I've worked out for years, played tennis, jogged, practiced Yoga -- all the stuff. But working out became a matter of life and death after Paul died. Fortunately, just before he died I joined a new gym where I didn't know anyone. I was able to come and go as I pleased, do my workout, get some relief from the pain, and leave. And, that routine became my savior. Instead of slowing down as I got older, I find myself working out more than ever. I still need the physical outlet that turned into a way to balance my emotions and help me deal with my grief. I wrote this next poem very early on. Making It Hard The bright room is almost full. All four walls of mirrors reflect women and men In baggy shorts and sleek black tights. The music is so loud The woman in front of me stuffs ear plugs in her ears. Lisa G says, work from the core, Your workout relates to your real life. I want to get on with it. I don't come here at 6 a.m. to listen to a lecture. The neon sign on the wall … [Read more...]
A matter of perspective
My mother died three years after Paul. She was 94 years old, and she was ready. In fact, she'd been wishing to die, threatening to die for the 27 years she lived after my father died. There was no comparison in how I felt after she died to how I felt and still feel about Paul's death. This next poem says it all. It was published in the "Survivors After Suicide" newsletter, a program of the Los Angeles-based Didi Hirsch Community Mental Health Center. One of the goals of Didi Hirsch is to erase the stigma of mental illness and suicide. Plus they started one of the nation's first suicide prevention hot lines. If only we had known about it before Paul died. The Bully Paul is a bully. Always waiting to take over my poems. I'm writing about my mother who starved herself last year, hanging on for weeks in a morphine-induced coma, using up every bit of energy I had until she finally died. And here he comes pushing her aside to get to the front of the line. He brags so the … [Read more...]
Magical thinking
Joan Didion wrote about magical thinking the most eloquently, but I think we all do it. We don't want to believe that our loved one is really gone, so we play games with our mind to believe he or she will return somehow, someday. I leave the hall light on to light Paul's way back or think anonymous phone calls could really be him checking in. Here we are at his last Thanksgiving. We're now in the midst of planning our 9th without him. September 23, 2002 The phone rings once startling me awake from a deep sleep. I jump out of bed to answer it knocking the Waterford perfume bottle from my dresser, and there is no one on the line. Only 5 a.m. but I am up for the third anniversary of Paul's death, a day I dread every year. All I can think is Paul called to check in, to let us know he is still around: I go out on the porch and watch the orange half moon set behind the trees. … [Read more...]
Some history
Paul had his first mental break in March of 1993 while he was in his senior year at the New School in NYC. After an unsuccessful attempt to get him home and hospitalized, we went to New York to get him in treatment there. We encountered a huge snow storm almost as soon as we got there, but that storm was small compared to what Paul's breakdown meant to him and our family. Blizzard in B It is mid March, 1993, and a bitter blizzard blows in. Some predict the century's biggest. Flakes of snow swirl in gusts to the sidewalk. Cold slaps our cheeks pushes through our clothes as we cling to each other, walk through the cavern at the feet of New York's skyscrapers. The sirens set our teeth chattering as impatient cabbies honk, inch their way up the streets. Yet, we trudge forward uncertain of what we will discover when we arrive. A more foreboding blizzard, perhaps, blows through our boy's broken brain. … [Read more...]
Paul’s things
For me it is important to have his things around. I haven't hidden away his picture, and I don't hesitate to talk about him either. I want to keep remembering him, and I want others to know about how important he was in my life. I wrote this next poem while at a workshop at Esalen with Richard Jones. It's been published in "Mamazine," an online magazine, and in The Great American Poetry Show, Volume 1, the anthology I coedited. Black Bomber Swaddled in this black bomber jacket all weekend, I am safe from the Big Sur chill. It's too large for me. And that's okay. It was Paul's. I bought it for him years ago at American et Cie on La Brea before he went crazy and decided to leave us way before his time. I like how it snuggles me, like he's in there too giving me a hug. It's the only piece of his clothing I have left. I've given away the rest: his favorite plaid shirts that smelled of sweat and smoke, the torn jeans he salvaged from second-hand stores, his worn … [Read more...]
I knew nothing
I thought I understood what was going on in Paul's head during his manic breaks. But, really I knew nothing -- and neither did his doctors. The more I read about this terrible mental disease, the more I realize how little is really known about it -- even now. Even so, I tried to describe it in this poem. Mania Intoxicated, euphoric. exhilarated, with visions of power without bounds, Paul is like Superman. He climbs, he circles, he races, floats above reality. Then he sees demons lurking in alleyways, imaginary Mafiosi poisoning his drinks and cigarettes and the world's water supply. He is left to wander, pace, click, re-click door latches as he goes in and out. He babbles unintelligibly, imperceptibly. The voices he hears echo like violins ever louder, faster, discordant until a cacophony of drumbeats and a tintinnabulation of scraping symbols pound his brain. There is no escape, no way out. He looks for an exit where only one exists. (For a more … [Read more...]
