2015: The Long and Short of it

So long to 2015. Like Clark, may regrets be short and sweet.

     As 2015 draws to a close, I have some reflecting to do.
1.) I lost two adoring dogs. Chelsea, a miniature long haired dachshund we raised from a pup and Clark, a basset mix who came into our lives as an elderly rescue. My life is so empty without them but I am thankful for how much love they gave me in the long and short time we had together. Long and short...just like they were.
2.) I lost an aunt who for all intents and purposes was another mother. Never having married or children of her own, she had always been around. The tubs and tubs of photographs attested to her presence. It's strange not to have her around. Even if she said very little or contributed even less, I never got to thank her for 'being there' as a babysitter for my siblings and our children, for dutifully making the obligatory puto and fruit salad, for instigating photographic evidence of an event, and more poignantly, her participation in the lives of others. Even as a silent observer, she will be missed.
3.) For many people, my store finally closed, only because now there is a new endeavor to ponder. I'm still grappling with where A Centre for Women's Work will be headed, but it's a direction that is part of the next steps, building a future based on the past, because from the time I stepped into the Kalahari Desert and met the San Bushmen in 2003, I have been focused and centered on women. There is still so much more to do.
4.) My daughter has not only blossomed in college, but is now her own person. We stopped the twice daily texting mainly because there was no cellphone coverage at Cranberry Lake. That's where she spent the majority of the summer gaining, and I must say, excelling in a practical wildlife education (she names trees, lifecyles of mushroom and identifies mosses, for godsake!). She got a new boyfriend, now sings in a band, performing on stage and continues to amaze me with her effortless stream of creativity. She joined the equestrian team and started competing. While we support her financially and she does still come to us for advice, this is her life, I'm only glad I'm here to see that her potential is evidenced in her many, sometimes too many, actions...What I'm trying to say is that I did good. Yup. I gave her the foundation to reach beyond me and my capabilities. To soar to heights I didn't know existed. And to do it knowing Peter and I 'got her back'. I believe our children take risks not because they know we will catch them, but that we are there no matter what.
5.) My son, my son,  my son. He is also his own person, needing some guidence certainly, but seeing him as the honest, reliable, candid, sometimes intense but mostly laid back young man that is him. He took a jump while snowboarding, face planted, scrambled to find the go-pro that was still running and cheerfully texted me asking where his dad was since he made his way to first aide. I was home. Peter had taken him to the mountain. Instead of being scared, coz the doctor who took a look at him first thing on Monday said he could have lost an eye had he not been wearing his goggles and reprimanded him for not wearing a helmet, he jovially said, "Yeah. I won't be doing that again." Meaning not snowboarding without a helmet, but couldn't wait to get back to that mountain to conquor the jump. At least he knows just how lucky he is. And that's thanks to me. Yup, me. I have instilled in him a sense of right and wrong, good and bad, and without much prodding, he opens the door for me, carries bags for me, and obligingly does just about anything I ask. And do you know why? Because he knows I love him and he shows me he loves me in return by doing these little things. And he does that because he knows just how lucky he and I are to have each other. I wish many more moms of teenage boys could say that.
6.)  Speaking of moms, I had reached a new level of understanding and appreciation for my mom. While my aunt suffered with cancer, I realized how little time we truly have with those we love. You can waste it wishing for a better relationship, demanding a change in outlook, regretting lost opportunities for connection, rememberance, remorse. But in the end, loved ones leave you with unfinished business that will need to be cleared up and in some cases, completely cleaned out.
7.) Which brings me to time...the perfect inspiration for the end of year reflection. Time is short. My brother who died at 32 and my father at 65, are my reminders of life being way too short. My realizing that my daughter will make her own home one day soon, away from us, never to be a part of our home again. Our son, a junior in High School is also too close to being on his own, forcing me to face that empty nest.
     But I'm lucky, like my son, I realize just how lucky I am, because while my nest may be empty, my life is full. I have a husband that adores me - me and my long aspirations and short accomplishments. His very presence can relieve my greatest fears. Having met and married in our early 20's, he and I have grown up together and rest assured that we will grow old together.
     Growing old, retiring, planning a future when so much of our life is in the past, I look forward to 2016. I accept love and loss. I am grateful for the moments we can share with others. I know that each year is not a year older, or a year gone by, but another blessed memory we make for ourselves and for those we love.

Happy 2016, everyone! 

Miss Chelsea

Yesterday was a year without Chelsea.

