Ups and Downs

Today is a day of highs and lows. Yesterday I said goodbye to a good friend at his memorial service, three years ago today my step-dad, who was every bit a father to me, passed away, and today is the birthday of my absolutely wonderful mother-in-law. Oh, and I’m sick, which just amplifies the whole mixed-feeling thing.

I’m not someone who shies away from hard times or lets sad things overshadow happy ones, so I’m content to have a day of celebrating the birth of one of my favorite people and acknowledging the passing of two of my other favorite people. Sure, I’m feeling a little muddled, with phone calls on my to-do list, one to my mom, to see how she’s faring on this sad day, and one to my mom-in-law, to see how she’s celebrating her happy day.

Yesterday at Ben’s service, I saw a lot of old friends, some people I haven’t seen for ten years, a couple I haven’t seen for twenty, and one little girl that I watched come into the world eleven years ago, held when she was mere minutes old, and who is now 11 and taller than me. Time passes quickly, and it can be hard to keep up with all of the people you know and love and once were so close to but have since drifted away from.

If nothing else, this day of ups and downs serves as a good reminder to tell all of your loved ones that you love them on a regular basis, to let go of all the little stuff that gets in the way of appreciating the people around you, and to give yourself permission to be happy, wistful, and even sad, all at once.

Compassion

I’ve been wondering what the fives will bring, now that String Bean has been five for a few weeks. Last night I discovered one new aspect of String Bean’s ever-developing personality: compassion.

Yesterday a very dear friend of mine passed away. Ben was 43 years old, a kid at heart, and had been my friend for 23 years. We worked together when I was in high school, dated for a while, and were close friends from the moment we met all those years ago. His death was sudden and without warning, and left everyone who knew him in a state of shock. My sister called me with the news, during the girls’ naps, and at first it didn’t hit me. Because it simply couldn’t be true. But as the night wore on, and friends called and sent messages, and a memorial of sorts sprung up on his Facebook page, it sunk in that he’s really gone. It was a long hard night, full of tears. The girls were in bed, hubby had been gone for almost two weeks, one continent and one ocean away and not due home for several days. I spent most of my evening crying alone on the couch, finally free to do so.

String Bean kept calling me into her room, for this and that: she was too hot, too cold, had to pee, needed a sip of water. They were all the tell-tale stalling tactics of a kid who doesn’t want to go to bed, and I get that, but last night I just wasn’t up to playing her little stay-up-late games. So, I told her that a good friend of mine had died, and that I was very sad, and needed some “grown up time” to deal with it, and asked if she could be a big girl and lie quietly in bed until she fell asleep. She wrapped her long skinny arms around me and stroked my hair while I cried. She asked me a lot of questions about him: where he died (walking from his car to the doctor’s office), what happened (he collapsed, and died, and we don’t know why yet), and if the doctor can make him better, or if he’s gone forever. She was very matter-of-fact about it all, hugging me while I cried, and said “I know, he was your friend, and you miss him.”

She wanted to talk a little bit about all the times he’s been to our house, for her birthday and Peanut’s and every other party we ever threw, and discuss the shirts he always wore (aloha shirts were his favorite), and just remember him for a few minutes together. Then she settled back in bed and promised to sleep, and I went downstairs to continue my grieving. The funny thing is, it really helped, talking to her. Remembering him with her was exactly what I needed in that moment, to break through all of the sadness and just be grateful for having had him in my life. I’m equally grateful for having her in my life, and for the compassionate little girl she’s become.

Moving On

My step father passed away, quite suddenly, two years ago. It was a shock to all of us, left us all grieving in our own ways, but my mother, of course, was hit the hardest of all. Recently retired, poised to carry out a long list of post-retirement travel plans together, she suddenly had to envision an entirely different kind of life for herself.

Holidays haven’t been quite the same without my step-dad, who was one of those bigger-than-life joke-teller types. Always the loudest one in the room, holding court with a funny story, as well as one of the best cooks I’ve known. There’s a whole list of things my mother gave up doing after losing her husband, and one of them was celebrating her birthday. Each year I’ve offered to head up to see her, or have her come down to visit, for a little gathering, and each year she’s begged off, not wanting a fuss, not feeling up to doing much. Until this year.

Today is my mother’s birthday, and this time, when I asked if she wanted to get together to celebrate, she surprised me by saying what a great idea that sounded like. So, with less than 24 hours notice, I planned a menu, ordered a cake, invited some family and friends to join us for a celebration, and hosted my first real dinner party. Not a barbecue where hubby does most of the cooking, not a potluck where I only have to worry about a few dishes, but my first time preparing all of the food by myself. And it was a success.

It was great to see my mom, who is such a social person by design, back in her element, holding her newest granddaughter while catching up with friends, relaxing and enjoying an evening that was all about her, instead of working in the kitchen the whole time like she does for holiday gatherings. I’ve also noticed that she keeps talking about moving back to the Bay Area, to be near her grandchildren, into a smaller place that requires less maintenance, maybe into a retirement community where she’ll have a wider social circle. In short, I’ve noticed that she’s making plans for the future. I know that she still misses my step-father, and that she always will, but it makes me happy to see her moving through the grieving phase, and forward to a new, happier, phase in her life.

Happy birthday, Mom.