Another view of Paul
He sat like a Buddha when he played music, did his homework, and talked on the phone. And, he always looked so calm. So, today's poem is my attempt to capture that part of him. I now have little Buddha statues all over my house. Not because I'm a Buddhist, but because they remind me of Paul. Buddha The dead we can imagine to be anything at all. Ann Patchett, Bel Canto He sits cross-legged in a tree deep in concentration, the way he would sit on the floor of his room learning against the bed doing homework, composing music, talking on the phone. His closed-mouth grin shows he is pleased to be where he is. No longer a skinny rail, his cheeks filled out, his skin clear, his eyes bright. His tree has everything soft jazz sounds flowing from all directions, deep vees and pillows for sitting and reclining, the scent of incense and flowers, branches of books by Miller, Tolstoy, and Dostoevsky the music of Davis, Gould, Bach and Lennon, and virtual communication to … [Read more...]
Number three!
Paul was a jazz pianist and composer. Here's one that tries to capture his beat. And, oh how I miss hearing him play. My Jazzman My jazzman beat it out on the mighty eighty-eights played those riffs tapped his feet bent his head down to the keys felt those sounds on his fingertips. Yeah, he was a hot man on those eighty-eights. But, all too soon his bag grew dark. He went down deep down. My jazzman played the blues lost that spark closed the lid. And, yeah, you got it right. He quit the scene. laid himself down in that bone yard for the big sleep, for that really big sleep. … [Read more...]
Countdown Day 2
Perhaps I have enough poems about Paul to fill up the days until September 23. Here's another poem for Paul written years ago, but still very relevant today. A Stone Called Son I sleep with a stone. It's gray and small enough To fit in the palm of my hand. One side is smooth, the other Has the word, son, cut into it. And when I put the stone In the crook of my index finger I can read the word with my thumb. I like to place it between my breasts And feel its coolness on my chest. It quiets the pain in my heart And slows down my heartbeats So I can rest. Sometimes I hold it all night And find it in my fist when I wake When I'm not sleeping it sits next to my bed On a tiny silk pillow imprinted on one side With the word, heal. Well, it takes time. A healing pillow and a stone called son Can't do all the work. April 28, 2003 … [Read more...]
Remembering Paul
September is the month Paul died. In just 23 days it will be nine years. So, here's a poem in his memory. Cat Stevens Then and Now As I walked up the stairs I heard Cat Stevens singing The familiar words of his song, Morning has Broken, And there I was back in 1973 In our old gray Chrysler station wagon With the wood trim and fake red leather seats And Paul was sitting in the back Belting out the words with him. He was only two then Still clutching his green stuffed turtle for dear life As we drove along. His fat cheeks were rosy red, his blonde hair Cut like an upside down cereal bowl around his face. Then I return to this day and my table at the Westside Pavilion Mall where the lunch crowd Is beginning to gather not knowing or caring how I grieve For the chubby little boy sitting in his car seat When so little made him happy. … [Read more...]
More bragging
Another great niece and a little great nephew … [Read more...]
"Rabbit Hole" redux
We went, at Ben and Marissa's urging, to a great performance of "Rabbit Hole" on Friday night. It is a powerful play about the accidental death of a New York couple's 4-year old son, their relationship with each other and with her sister and mother afterward, the affects of the hanging death of the young mother's heroin addict brother at age 30, and the remorse and need for connection of the young teenager whose car accidentally hit the little boy as he ran out onto the street after his dog. When I first saw the play two years ago at the Geffen I thought the playwright, David Lindsay-Abaire got the emotions and actions just right how the couple grieved in different ways, and how the affects of the death of a child never goes away. The grandmother's explanation of the aftermath of her 30-year old son's death is phenomenally on target she said it was like a brick that one carries around and kind of gets used to, but its weight, its terrible weight, every so often comes into the … [Read more...]
Italy for a year — a choice in question
My Pilates instructor just came back from two weeks in Italy. She, too, has been planning on living there for a while, but came back questioning that decision. She says it's very expensive -- of course, I already knew that -- that people throw garbage out their windows -- definitely not the no litter values we have over here -- and there is no separation of church and state -- I think I could probably live with that. We'll just have to spend a few weeks over there as well before we make any final decisions about moving there for a year. But, I don't find that a bad trade at all. I'm always up for a trip to Italy. And, I certainly don't want all the Italian I've learned to go to waste. Ciao! … [Read more...]
