died March 7, 2024.) To say she was nothing short of amazing and the real thing would be to somehow minimize this meeting.
She began within minutes; in fact, she said so many people were coming through that she was just going to get right to it.
Mom was there immediately, then Dad, then someone she believed was Mom’s brother, and then Gramma Binsfeld.
She said Mom looked just beautiful, but not in the earthly sense; more like angelic. ‘Did we share a name’? (My middle name is hers.) She said Mom seemed very strong for someone who had just passed. She talked about her very, very strong faith, about the Blessed Mother, her love of Jesus.
She said Dad was the love of her life. She saw music between them. She said they were like notes who completed a beautiful chord. “Was there a nickname? I keep hearing – it doesn’t make any sense to me – Okie? Okie- … is it Okie-Dokie’?“
Mom was just SO HAPPY! ‘She can’t believe she can be heard!’ And she wanted me to know “It’s real! There absolutely IS a heaven!!”
Lori relayed, She is so grateful for her family. She keeps saying the word, ‘Lucky.’ ‘Are we LUCKY?!’ I laughed and showed her my tattoo (in Mom’s handwriting, her favorite saying, “Are we lucky – or WOT!”). I showed her Dad’s Smile tattoo. She loved them but said, ‘Your mom doesn’t really like tattoos; she doesn’t know why anyone would do that to their bodies, but she really likes the sentiment.’ I told her Mom had said those exact words to me so many times about ‘someone doing that to their bodies.’ But she never said it directly to anyone who got one.
She mentioned there was a special place on a lake. (She spent her childhood summers on Lake Huron.)
Dad – He was very responsible. He said, about his kids, “If God believes I can have 11 kids, then I can!” She said, “He showed you the way and left it to you to follow.” At the end, he was finally glad to go and was so grateful he went with dignity. They both were.
And then on to me:
I had to say my complete name three times. She said almost immediately but hesitantly, “The Jackson name does not resonate with you.” “Your mom is very disappointed in him.” Then, “He is not who he claimed to be.”
From both Mom and Dad, “Throw that guy out. It’s time to cut your losses, protect your assets. The house is yours if you want it. It’s yours”I had not mentioned anything about the house yet but later learned that the deed was ‘and/or’.
From Mom, “You need to see who you are. You deserve to be here.”
From Dad, “Be fair…as long as you win.”(LOL!)
About Dad:
“He’s very funny. He says he looks about 20 years younger than when he passed.” I asked if I showed her a picture of him would she recognize him; she said sure! I showed her the black and white one we all like. Then she started laughing, kept trying to tell me what he was saying but couldn’t get it out from laughing. She finally said, “He says to tell you he’s even better looking now!”
I asked about Meg:
“Do you share a name with your daughter?” (Our middle names.) “She’s very supportive of you.” She said that Meg would marry, but not until she was in her early 40’s. It will be a wonderful love.
I asked about Amy: “Did she have cancer?” Yes. “I’m seeing something about hair.” I said Amy had asked me to shave the rest of her head when she lost her hair to chemo. “She fought a very tough battle. She loved your mom so much.”
It went on for an hour – the fastest hour ever, I might add. When it was over and done, I had such a feeling of complete happiness. She only confirmed what I already knew, that Mom is here with me always. I talk to her all the time. She helps me find things and reminds me what’s important when my mind wanders too much. And while I grieve her loss, I don’t feel like I miss her in the typical sense. I can’t. She’s right here.
“People will forget what you say. People will forget what you do. But people will never forget how you make them feel.”
Maya Angelou
I love this quote. It is such a true statement. Be it an argument, a tender moment, a scary scene, or a hilarious joke, you will forget exactly what was said or perhaps even the cause, but you will remember the feeling associated with it and be able to pull that feeling up in your memory and your heart.
I think feelings are what make memories. My daughter claims to have very little recollection of her childhood; she was always looking forward to what’s next. As an adult who loves to travel, I’ve suggested to her that she absolutely live in the moment, look around and place her entire self there and feel; acknowledge any event, good or bad, appreciate your place in that scene, and see if it helps when trying to recall it. I think it has worked for her. Recounting her last solo trip, I could feel in the telling the excitement of kayaking in Venice and discovering the salt flats of Malta. She felt her memories.
Conversely, I believe this quote is exactly why men claim women have the memory of an elephant when it comes to an argument. I’m convinced it’s not that we remember the argument or even why there was an argument. We remember it because of how it made us feel.
The blogging challenge to keep you motivated and start the new year on the “write” track!
At first glance, this would be a quick and easy question to answer. In fact, it sounds like fun, right? Especially if you could go back in time knowing what you know now. Once you’ve decided on a time, you must attempt to answer ‘why?’ This, I find, is more difficult.
Let’s say at this stage in my 66-year life I decide I would like to backtrack several years and perhaps change my decision on something of importance. Seems simple enough; right? The old saying, ‘You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone’ comes to mind. The ‘why’ is because I now believe I made the wrong decision for the wrong reasons. And so I do. I go back in time with the full knowledge of the present day and choose another path.
I’m now thrown back into the unknown, trading the devil I knew for the devil I don’t. I don’t know. Perhaps I didn’t go back far enough. Now is the conundrum of knowing what I know, and more importantly WHO I know, and risking NOT knowing them with a different decision.
