Saying goodbye…again

On the morning of March 4, 2015, my heart had another large chunk blown out of it when the news came that my dear friend Dawn had died. She was 52 and courageously battled breast cancer, which had apparently spread to her liver. None of us knew this until a few hours before she died.

I knew Dawn for nearly 40 years, since we were teenagers and her death was devastating for me and for many, many others whose lives she touched.  The lines for visitation at the funeral home went on for 4 hours. Standing room only. She was a rock star. I was humbled and honored to speak at her celebration of life.

After she died, I sat down to write my own personal thoughts on what she had meant to me.  When her sister Kelly asked if I’d be up for saying a few things, I was ready.

Some of you knew Dawn, most of you did not, but I want you to know her. She was an amazing person; a wife, mother, sister, daughter, aunt, friend and an accomplished educator.  So, if you will indulge me, here are some excerpts from my remarks.

Since I was a year or two older, it seems as if I was always driving her someplace, which I didn’t mind as she was always entertaining company, but I think the single most vivid memory I have of Dawn, throughout our history together is from high school.

We had stopped to get gas at the Meijer’s on Columbia Avenue in Battle Creek. I recall that it was a warm sunny day and as I was pumping gas, I sent Dawn into the the little convenience store to pay for the gas. They had big speakers outside where the pumps were and this was during the disco era.

That crazy disco song “Knock On Wood” came on and as I stood there pumping gas, I looked up to see Dawn burst through the door . I mean, she flung that door open and commenced to perform a spontaneous, but perfectly choreographed interpretive dance all the way across the asphalt to the car. There were kicks and turns and spins and dramatic arm movements, all the while she was grinning like a lunatic. And you all know Dawn’s grin; big white teeth, huge blue eyes and her wild, curly blond hair. I was mesmerized by her performance; I looked around at everyone else pumping gas. They were mesmerized by her.

She timed it perfectly to pirouette right up to the car, where she jumped in. I got into the car and didn’t say a word. We just looked at each other and burst out laughing.

That moment perfectly summed up Dawn: Funny, crazy, impulsive, fearless. You could dare her to do anything and she’d do it. I’ve completely lost track of all of the scenes that she instigated in public.

We grew up and went our separate ways. I was at Dawn and Jeff’s wedding, where Kelly and I chuckled about Dawn marrying the football coach. We knew it was just an excuse to keep working up endless pom pom routines.

We lost track for a few years and she had Zach, Ryan and Jacob and they were nearly grown by the time Dawn and I re-connected. She had also managed to get a Master’s degree and a PhD, while working, raising 3 boys, traveling, organizing family holidays, maintaining numerous friendships and cheering on Jeff’s and the boys’ teams.

Over the past few years, we’ve called and texted and emailed and then when I moved back to Michigan from Colorado almost two years ago, we would meet for breakfast and lunch when we could. We got together in Traverse City where I live and when she called me to tell me about her cancer diagnosis, I worried and fussed about her taking care of herself and sent her holistic, airy-fairy articles, as I’m sure many of you did as well. We were all so proud of how she dealt with her illness and treatment.

We all know how funny Dawn was, but what I treasure was that she was so smart and serious about certain things; an amazing combo of silly, smart and serious. We would often solve the world’s problems over blueberry pancakes at Bob Evan’s. That is what I will miss the most; that she would sit and have deep discussions with me about politics and spirituality and books and movies and then stick a French fry up her nose.

I am so grateful that I was able to see her one last time in the hospital in Kalamazoo. She was weak and groggy, but looked great for one who was so ill and she made me laugh one last time with a couple of vintage Dawn comments. Of course I had no idea that would be my last visit with her and just like all of you, I’m struggling mightily with her passing. How could this happen? How can this be?

So I sat down to meditate the day after she died and I asked those same questions and just got quiet…and I felt her. She said “Don’t be sad for me… look, I lived a really full life…I crammed in everything that I could and I had a great time. Now, I want you to do the same thing. Live your life. Stop saying no and say yes. Laugh more, smile more, dance more and for God’s sake Jane, stop taking everything so seriously!”

And then she turned into a beautiful, sparkly, swirling beam of light and shot straight into my heart….where she will always reside. We all are here today because we carry little pieces of Dawn’s light in our hearts and every time you feel angry or impatient or sad, like today, or lonely or weak or like you just wanna dance, channel Dawn through that little chip of light in your heart. Call on her and you know she’ll show up. She always did. She’s there. Waiting to help. Be well. I’m blessed to be a part of Dawn’s tribe

Awake. Finally.