     I didn't write anything because I spent the day with my mom as she underwent a partial mastectomy. She is fine. It was preventative. Caught the benign cancerous cells before they could cause damage.
     At 81, the doctor gave her a choice. The cells were so slow growing, she could ignore them for years before they would do any harm. There was less than 5% chance they would ever be anything to worry about. That's good news. Finally, this time cancer could be controlled.

     It's been a long year. A year where I lost Chelsea due to my own negligence. I let her out without her electric collar, not that she was trained to stay put with it or anything. She was a tough little doggie and would run through the fence when she wanted to. None of our other dogs ever did that. That day, was nothing special. She often left the yard. . . but she always came back. If I called to her, she would turn to me as if to say, "Yeah, I hear ya, but I'm still going this way." There was no controlling her. There was no preventative measure. As a way of dealing, I told myself, she suffered great back pain. Recently, she had had episodes where her spine would contort and it would wrap her up like a pretzel. She would grimace in obvious excruciating pain. I took her to the Vet several times and the only relief he could offer was cortozone injections. I feared for her quality of life. Her death meant she didn't have to go through that. Meant she went out as she lived, running and doing as she pleased. I'd like to think she didn't see that car coming and she didn't feel a thing. That's what I tell myself. My shadow and my "owner" may be gone, but certainly never forgotten. She would have been 8 years old.

Then, in September, just about a year from when we got him, Clark had a violent seizure. Titch, who was nearing the end of her life, called out to Markham. They were the only ones home at the time, because that day, I took my mom to her doctor after she complained of a stomachache . The doctor had her go in for a scan and they told us to go to the emergency room. That's where I was instead of home taking care of my thirteen year old dog. That's where I HAD to be in order for me to not have to witness his dying.
     In the year that Clark was with us, he became so attached to me. At first, Chelsea didn't know what to make of it. Later, I think she thought it was cute that this old dog would be so in love with me but she knew I was hers. "It's OK," she'd kind of say to Clark. "You can love her, but she's mine, all mine." Which is how she played it particularly when Clark tried to get up on the bed. She would defiantly stand above him and not let him up. Pretty funny sight considering she weighed eight pounds and he weighed a very dense fifty-four.
     He would search the house for me and cried until I came home. Lucky for both of us, I could take him with me most of the time. He would be my co-pilot. He would sit beside me at the various offices I went to write. He would walk beside me, getting the attention of strangers who found his personality and handsome good looks inviting. He'd let them pet him, but he rarely engaged. He only had eyes for me.
     There were no signs of an illness. Sure, he'd had trouble over the year - his vet bills were double what we'd ever spent on Chelsea and Maverick combined. When we first got him, I'd check on him as he 'slept' to make sure he was still breathing. But it was just a few weeks before he died that I noticed he didn't follow me from room to room. He didn't ask permission to "be". Something must have clicked inside of him, it was evident. He had found his home. He had found where he belonged.
    And so, when Peter called me that night to tell me there was something wrong with Clark. I knew what he was saying. I said, "The surgeon just arrived. He's telling us what he will be doing. I can't talk now. Please tell me I love him. Do what you need to do." And I hung up.
     Clark had gone into a long and severe seizure in the arms of my son. My son, who was mad at him, who didn't like him, and wanted us to get rid of him. My son, whose dog, Maverick was dominated by Clark. Over food mostly, the two male dogs would have altercations. Fights that left Maverick bleeding on several occassions. Getting inbetween them once, I felt Clark's bite and had the black and blue mark to show for it. Markham was defensive of his dog, understandably. So, how appropriate that "God" would leave it to Markham to HAVE to care for Clark. And when he needed to, my 16 year old son was there for him. I don't know what happened. Peter won't tell me details. But Clark couldn't have gone out any other way.

A little over a month later, my aunt died, finally. Her cancer had become unresponsive to the chemo and had started to grow once more. Unlike Chelsea who literally didn't see her death coming and unlike Clark who had gotten stronger over the year we took care of him, Titch started to visiably fail. She stooped, she shuffled, she ate less and less. Over the course of the two weeks before she was hospitalized, she became a shell of the person she once was.
     Her death was anticipated, expected and inevitable. The surprise was that she lingered in the hospital for over a week without any liquids, meds, or breathing apparatus. She clung to life even though there was virtually no life left to cling to. She strained for each breath. Her heart labored. Her muscles twitched. Two of the oncology nurses said they'd never seen anything like it.
     People paraded in to say their good-byes. People prayed. Then the next day, they prayed some more. We cheered her on. Even the priest from her church gave her the last sacraments and said, "Go on. Meet your maker. It's time to go" in the cheeriest Irish brogue. But days later, she was still there.
   