A choice that has saved my life — so far
I really should write a note to my ex-husband, Carl, and thank him for his efforts in getting me to quit smoking. I really owe him for that. I certainly wouldn't have taken that first step if it hadn't been for him. One night, just after the surgeon general's report on smoking came out in 1964, he blocked the doorway so I couldn't get my usual cigarette after dinner. He said I didn't need that smoke. He was right. I didn't. and I quit then and there. I didn't admit I had quit right away. I carried a pack around with me for a while, and I still had them in a cigarette box on the coffee table of our apartment for a month or two until the ciggies got stale. But once that smell of smoke left both our home and my clothes, I was really done, I never really looked back. We were still allowed to smoke at work in those days, and ash trays were on all the desks. I remember once a couple of years after I quit one of my work colleagues tried to temp me, and I took a couple of puffs. But I … [Read more...]
Some photos
My garden Buddha The chapel at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs last weekend -- outside and in My adorable great nieces … [Read more...]
Book news
Needless to say I got a rejection from Sentient Press -- in just about one week's time. But my conversation with Connie, the publisher has continued because she didn't return my manuscript with the rejection letter. So she offered to pay for my printing costs. Once she got the amount she said she would send me a check in a day or two. Then she wrote that the check was sent unsigned. Here's what she wrote: Now I'm really embarrassed. We sent the check out to you, but I don't think it got signed. You're going to think we're completely incompetent, and I guess I wouldn't blame you. The person cutting the checks has not been well for the past few days, and I think he sent out two checks without signatures. He went home sick today, so I can't ask him about it, but I'm pretty sure your check wasn't signed. The bank won't take it, of course, so I'm going to need for you to return it to me to be signed, if it isn't. I apologize again, and I'd like to offer you a free book for your trouble. … [Read more...]
Italian lessons success
I've finished the 6-week online Loyola University Italian course almost on time. This past weekend I finished going over the last two chapters, did the assignments, took the last two quizzes, and yesterday I took the final exam with a 100% score. Of course that doesn't mean that I know much about the Italian language. I have learned about greetings, numbers and dates, how to get around a train station and airport, how to ask for directions, how to get help if sick or in an emergency, and most important of all how to shop and order food off a menu. I also know that I need to keep studying verbs and their conjugations and a long list of expressions and vocabulary. But, I'm not daunted by all that. I'm just very glad that I started. Now, I have a plethora of study material the lessons and quizzes from the online course, the verb drill book, six CDs with a total of 30 audio lessons, and the Collins Italian dictionary with about 1000 pages of vocabulary to memorize. All this … [Read more...]
Old friends — and old relatives
This must be the week for contact with old friends. I had lunch with Nancie, a work colleague who retired years ago to paint and create glass jewelry; I had an email from Judy, another colleague who retired and moved to La Quinta, and I had breakfast yesterday with Jackie, a fellow writer whom I haven't seen in almost 9 years. Then today I went to the gym with Sherry a friend I have steady contact with but don't get to see nearly often enough. We sometimes work out together and chatter away for an hour or so while on the elliptical trainer and/or stair master, and then continue the conversation over a cup of green tea. Like I said to Jackie yesterday, it's not about the food. The conversation is what matters. So all that is good. I've made it my goal this year to nurture my friendships, and that seems to be working despite of how busy I am at work and with my many outside of work projects my blog, Facebook, Italian lessons, my memoir, and constant writing submissions. At Jackie's … [Read more...]
No retirement yet!
Right now I'm so glad that I decided not to leave my job and retire like I wrote about wanting to do early on in this blog. With Kenny's death my life needs focus all the more. It needs more filling up. Take yesterday for example. I worked out, I went to work, I went to Pilates at noon, and then after dinner I went to a tennis class. So, by the end of the day, I was tired enough to sleep and not think about what my life has been like for the past few weeks. Keeping busy has a way of masking (though never erasing) the grief and sadness and the bad memories and the tears that still seem to come with just the tiniest tweak of memory. It would have been so easy to throw in the towel at work and give up. But what would I have done instead? And how would I have been able to cope with all that awful stuff without my full-time job crutch? I haven't been very busy lately, but that will all change after tomorrow when I start to get involved in my new temporary assignment in Customer … [Read more...]
My brother died on June 23, 2008
The sibs -- Sheila, Madeline, and Kenny -- August 2007 -- Ken's 70th birthday The Sibs -- Madeline, Sheila, and Kenny -- June 2006 We buried my brother on Wednesday, June 25, 2008. It was 90 degrees out at the cemetery, and we sat there with sweat rolling down under our arms and wet between the legs while we eulogized him and then covered him with one shovel full after another of dirt. It still hasn't sunk in that he's gone. I look around his house and don't see him there. When someone sits at his chair in the breakfast room I want to say get up, that's his chair. This was a man who will be missed and very much. He was a wonderful, unassuming guy who was so smart and so cultured like his wife, Barb, said, a modern Renaissance man. Actually, the service was very short the Rabbi's eulogy that was quite good considering that he got the main facts from us just yesterday. Sure a few details were wrong but they really didn't matter in the scheme of things. Then he called Ben to … [Read more...]
