1:24pm ...and I'm just sitting here at my desk. Chaos surrounds me. Someone's medical insurance card isn't working...someone needs the 401k census spreadsheet like, yesterday...someone is asking me if they are going to lose their flex money if they don't spend it...my hands are on autopilot, opening an envelope containing a hopeful person's resume. In the space that extends only just past my shoulders, from the top of my head and down to my 5 inch heels the air is still and all the oxygen is gone. I can look out and see the chaos and the noise that exists out there...it is irritating. But the music in my bubble is peaceful, calming, medicinal. This song has been called up with great urgency, like a prescription, to take away the pain.
Everywhere there are reminders. I touched the gps on my phone and the hospital address stared me down...500 Harvard SE. I went into the family room downstairs and was stopped dead in my tracks by the site of the futon pulled out, with my new giant comfy blanket on it. That is where I finally got an hour of sleep after she died. I woke up softly crying in my sleep and went searching for the comfort of my husband's arms. The room was like a time capsule of that day.
On my camera, is the picture of my family I took to show her in case they couldn't say goodbye. On my kitchen counter...one cigarette left from the stress smoking at the hospital. At the bottom of the stairs, bags of random clothes purchased on the fly during those three days, something clean to put on in a hurry...because no one wanted to leave her side. All these little reminders, taking my breath away whenever I happen upon them. I don't feel angry or overwhelmed with grief...it's more like a little shock to my heart. A quick, sharp jab that brings tears almost before I know what happened.
My thoughts are so unorganized in writing this. What am I doing? What am I trying to say and to whom? Is it even appropriate to share something like this with the world (well...at least a good 56 people in the world every post.) Why am I writing? What do I feel needs to be said? Does anyone care...do I care if they do? Unorganized and uncommitted to what this is supposed to be. A eulogy? Life story? My story? Hers? Her son's? My mom's story? Where do I start and can I give the end the beauty it deserves?
I guess what I want to do...is tell the world how she saved me again and again from myself, the doubting, negative, critical voices in my head. How almost every risk I have ever taken, every time I stretched myself to uncomfortable lengths for self improvement were born in her encouragement. To say she was my inspiration feels cheesy and inadequate because the kind of push she gave me was always more urgent than inspiration or encouragement, it was more like "what are you waiting for?!" I would look at her face and that was what I saw there, "do it now...what are you waiting for?" Because she was locked in that chair, that limited body, for almost my entire life, I felt like not doing, not taking changes, not living life in the most passionate way possible was both an insult to her and a terrible waste of the life I've been given.
Through her actions, her words, her life, she set the benchmark for living a passionate life. My philosophy on life and the way I try to live it is hopefully a tribute to her:
- have an opinion
- speak my mind
- challenge others to live/think outside their bubble
- give hugs
- dance with anyone anywhere the mood strikes me
- sing loudly
- play in the dirt
- ignore laundry to paint with the kiddos
- work to live, not live to work
- make bold choices. Mine? family or career....I chose family
- smile at strangers
- see the beauty, value of every human being
- give money to the guys with cardboard signs at the stop light
- understand that others are suffering, and how fortunate I am
- know what is going on in the world, be an active participant in it
- open my home to those who need a home
- love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love
It is easy to stay in your bubble, so so easy. It's cozy in there, comfortable, predictable, safe. But anyone who knew Maria, saw how she lived her life, how freely she gave of herself and opened her heart to anyone, knows she rolled outside the bubble daily.
What do I want to do? I want to tell you what she was to me:
When I was very young - she was my safety. Being with her made my world make sense and brought some peace to it. Hers was a quiet strength that I borrowed when I didn't even know I needed to, but she did... and she shared it with me again and again.
As a teenager - she was my cheerleader. She had endless enthusiasm for my life. She would listen to my stories about school, boys, friends. Anyone who spends time with teenagers knows that these stories can be all over the map and painfully long to get to the point, but she always listened as if I was telling her the greatest story ever. She saved me from a marriage right out of high school by telling me fantastical tales of college. Gently nudging me to give it a shot before I got married, promising me the experience of a lifetime. I went to SDSU because she did and after 30 days there, I found she was soooo right.