I think I’ll go to the future, still knowing what I know. But how far? At 66 years old, if I go TOO far, well, that could be pretty disastrous. If I go, say, 10 years to 76, do I really want to see my 76-year-old self before I have to? 66 is tough enough!
It’s funny that this particular scenario came up today. It has put things into perspective at a time when my perspective has been clouded with so many issues and emotions that I can’t see the forest for the trees. God and life work in mysterious ways.
Believe me, I love to travel. It’s right up there with that first cup of coffee or sitting at the beach. I love everything about it. But I think I’ll leave time travel for my dreams.
The blogging challenge to keep you motivated and start the new year on the “write” track!
It’s that time of year again. I can’t complain since last year was COVID where nothing was the same as before. But it does seem like ‘it’ starts earlier and earlier every year. Where I live in a 55+ community, I actually saw a Christmas tree in the window of a neighbor’s home around Halloween.
When I was younger, every holiday seemed like a separate event to me. Now, with retailers so aggressively promoting Christmas earlier and earlier, it feels like all the preceding holidays take either a back seat, or they are simply whizzed through to get to The Big Event. Interestingly, while shopping for Thanksgiving dinner, I searched high and low for decorations for the table and a little something for the yard. I went to Hobby Lobby and Michael’s and found nothing! (I didn’t try Walmart. I just can’t.) When did they stop Thanksgiving displays?
And so now the outside Christmas decorations are beginning to go up around me. I’m tempted to join in. In fact, I was this close to putting up the tree for Thanksgiving! You have to understand; when we were kids – hand to God – we did not get a tree until Christmas Eve! (Of course I now realize it was because the trees were so cheap by then.) We would then spend the day happily decorating it, totally oblivious to the fact that this was not what every other family did.
Thank God I have a robust relationship with Amazon. I have been Christmas shopping for months. In fact, I’m pretty much done but for a few things here and there — oh, and stocking stuffers. So it’s not like I didn’t know it was coming, and coming fast. It’s just that when it does come so fast, I somehow want to slow it down, kind of stave it off for as long as I can, not because I don’t like Christmas, but because I do.
I wonder if it’s because these end-of-year holidays are just that. They are the beginning of the end of the current year, rolling us into the next. It feels sometimes like it’s an accelerating somersault that begins with Labor Day and rolls us through Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve, only to land us seated, feet splayed, hands braced, and eyes crossed, bracing us for the new year where we’ll start all over again.
My sister has a group of friends she met when she was a teacher at the same Catholic school she attended as a kid. I think there’s four of them that are each others’ support group. She calls them her posse. I like that. I think it’s great to have a posse.
Me, I have a gang. Not a big gang, mind you, though the name itself would suggest that. No, it’s a small gang; sort of a gang of two. But between us, we’ve weathered births, adoptions, divorce, and heartbreaking death; life at its best and worst; while helping raise each other’s kids. They say it takes a village. My family was my village, but she is my person. She knows my darkest secrets, and I hers. After more than 30 years, I’ve learned that she will caveat to the point where I often just make a quick mental note where she started so I can get her back on track when needed. We’ll run the gamut of raucous laughter to silent sniffles, each of us knowing what the other one needs at any particular time. We will challenge each other, make us face our fears, always offer support and of course unconditional love. We can go for months on end and not talk with each other outside of maybe a text or two saying, ‘Hey, I’m still here, are you?’ And then out of the blue one of us calls the other, and we’re on the phone for hours asking about family and friends, the fun and the not-so-much-fun that’s been going on since we last spoke.
We are pretty much total opposites in many ways; it’s really a wonder we clicked as we did. And while we are the same age, she grew up in a very dysfunctional family of five where all the kids (three boys, two girls) had male names. Alcoholism ran rampant in her clan who all lived within miles of each other. Raised on a farm in mid Michigan in the 60s and 70s, hard work was no stranger to her. While the rest of her siblings stayed close to home, at 18 she left for the dance world and never returned, forever the outcast who dared to choose a different, better life. I was raised in a tight Irish-Catholic clan with 10 siblings, lots of love and laughter, pretty much oblivious to the lifestyles of other families. But I had my own struggles growing up. With six kids in eight years, there wasn’t much individual attention to spare for a needy little girl. We didn’t have much, and I wasn’t popular in school. It was a strict upbringing that included church, chores, curfews, but we knew we were loved.
She (given name Dale) was and is athletic. I am not. She has two children through adoption while I gave birth to three (she was there with me for the last one). She is the Diane Keaton to my Annette Benning, good at acting as if all is well when it’s not. We both weathered destructive marriages, and we are now both retired with grandchildren. We live a thousand miles apart, but we also know if one of us were in need, we would be right there for the other. We can agree to disagree on many things with no judgement while we encourage, advise, empathize, and console.
There’s a quote from Grey’s Anatomy where this ‘my person’ idea started, and I think it says it all:
This is life. Bad things happen. You find your people, you find your person, and you lean on them.
Meredith, Grey’s Anatomy
So she is my person. I have other close friends that I love dearly along with many acquaintances, and I try my best to stay in touch, even if it’s just a quick text or email. All our lives are constantly changing. After being alone for 11 years she has found a nice man she enjoys spending time with. She’s in a really good place right now, deservedly so, and I am more than happy for her happiness. I have remarried. I am in a good place as well, though there’s a bit of a ‘limbo’ feel to my days while my 94-year-old mother lives out the rest of her days with us. We are far apart in distance but always close in heart.
LiviKnit 