Better to illuminate than merely to shine; to deliver to others contemplated truths than merely to contemplate. - Aquinas

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Fill in the Blanks

Dad and Mom - May 1970


Love, joy, carefree, pure, wholehearted, easygoing, fun loving, adventurous, young

Blissful ignorance.

I think its best we don't know what the future holds.
I'd rather see empty blanks, and read an empty slate.

I don't want to know the story in advance.

(by susan)


The First Cut is the Deepest

Tina, me, Rosa, Toni and Mom - May 2009

My mom has been called just about everything…A once in a lifetime kind of friend… A gift… An angel on earth... She was indeed a unique and vibrant soul. Mom always had an easy, simple way about her. She was also very easy to love.

To me, she was simply Mom.

Mom was faithful and quick to smile and endearing. She was also loyal but could make you think hard when you needed to. She was compassionate and she was the most intuitive person I have ever known. If I could summarize my mother in one word, that word would be “generous”.

She was a counselor by schooling, profession and salary, but I think that the most powerful and meaningful work mom performed was the pro-bono counsel she doled out in her relationships with family and friends.

Growing up, Mom was always quick to listen or encourage. She was the kind of person that would not just lend a hand, but give the shirt off her back if she thought it would help you. Mom was, as you may know; given an exceptional ability to help people make their lives work better. She strived to do what was right, even if it wasn’t always easy. Mom never rested, she never stopped; there was always the next thing to be done.

She was married to my dad, Dr. William Gould, for 29 years. In 1999 they were busy and excited, planning their party which would celebrate their 30th anniversary together. Mom was such a devoted wife to my Dad, in every sense of the word. And Dad was always grateful for her love and her free-spiritedness. After their wedding in March 1970, mom was tested almost immediately as my father became critically ill. He suffered from a life long condition that threatened to take his life at any moment. Mom was gifted with such compassion, that she cared for my father dearly throughout their marriage. And when that affliction finally took Dad, mom displayed such depth of character; I hardly know how I got through except by following her example. The anniversary party never happened, but mom pressed on. She stuck around to witness my graduation, my career begin to bloom, my marriage, my first home, and my son's birth. She hung around and defied what I thought was certain death three times in five years to make sure I got things right before she sounded the all-clear.

Today, when I close my eyes, I see her believing in me and encouraging me in everything I did. Never for a moment have I ever doubted her love for me. Mom’s life taught her a lot about loss and, in turn, she was able to teach me a lot about love. She gave me the freedom to grow and explore, to fail and succeed and to build my life on my own terms.

If mom were here today – she would start with a joke and lead into a lecture about life and the importance of living it fully. She would tell you to do the important things today, and not plan and wait for someday in the future. Because mom knew all too well, that tomorrow does not always come and the next day is never promised to you.

Mom was quite a character. She was one of those people that didn’t live just one life… As you can probably notice from her pictures, she lived so many different lives, and yet, I know she retained friends from every chapter. I’m sure everyone who has met her has a different story about her, a story that would make you laugh, make you cry, a story about something she once said that left you both in awe and yet utterly confused at the same time. Cancer accompanied my mother everywhere she went for the last 15 years of her life. It powerfully twisted everything we thought to be true about life, broke the mold of our expectations about how life should go, and in the end, it won its relentless pursuit of her body. But the cancer also acted like a crucible, forcing authenticity to the top, clarifying what was important over what was urgent, and giving us all the chance to think and talk about things for a long time. Yes... Those things…

Mom was authentic, spirited and unafraid to be herself. When we made the promise to care for her every need years ago, I could never have imagined the path that vow would take or how we would be transformed in the process. My world shrank, and the circle of family and friends that mattered most came very clearly into focus – my only sister-in-law became my only sister… My mom’s closest friends became additional aunts… Church acquaintances that I nodded hello to on Sunday mornings suddenly became those to whom I could bare my soul in the darkest of hours…

My mom continued to inspire me even until she drew her last breath that peaceful Tuesday night last September. In her final weeks, she continued to pour herself out into others, working to counsel everyone on final goodbyes. Cancer is different the second time around… The first time you play to win, but the second time you play to live long enough to try and die from something else. Yet over the past 5 years of ups and downs, mom taught me that real strength can be found in real vulnerability.

I have also learned that a story punctuated and ended by cancer does not have a nice, neat ending.  But really, that was the way my mom always was – a flurry of ideas, insights and observations, encouraging me and others to draw our final conclusions.  One conclusion I have come to is that the loss of someone really special cuts deeper and last longer than you would ever expect.

