Compassion and love...

Over the last 6 months, Dave and I have been working for a family as caregivers to a stroke recovery patient. He is 81 years old and we started with him the week after his stroke. Little did we know that a simple part time job I applied for would turn into meeting people what have changed our lives. I signed up with an agency for caregivers in the Los Angeles area. I received a text that a particular family was interested in meeting with me. I visited the home (a quick 7 minute drive from home) and met with the husband, wife and their daughter. I immediately felt a bond with them. I could tell they were scared for what the future held for them. Dad was unable to get out of bed. Although his speech was not hindered, he had many physical issues. Within an hour of meeting them, they wanted to hire me. The problem was they wanted full time hours and I was only able to give part time due to my financial aid and my potential class schedule. They asked if I knew anyone who could help out. I said, "Yes! My boyfriend Dave has care giving experience!" They met with him the next day and we were hired! I has been an amazing journey. Our client is now walking without the assistance of devices. His love of golf has triggered a spark in him, as we practice putting regularly as a treat. It is amazing to see his physical "inabilities" disappear when he stands and concentrates on hitting the ball. You'd never know he is a stroke recovery patient! Dave and I have taken the role of physical therapists as well. I sit in on sessions once every 2 weeks and replicate the exercises with him daily. We take walks together, attempting to increase the length and difficulty each time. Dave does an amazing job with strength building and stretching exercises. I have used my personal experience of carpal tunnel surgery recovery from years ago to come up with exercises that are fun and interesting. He has even been able to write his name legibly with his affected hand, something he is beyond thrilled about. Dave and I share technology information with him...showing him YouTube videos on our phones. He cried when I played him a video of his favorite Indian performer Ravi Shankar play the sitar with his daughter, something he hadn't heard in years. Our client has taught us so many things in return. I have learned about Indian culture. He was a professor at USC and enjoys conversations about culture, religion and politics. He inspires both of us with his courage and determination to overcome his stroke injuries and try to live a "normal" life. The dedication his wife shows by her patience and love is inspiring as well. It reminds me of my days of taking care of Mark and my grandparents. By showing compassion and love to this client, who feels more like family now, Dave and I have learned to be more patient, understanding and kind. We have been gifted with love and gratitude in return from this family. I feel blessed and honored to be in a position to help someone who truly appreciates what we do. It makes this "job" feel like doing what comes natural to both of us.

Missing you...

Today, as with all days, I miss you. I miss the laughter and silliness we shared. The way you'd surprise me by fixing something I thought was a goner. The meals out and the "stay in for the nights" at home. The road trips to visit your Aunt and Grandma. The weekends raiding thrift store and yard sales for treasures. The cool music we both loved. The "weird" music you loved but I just didn't get. Our shared love for horror and the macabre. Our many trips to a cemetery to take pictures of celebrity graves and beautiful statues. Your tech savvy ways. Your failed attempts of making me pancakes or souffles. Your quiet strength. Your ticklish nature. The sincerity of your crooked smile. I miss your gentle hands. The chocolate Kisses you'd leave for me on my desk. The way you knew when I was having a bad day. Coming home to a warm bath and candle light waiting for me. I miss your courage. The amazing way you fought through your pain. The determination you had to disprove the doctors. Your stubbornness. The many scars that reminded me of your difficult life. I miss all the bad times, as much as I miss the good times. The late night runs to the ER when we didn't know what was wrong. The long waits at the doctors' office when we made the best of a bad situation...watching Jerry Springer and playing games on our phones. The nights in the hospital, when we'd stay up all night talking about what our future held for us and all the fears we shared. I even miss the last days I had with you. Talking about how you wanted your last days to be spent. Who you wanted to see, what you wanted to experience before you left us. I miss watching you sleep at night, wondering if it was the last time. The devastation I felt when you were gone, has subsided to the comfort of knowing your pain was gone. The quiet way you passed and the peace finally took over your face. I miss you my love, my friend, my dear. And I love you...forever.