I have awakened. I have rebounded. I’ve crawled out of the well of unhappiness and depression and self-pity that I’ve scuttled around in for the past few months. And it feels great. It feels free. I feel free.

I’m writing about this because I’m a serial ‘sharer’ of my feelings and experiences, but I also believe that some of you may be able to pluck something out of my experience that you’ll find helpful to your own journey. That’s just how I roll.

As painful and humiliating as it is to admit this, I fell off the wagon. I started dabbling with drinking after my dad died in April. I could make excuses, but there really aren’t any. I was just looking for some sort of relief in a painful period. I got none, but I continued to dance between light and darkness. This was not a full-blown, drunken relapse, but one day, I woke up and had enough with the guilt and the sleeplessness and the excuses.

On that morning, I walked into the living room where my husband was sitting, confessed that I had been drinking again and told him I needed his help. He wasn’t even aware that I’d been sneaking the booze because alcoholics and addicts are great fakers and liars, until we go over the edge which inevitably happens when you dabble where you shouldn’t.

Ever since that morning, my desire to drink evaporated. Gone. No thoughts about ‘just one beer’; no plotting to buy wine for ‘cooking’. Nada. What happened? I owned up. I blurted it out and asked for help. I admitted my powerlessness and my weakness and my flaws. And it felt great. I was liberated.

So, here is my lesson for you. Own it. Admit it. Quit trying to power your way through. Let go. Let me repeat that, in case you’ve never gotten the message from my previous posts: let go.

My relapse began as a way to dull the pain of a lot of loss that I was feeling, but it perpetuated itself when I began to feel immense guilt and self-loathing for my relapse. Once I admitted that I needed help and wanted to break this cycle, the sun rose, the birds sang, rainbows and unicorns appeared and I no longer felt the urge to succumb to the siren call of the booze.

This was a huge awakening for me and today, as I sit here at my computer, I can feel my lost mojo returning. My strength is back. My perspective is back and the biggest shift that has occurred in the past couple of weeks, is that I’m focusing on the needs of others.

In taking care of myself, I’ve become more loving to those I love. I spent a marvelous weekend with my mom at her assisted living facility. We talked and went out for meals and and just hung out. I felt so much love and appreciation for her.

My other focus is my marriage; being more loving and supportive of my husband who has been through his own difficult journey. I realized that I can only control my behavior and it’s time for me to give the love and support that he deserves. For too long, my career was the priority in our marriage, rather than our bond and relationship.  Those days are over.  WE are now the priority.  Period.

My introspection will continue, but with a new focus on how my behavior and my reactions can nurture and support others. So, rather than beat myself up over my relapse, I’m saying it was a necessary step for my growth. It was a dark time physically and emotionally, but it has launched me into a new feeling of lightness and yes, happiness.

Look inward, but focus outward. Be well.

Awake. Finally.

I have awakened. I have rebounded. I’ve crawled out of the well of unhappiness and depression and self-pity that I’ve scuttled around in for the past few months. And it feels great. It feels free. I feel free.

I’m writing about this because I’m a serial ‘sharer’ of my feelings and experiences, but I also believe that some of you may be able to pluck something out of my experience that you’ll find helpful to your own journey. That’s just how I roll.

As painful and humiliating as it is to admit this, I fell off the wagon. I started dabbling with drinking after my dad died in April. I could make excuses, but there really aren’t any. I was just looking for some sort of relief in a painful period. I got none, but I continued to dance between light and darkness. This was not a full-blown, drunken relapse, but one day, I woke up and had enough with the guilt and the sleeplessness and the excuses.

On that morning, I walked into the living room where my husband was sitting, confessed that I had been drinking again and told him I needed his help. He wasn’t even aware that I’d been sneaking the booze because alcoholics and addicts are great fakers and liars, until we go over the edge which inevitably happens when you dabble where you shouldn’t.

Ever since that morning, my desire to drink evaporated. Gone. No thoughts about ‘just one beer’; no plotting to buy wine for ‘cooking’. Nada. What happened? I owned up. I blurted it out and asked for help. I admitted my powerlessness and my weakness and my flaws. And it felt great. I was liberated.

So, here is my lesson for you. Own it. Admit it. Quit trying to power your way through. Let go. Let me repeat that, in case you’ve never gotten the message from my previous posts: let go.