(by susan)

Autobiographical Easter Object Lesson on Resurrection

Mom, Susan, Rosa in the desert 

Taxing frivolously down the Houston runway I clung excitedly to my seatbelt, my head dancing joyously in dreams of spring celebration with my Tucson cousins. This annual ritual of hope and recreation was soon to be joyfully experienced in Tucson, celebrating new life and Easter hope.
I had just donned my Easter bonnet and begun to spend time with my Tucson cousins, settling into the season of celebration, when suddenly, four days into the festive frolic I was "gunned down", attacked by a deadly pneumonia!
Driven urgently from the carefree celebration I found myself instead in the Gethsemene Room of the Intensive Care Unit of University Medical Center - "trail of Lenten trials".
Life looked very bleak for me.. Workers worked, "Prayers" prayed. I saw that this decision was God's alone. It was not my choice, not the choice of the mechanical breathing machine, not the choice of the watchers. It was God's. Time hung suspended. I continued to pray "God, your will be done." I also asked God to have more time to work with Him on earth. As I looked, I could see Heaven just on the ceiling of the ICU room. It was in God's Hand, God's Time.
For several sedated days the answer was hidden. The workers worked; the "prayers' prayed. God waited. Then I awoke, surrounded by God's sunshine and strength, feeling the prayers of the "prayers", the faithfulness of the workers, feeling God's "on" button and affirmation that "Today is Life; Live it!"

The watchers and the workers and the "prayers" along with my cousins. All saw the collapse, the waiting and finally the Easter miracle of restoration and affirmation of Hope and purpose in Christ. But, mostly it was I who said " Thank you God " for the healing, the promise of Your constant presence and the ongoing miracle of living life with You forever.

(by mom)

grief feels like…

NicceDog and Odessa 2009


Wraparound sadness


Enduring, amorphous wandering

Shifted paradigms

Tearless eyes that sting and burn

A huge fear lump stuck in your throat

Unstoppable hiccups…a sneeze that stalls…an unreachable itch

An undilating cervix

A permanent pimple planted on the middle of your face

Macular degeneration of your soul

Dementia of your mood

Total aphasia

Entering the Witness Protection Program

Losing your identity, dissolving all your connections

Acting in a “changing places” movie

Living someone else’s life

Wearing borrowed clothes; one size fits all but nothing really fits

Attacked by a computer virus

An extended electrical outage

“12:00” blinking permanently on the face of your VCR

A buzzing alarm clock just beyond reach

Broken routines, lost keys

Breakfast at midnight, sleep at noon

Misplacing the remote control

Locking yourself out, locking yourself in

Paging yourself to find where you are

Breaking up, static on the line, cellular not digital

Wearing someone else’s eyeglasses

An out of focus lens, a mistracking VCR

A 45 rpm record played at 78 speed

Someone lowering the volume, dimming the lights

Realizing “settled” is a myth

Possibilities flashing across your mind, dissolving in its spaces

A nagging sense of “never”

Wondering when this timeless intermission will end

Finishing what you thought was the appetizer and learning it was dessert

Living with “how it was” when it wasn’t how you wanted it

Acknowledging what can NEVER happen

Recognizing the unfixable, the unreturnable, the expired

Unplugged wires…last year’s Christmas lights, tangled and mangled

Dots that won’t connect

Permanent pauses…stalled suspensions

No escalator step rising up when you need it

No one to finish your sentences…to remember the forgotten…

to ask “how was your day?”

(by mom)

Should I let go of what I have in hopes of something better?

Ryan May 2009


Six-month old baby Ryan sat in his playpen, pacifier in mouth.
His big blue eyes rested upon another pacifier sitting in the playpen.

He wore an expression of puzzled, pained exasperation.

What do I do?

He briefly tried putting the pacifier on his forehead, into his ear and onto another toy.

Aren’t we often totally satisfied with what soothes us until we see something else come across our path leaving us in dire indecision and discontentment?

(by mom)

I don't see dead people

  Mom & me in May 2009

This blog began as an attempt to stop my maddening anxiety over the death of my mother from toppling my world as I know it. The counselor said one way to help grieve would be to talk to my mom every day,  or even to write to her about the mudane details of my daily life.  I almost fell out of my chair - talk to a dead person?  No way, absolutely not, I told her. I can't even imagine doing that.  So, we explored what other options I had... And then I realized that earlier that week, I had run across an old essay of my moms - I will post it next - written about an encounter she shared with my then six month old son.  It was a funny account, with writing so clear, I was transported back to that period almost instantly, where I began to imagine just the two of them there, spending that wonderful moment in time together. And right about then is when I started to cry.  And immediately, the counselor said "well, then your job is to read your mom's writing. Oh, and if you can cry while you're doing it all the better, cause it will help get the sadness out".

My mother was always a writer and simultaneously never a writer. She wrote pages and pages furiously and with fervor every day. This was apparently something she had kept secret from us for the majority of her adult life, as we have begun to find bits and pieces of writings from practically every era of her lifetime.  Towards the end, once the cancer had made her its permanent home, she longed to write a book, but got stopped in all sorts of ways that you get stopped when you want something really good for yourself.

Ironically enough, it was one of our last stints in an I.C.U. room at the world-famous MD Anderson Cancer Center, under the glaring lights and hum of the ventilator that my mother decided then was finally the time to write the book. A time when she could neither speak a word, nor communicate a thought due to the machine forcing air in and out of her lungs, keeping her body clicking along for another couple of months.

The I.C.U Project will share the melody of her thoughts, lifted from her heart and meshed with words, as well as that passion she held for life, which bled humorously and often painfully from the ink pen she used.

(by susan)