Executive Order 9066

It is an ugly part of US history most people do not talk about. With the recent concern of the treatment of immigrants and the fate of our country's future, I felt the "writing bug" entice me to share part of my family's story. It was in 1949 when President Roosevelt signed the the order which sent Japanese-Americans to Internment camps. My grandparents, grand-aunt, father, aunt and other relatives were included in the group. We never discussed it while I was growing up. We never learned about it in school. All I truly remember hearing about it was when my family received checks for restitution. I don't even remember what the money was used for. My grandparents probably just invested it. My dad did not live to see the check. Ironically, my grandmother's brother had passed away and the check was in the family's mailbox when they returned home from his funeral. Living with and taking care of my grandparents for 5 years allowed me to hear small bits and pieces of their story. My grandmother said my aunt, who was just a baby, learned to walk and talk while in "camp". My dad would watch my grandmother scrub laundry on a washboard. He wanted to play with it and have fun. So, my grandfather purchased a small one for him. I have it hanging in my house today. My grand-aunt told me about the friends she made. There were happy stories and sad stories. One particular was one of fear and anger. My great-grandfather was with the family in camp. He was a Sunday school teacher at the Methodist church my family belonged to. While in camp, officials came and took him away in the middle of the night. No explanation was given. The officials suspected he was helping the enemy, Japan. He spoke very little English. For 5 days, my grandfather and the rest of the family feared for his safety. They and other friends wrote a letter to their pastor, asking for assistance in getting my great-grandfather released. The pastor responded by stating the church would not get involved. It was then my grandfather chose to let go of his faith in religion and our family stopped church ties. Thankfully, my great-grandfather was returned to the family, but it made a horrible impression that stayed with everyone forever. Both my grandparents spoke to me about all the things they had to sell and get rid of before being taken from their home. They could only take one suitcase and whatever they could carry. Somehow, my grandfather managed to take in a camera. We have some photos of my father as a young boy because of that camera. My grandfather told me about how he lied about having experience in farming and irrigation so he could leave camp to work on a farm part-time. He and friends he made in camp would take a bus or train to a nearby farm hear the camp Heart Mountain in Wyoming. He laughed and said, "We didn't know a god damned thing about irrigation. But we sure as hell learned!" I had asked my grandparents if they would ever want to visit the campsite or the Japanese Heritage Museum where they had a barrack on display. The answer was always, "No." Simply, yet stern. I never asked why, but knew in my heart there was so much feeling of shame and resentment for what happened to them. My father would grow up and serve in the US Army, despite how our government treated him and his family. And every year for Veterans' Day and Memorial Day, my grandfather would proudly display an American flag on our front porch. The resilience and respect he had amazed me. This was all part of my family heritage and my country's history. The concern and fear it may happen again brings this series of events back to the public's awareness and I just wanted to share our part.

My EastCoast Mom

Two nights ago, I logged on my social media and saw a post from my father in law...he wrote that he his wife and best friend had passed. My heart stopped. I re-read the post several times. I immediately text him to call me. He did. I hesitated to answer, trying to get myself together and brace myself for a hurtful conversation. He explained to me she had been sick since last fall. He described the illnesses she fought and how eventually, she lost her battle. I cried. I felt my heart break. A part of me wanted to crawl through the phone line and give my "dad" a hug. The pain and grief I had gone through for Mark was all coming back again. I told dad I was here for him and to call me if he needed anything. He told me he felt lost. All the habits of daily life were for two of them. Now, he would have to face them alone. The trips out to dinner. The visits to their "winter" house. Tending to the garden. Sitting and reading in the living room. I cried. It didn't seem fair for someone to lose their child and then lose their spouse.

I remembered the sadness and emptiness I felt the first night I slept alone in the house. The first time I had to refer to myself as "widowed" or had to refer to Mark as "deceased". It cut deep in my soul. I know dad will have to have many of those firsts. The hardest part was when I started to sort through Mark's belongings. What to keep. What to give away. It took months, years. I remember having David help me go through a few boxes last summer. I had to stop because I had a melt down when I opened a box and saw the Christmas stockings I had made with our names. There in big letters "Jenn" and "Mark". I can only imagine how difficult the holidays will be for dad.

Next phase was the guilt. I had backed off in my relationship with my in laws because I felt like I had lost them when I lost Mark. I was starting a new life, especially once I met David. I felt it would be hurtful to share that life with them. I kept in touch, but I was distant. Last year I had wondered why a holiday card only had a brief signature and no greeting. Why Mother's and Father's Day greetings were not acknowledged. Now I know why. They hadn't reached out. I hadn't reached out. No fault of one person or another. But now, I've lost the opportunity to say I love you to my East Coast Mom.

Doris was a wonderful woman. She was funny, spunky and feisty. She was the one who first referred to herself as East Coast Mom. She had a way to make you smile and laugh. The first time I met her, we instantly bonded. She shared stories about dad and Mark. She shared recipes, photos and made me feel like a daughter. On my wedding day, she jokingly told me she was cursing us with triplets. I told her I would make sure they were bratty when I sent them to her house. She immediately said, "My house has 4 corners to every room. One for each bratty kid and one for their mom!!" Her quick wit and charm were what made her a fun person to be around. She was a great cook and an avid gardener. She dedicated a lifetime of work as a nurse. She loved to read and shop. There were always stops at bookstores and shopping malls in our visits to Connecticut and South Carolina.

My hope is that she knew how much she meant to me. I will miss her smile that brightened up a room. Her contagious laugh that made everyone happy. Her insight she shared with me about men, marriage and life in general. Her love of her family and friends. I love you, Doris. Say hi to Mark for me. See you again, someday.

Finding her wings...