My relapse began as a way to dull the pain of a lot of loss that I was feeling, but it perpetuated itself when I began to feel immense guilt and self-loathing for my relapse. Once I admitted that I needed help and wanted to break this cycle, the sun rose, the birds sang, rainbows and unicorns appeared and I no longer felt the urge to succumb to the siren call of the booze.

This was a huge awakening for me and today, as I sit here at my computer, I can feel my lost mojo returning. My strength is back. My perspective is back and the biggest shift that has occurred in the past couple of weeks, is that I’m focusing on the needs of others.

In taking care of myself, I’ve become more loving to those I love. I spent a marvelous weekend with my mom at her assisted living facility. We talked and went out for meals and and just hung out. I felt so much love and appreciation for her.

My other focus is my marriage; being more loving and supportive of my husband who has been through his own difficult journey. I realized that I can only control my behavior and it’s time for me to give the love and support that he deserves. For too long, my career was the priority in our marriage, rather than our bond and relationship.  Those days are over.  WE are now the priority.  Period.

My introspection will continue, but with a new focus on how my behavior and my reactions can nurture and support others. So, rather than beat myself up over my relapse, I’m saying it was a necessary step for my growth. It was a dark time physically and emotionally, but it has launched me into a new feeling of lightness and yes, happiness.

Look inward, but focus outward. Be well.

What dogs are for….

My husband and I have been having a discussion about whether or not to get another dog.  Okay, it’s a disagreement.  He says no, while I say yes.  We have been having this argument for about 24 years now, through various dogs.

So, last week, he said to me, “Explain to me why you want another dog.”  I hemmed and hawed and threw out some inarticulate dribble about ‘feelings’ and ‘joy’ and ‘can’t really explain’.  Not an effective answer.  Very unsatisfying for both of us.  So, the next day, I sat at my computer and composed this note to him.

You asked me why I want another dog.  That is a valid question that prompted me to put into words, what our past, present and future dogs mean to me.

I love them for their unique personalities, quirks and qualities.  Like people, they each bring something to my life.  They force us to realize that all creatures have a perspective and have needs and desires.  I love that.

Skelo was loyal and responsible and completely committed to you.  He was the grown-up dog, who kept the other dogs in line.  He tolerated very little nonsense from the others.

Kodiak was a clown, with a sensitive side.  He loved people and beer and crashing the neighbors’ poker parties.  He accepted the younger, more obnoxious dogs with a sense of humor and tolerance.

Feta was a rock star; she had to be the center of attention and had to win every competition.  She could be hard-assed and aggressive, but was nurturing and sweet if you were sick or helpless.  I still miss her smart-assiness every day.

Samson was…Samson.  Dopey and distracted but very loving and sweet.

Chili was complex and smart as a whip; she was moody and beautiful.  She was my soulmate, who gazed into my eyes and trusted me implicitly.  She had a dry, but well-developed sense of humor and she liked to watch dog shows with me on TV.  I looked forward to waking up and seeing her sweet face, every single day of her life.

Junior is sweet and forgiving, with the soul of a poet.  You can see in his eyes that he just wants to be loved and praised.  He is a lover, not a fighter and he loves you the most.  And he can run in the tightest, fastest circles that I’ve ever seen.

All of them have brought such joy and love and humor into our lives.  Just like people.  Their spirits are as important to me as the human spirits in my life. Maybe more so.

They love us fully and boundlessly.   They don’t expect perfection or make me feel guilty or judge me for my screw ups or lack of grace.  They don’t care if my radio ratings are good or bad and they don’t hold grudges.  They are far nobler than many humans I’ve known.

They eat with gusto and allow me to put coats and life vests on them.  They sing along with your saxophone and dig big holes in the yard. They charm our visitors and share our love of beets, sweet potatoes,  popcorn and sports.  They accept our quirks.

We are a family and since neither one of us have a huge tribe of human friends in our lives, I feel like our dogs are my tribe.  I need them in order to survive and to thrive.  I realize that you may not see it the way that I do, but a life without dogs is just too hard for me and I’m grateful that you allow them into our lives.

Our new puppy is another spirit that will touch us in her way.  Sweetness, light, humor and playfulness emanate from her.  She will fit in nicely and maybe even kill a mouse or two. She will bring love to our little family…and she will come when we call her.  I guarantee it….

So, there it is.  Thank you for your patience with me.  You too, are full of light, humor and forgiveness; those qualities are of the highest value in our tribe.

J