Three deaths in one year. Someone said, death comes in threes because of the Holy Trinity. I don't know. I do know one thing though.
     When I go, I want to go like Chelsea. I want to be remembered as I was; spunky, spry, bossy and bitchy. I want to say, 'Yeah, I see you, but I'm going this way, not your way.' And I wouldn't want to be a burden. I wouldn't want to have a long good-bye.

God, I miss Chelsea but I'm so grateful that I was hers for that long and that she was that sassy miniature long haired dachshund we all knew and loved to the very end.

https://www.facebook.com/CeciliaDinioDurkin1/videos/10205476513703106/

Death: Mocks and Mimicks Life

Another cancer patient.
     This one was ready early. "Do you want to go now because we have 15 minutes." " No, let's go now," she said.
     There seemed to be a delay in getting a nurse from Vassar Hospital. When she finally arrived, she didn't know where anything was. I had to show her where to find the rubber gloves.
     My mom worked in hematology. She knew she had difficult veins. She told the nurse about the nurse in the ER when she had appedicitis just under two months ago. "The blood came oozing, dripping down my arm."
     But this nurse got it the first time. She took her time and was not only experienced but caring.
     Less than an hour after I left her in the care of the surgerical team, she awoke. Smiled at the nurse and asked when the doctor would operate. She was already in recovery.
     With only one other patient in her wing, the tranquility and serenity was a welcome experience. They played beautiful music and none of the conversations between the staff was anything but pleasant. Mom opted to have a preventative operation, ridding her body of possible malignant cells.  
     At 81, the doctor didn't say one way or the other whether or not she should go for this operation. I urged her to. All I could think after Tita Chet died of complications due to cancer just a month before, was I wouldn't want to give cancer a chance. Not even a small percentage of risk.
     My mom was given a choice, while her sister's cancer was inoperable.
Their lives mimicked their cancer prognosis, again proving my point.

$15 and Change

Before you tell me how great a person I am, I want to tell you that I am not. I did something any one of you would do if given the chance.        
Over the weekend at a Salvation Army store in Syracuse, a family stood in line. They waited to get the price of a winter coat for the mom. 
I was at the register next to them. I was buying three pieces of children's clothing...for my dog. In all, the polar fleece vest, the down vest and the hoodie came to around $15. As it turned out, the same price as this woman's winter coat. 
When the cashier told her the price, the couple looked at each other and the husband said, "We don't have that much." The cashier said, "So what would you like to do?" 

Holding up a pair of red velvet boots with tassels that I assumed were for the little girl, the mother asked what the total was without those boots. The cashier told her. The mother looked at the items she was purchasing - a bra for herself, a pair of gloves, a sweatshirt for their son. Again, the cashier asked her what she wanted to do. The mother said, "I will take it." English was not her first language. From the conversation between the couple, I think they were speaking Swahili. The cashier questioned her. "The girls' boots or the jacket?" The woman said, "I want all of it, but..." The line grew longer. "I'm confused. Do you want all of it?" "Yes, but I can only take one." "So, which one?" The clerk asked impatiently. "That one." She pointed to the red boots. 
Well, that nearly broke my heart and made it swell all at the same time. She chose her daughter over herself. I had to do something. 

As they paid, I glanced up at my husband, but he wasn't really paying attention, and so I quickly asked the cashier waiting on me to ring up the coat. She hestiated for a moment. Afraid the family would leave without the coat, I grabbed it as she added it to my bill, I handed it to Peter. "Quick, quick." I said to him. "Give this to them." pointing to the family heading out the door.
Without looking their way, I heard Peter saying, "Excuse me." And "Stay warm this winter." 
He returned to me at the register to take the bag of kids' outerwear we had bought for our puppy, Westley. $15 to clothe our dog, the same amount to keep a woman warm during a Syracuse winter.
We were going to our car when the husband came up to Peter, took his hand in both of his and said, "God bless you. Have a wonderful day."

I debated whether or not to put this on social media. I decided to, not to pat myself on the back, but to inspire others to do the same.

Every day, we can make a difference in someone's life. When you see that chance, take it. Be the change.