Her metamorphosis has been lifelong. Hiding from pain and heartache, she has missed opportunities to fly. Shyness and insecurities have prevented her from opening her beautiful wings to the world around her. She is ashamed of her scars from her past. She has yet to see the beauty she is told she possesses. She is delicate, paper thin and lacey. Her will to explore pushes her limits. Her need to float and soar are primal. She longs for the freedom from shelter and protection of others. Her taste and lust for the sweet nectar of love is vital for her survival. The promise of safety and love from a strong yet gentle rose is not enough. She is determined to find her true wings and fly...

I miss my pop...

I lost you 24 years ago today. It seems like it just happened. I remember the day so clearly...I came home from being out with friends. You went to lay down. Mom came home from being out at her best friend's house. Glen was at work. Mom and I decided to watch a movie...she fell asleep on the couch. I told her to go to bed, we'd finish watching the movie another time. She lazily walked to the bedroom where you were already asleep. I took my shower and went to bed. It was about 11:30pm. I remember hearing mom yell for me...her voice had fear in it. I ran to your bedroom and saw you holding your chest, trying to sit up. Mom told me to call an ambulance and helped you lay back down. It seemed like the seconds were minutes and the minutes were hours. I traded places with mom and put her on the phone so I could do CPR. You were laying on the bed, motionless. When I looked in your eyes, they were dilated and blank. You gasped a few times, but only exhaled. The operator walked me through breathing and chest compressions. I tried...but in my heart, I knew you were already gone. When the paramedics arrived, I tried to comfort mom. She was hysterical. We watched them inject you with needles. We watched the paddles charge and press on your chest, making your whole body convulse...but you didn't respond. My heart was slowly breaking. I remember following the ambulance to the hospital and waiting in a cold room until the doctor came to give us the news that we already knew. I remember calling Glen at work and having to tell him you were gone.

You always taught us to be fair. Not to judge people by the color of their skin or where they lived. You taught me to learn to take things apart and figure out why they didn't work or how they worked. You taught me to live each day like it's your last. You taught me to appreciate humor and laughter every day. You taught me how to drive. Through you and mom, I learned to love and the importance of family.

I hate that I've lived without you for over half my life now. I wanted you to be there to see me graduate from college. But because I lost you, I got into the funeral business and met Mark. I wanted you to walk me down the aisle when we got married. I wanted you to comfort me when I lost him to cancer. I wanted you to be there for mom when she lost her mom and sister. I wanted to be there for you when we lost auntie, grandpa and grandma. I want you to be here now, to meet David and his kids. To enjoy retirement and technology. The trips to Kathy and Phil's, barbecuing, Vegas, fixing computers and cars. Watching Morgan and Justin grow up into such great young men. See Glen get married to a wonderful woman.

In my heart, I know you are here. I think of you every day and I see so much of you in our family. I've fallen in love with two men in my life...both have so many qualities and traits that remind me of you. I miss you.

Special visit...

Last night, we spent the night celebrating my brother's birthday. It was me, Dave, my mom, sister in law and brother. It was an entertaining, delicious dinner spent at Bennihana's. It was a special evening...a rare time when we were all together. I know it made my mom very happy. 

We came home and were off to bed. It was a nice cool night...made falling asleep and staying asleep much easier in the midst of a warm summer weeks humidity and heat. When I woke up this morning, I had an overwhelming sense of peace, love and serenity...I had a special visit during my sleep. It was from Mark.

As I'm sure most of you know, I lost Mark (my husband) to cancer over 2 years ago. We had spent our last weeks together discussing his wishes and such. One thing we did agree on was that if he could, he would somehow let me know everything was ok when he was gone and went to wherever it is we all go when we leave this life.

I thought maybe my "sign" was when Buster recognized a familiar scent in the pick up truck when I opened up the cab months after Mark had passed. I thought it was all the monarch butterflies I had visiting my yard the summer after he passed (and every season since). We used to raise and release monarchs after catching caterpillars in the yard. I thought maybe meeting and falling in love with someone with very similar interests and mannerisms was a sign. But no. I got a visit instead.

So, what I remember is very vivid and fresh...like it is happening right now. I saw him and he looked good. He was healthy and happy. There was a great sense of peace and happiness in his face and body language. He was talkative, lively and his old self...the person I remember dating and falling in love with. He told me how wonderful everything was now...food tasted good. Colors were brighter and more beautiful. Feelings were stronger and more meaningful. I remember taking his hand, squeezing it, and suddenly everything felt right. 

He was at our house and sat and played with the dogs. He commented how they looked grown up now. He smiled when they wagged their tails. He said he was happy and in a good place. I told him I was happy with my life, missed him, loved him and thought of him often. I can't recall everything we talked about, but it was positive. He didn't stay long, but it was enough. We said what we needed to say, hugged and I woke up. 

The reason I share these stories with the people I love and care about is because I know from my experiences in life how difficult it is to lose someone we love. But if you love with all your heart, tell people you love how you feel when the opportunity is there...you will not have regrets. Life is short, live it while you can and make it a good life.