In college - she was my older sister. She was the one I called when I needed advice issues not quite big enough for mom (the big guns of decision making) but bigger than I could handle at that time. I shared my fears with her...about my future, about next steps, about how to live with all that new freedom, because she had done this too, this college thing. I was able to spare my parents needless worries because I had my rock solid older sister to confide in. And like an older sister, she kept my secrets, did not judge and gave me support and encouragement.
As an adult - she has been my best friend. She was there for it all, first jobs, failed marriage, babies, career moves, cross country moves, new marriage, more babies, surgeries, mental break downs, heart breaks...everything. As I matured into an adult who no longer needed step by step guidance through life, she perfectly adjusted her role to become my best girlfriend. She sat with me while I drank too much wine and ranted and rave about my job. She stayed up way too late to chat about all things family. We shopped, drank, ate amazing meals, spent nights talking about politics, partied, planned family gatherings and laughed until we peed. She would swear with me when someone had done something shitty, share my anger and frustration. She made me laugh. And like a best friend that lives too far away, we cried whenever we said goodbye.
Throughout my life, she was a chameleon...always changing to be exactly what I needed. For most of us, only our mothers can offer that life long support. I am lucky to have both an amazing mother who does just that, and an Aunt who loved me enough to do the same. Her ability to anticipate other's needs was uncanny and for me such a blessing.
In the end - she was tired...and did not need to be anything for me, it was my turn to be something for her. I only left her side if I absolutely had to. I wanted to be there for her, the way she was always there for me. I wanted to hear every precious word she said. To support my "brother" Barrett, her son, and return to him all the love and strength she has given me in my lifetime.
For those of us that were there for those 3 days, the definition of "normal" changed every few hours. It's amazing how the human spirit can muster so much strength in times like this. To do things for a loved one that you never dreamed you could do. On the last day as we sat with her, watching her body watch wind down, we no longer noticed the sounds of machines, no longer noticed the coming and going of nurses and doctors. It was all "normal"... to be sitting at her bedside, holding her hands. But then a new person would enter the space, one that had not been there... for whom this environment was pure sadness. Each time that happened it, was like a wound was opened and we were left with raw emotion once again. Each time one of us would hold the phone to her so that someone could say their goodbyes, it was like we were saying our goodbyes all over again. It was such an important job, helping others say goodbye and Barrett and his wife Teresa did it with such strength and beauty I was in awe of them.
On that last day we ate every meal in her room, telling story after story about her and her life with us. We played music for her, laying our iphones on her lap. We laughed as much as we cried. We hugged and held hands and prayed. These rituals over and over, as often as one of us needed to, the rest would rally to comfort each other. And at the end, I was able to hold her hand, look into those caring, patient eyes that were always there for me, and tell her thank you. I was able to tell her that I am the woman I am today, largely because of her. I kissed her forehead and was blessed to find that the pain had left her face. How blessed I was to be there.
In celebration of her life, our family gathered.
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| An entire night spent looking at photos of her life, our life with her. |
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| My dear husband designing the programs, he was so happy to be able to do something special for her. |
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| All of us women wore a flower and a piece of her jewelry. |
At one point, my 89 year old grandfather and I were chatting and one of the babies toddled by. He stopped our conversation, pointed and said "that is what it's all about, new life, new generations." Our babies brought so much joy to this occasion. At different times, you would find someone seeking them out to raise their spirits, for a quick boost of energy you get from playing with a toddler...hearing toddler laughter. Indeed everyone needed those babies:)
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| Toasting the life of an incredible woman. |
Maria made it clear to us that she wanted us to celebrate her life with beer and pizza. We were more than happy to honor her wishes. Her passion for life could be heard in laughter, seen in every smile.
And what a blessing...we have a new baby coming to our family soon! We celebrated that too.
There is a line from the Mary Oliver poem "The Summer Day" that has always reminded me of the kind of life Maria strived to live...the challenge she always put to me...
"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"
After her death, while still in the hospital I pulled this poem up on my phone and read it. I posted it to her Facebook page. I've read it everyday. Reading it brings her spirit closer to me, reminds me of her life and pushes me in the same way she did.
The Summer Day
Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
My answer...to live it as fearlessly, passionately and as full of love as she did.
Firing up the sewing machine
And this...is the view from my home everyday. 
