Archive for April, 2010
When Vanity and Mum’s advice combine to save a life!
There are those of us that grew up with
”“Make sure you always put on clean underwear in case you get into an accident”
I was never sure why having clean underwear was needed in case of an accident- I thought perhaps it would help , the nurses, doctors, etc. might take better care of me. I didn’t argue with my mum – I have just made sure that I have clean knickers on all the time- you never know!
Although the “Eat your Brussel sprouts there are starving children in India” usually brought forth ,
We could send them my Brussel sprouts!!!!
Monday night was a bad night in this house. I was having a hard time dealing with the events of recent days .
Now every Christmas , birthday etc I receive pajamas ( big ones- ones you can get lost in – cuddle in -expand in) . I have lots of pajamas. I would live in them if I could -just like Hugh Hefner .
However, something strange happens in this house when a matching set of pajamas disappear down the laundry chute in the upstairs bathroom somehow when they reach the basement- something happens- they never come back upstairs as a set.
I have given up over the years –so what if the bottoms and jackets don’t match– I am sure my husband of many, many years no longer is looking for me to “match”- He would probably be more impressed if my hair stayed the same color from week to week or I purchased “snore no more”.
So “Black Mood Monday“ found me wandering the house unable to sleep , trying to deal with the flood of emotions that were beating me up. I finally headed for bed at 1:30 am. hoping that the sheer emotional exhaustion would act as a sleeping pill. I lay staring at the ceiling, the walls , trying to rid my brain of all the thoughts and hurt and listening to my heart beat pounding in my ears.
” I will never get to sleep with this pounding in my chest… Wait a minute!!! SHOULD I be hearing my heart beat in my ears? SHOULD my chest be pounding … Oh horrors….my pajamas were clean but mismatched… what should I do? Should I get dressed put on clean underwear? Supposing the ambulance came and horrors of horrors they would find an overweight woman that they would have to get downstairs in mismatched pajamas. Aren’t you supposed to cough to get the heart in rhythm when having a heart attack? Damn the aspirin are downstairs- I can’t be carried out in circus tent like pajamas for all the world to see”
Someone tell me – are these the thoughts that flash across your mind when you think you are dying? – I thought it was supposed to be your life flashing before your eyes in your final minutes- not the state of your pajamas ( or underwear) . Come to think of it that may happen when you are drowning- Note to self the next time I fall in the pond I will try to pay attention!
Well I got up , coughing with every step to counteract the dreaded heart failure before I found matching pajamas My heart racing even more now with the added worry of where I could find a good pair of matching pajamas at 2 in the morning in the laundry area that has been likened to “Ohio’s latest disaster area”..
Would I be found in the light of day face down in a pile of pajamas – ?

Success!!!! I found a pair that matched, showered again and changed ( which totally woke me up) and I realized that the effort and focus of finding pajamas had helped the anxiety and blackness I had been feeling to dissipate . My heart was no longer pounding in my ears and now wide awake I went to the computer and wrote another post.
How many people can say their life was probably saved by mismatched pajamas and their mother’s advice of “clean knickers”?
But I now have my emergency kit packed and ready to go. Also I have written “my own Obit”! I certainly don’t want published what others may think of me π
NOTE: “He who thinks he should be obeyed ” and Misty slept through the whole episode! Of course in my husband’s defence he probably thought I was snoring!!!!
Unreal reality- the sorrow that chokes
I have learned a great deal , more than I ever wanted to know, in the past few months. I am incredibly tired and spent by the “education”.
In the Jean Paul Sartre play “No Exit” the line delivered ” Hell is other people” has come to my waking nightmare that my life has become.
I am in pieces , fragmented , flotsam in a sea of grief, my direction dependent upon the current of others.
Part of me is dying, part of me is fighting, loving , nurturing . protecting , grieving. I am a confusion of thoughts and emotions. I am no longer me-
Some mornings, as I wake to a sky still dark, I am unsure of what is real and what is a nightmare. My nightmare of reality soon becomes clear and then there are those waking moments where the confusion as to what is my reality bides a while longer.
Source
Is my body ( brain) in order to protect the other parts of “self” loathe to “wake” me to my reality?
Can the nightmares of my sleep be less stressful that the nightmare of my reality? Can the blurring of waking to what is real in my world and the stuff of nightmares give a respite to my body?
This is so new to me – Grieving for my child, my son – a gut wrenching heart ache that rips through your very insides , hourly , daily wearing away at courage , a lack of healing compounded by”other people” – who seem to want to punish us – those that loved him – perhaps too well?
Can you love someone too much who was part of your mind and body completely from that first miraculous spark that became a life, a child inside you?
A being that shared your heartbeat, your emotions , your fears , your laughter , your tears , your thoughts, your very bodily functions and was a part of you totally for the first months of their life. That child that was in essence YOU , the mother that carried him.
A woman gives a child everything from her body as she nurtures the being that will in a few months be torn from her womb in pain and emotion . That child of her body remains in her heart and in her very being for the rest of her life.
Can one who has only been a wife and not a mother understand the all consuming self sacrificing love that grows as the child grows and does not lessen with time but is magnified by the sharing of days?
When death comes to the child before the mother ( no matter the time frame) there is once again a tearing in her body and soul and a pain that cannot be relieved as the pain of his birth was relieved by the happiness of your child’s cry as he entered the world .
The intensity of love that first filled you as you first held your child in your arms , compounded by the months when you shared a body, whose souls touched and intermingled as life grew and a life essence that is still within you no matter the passing of the years.
I am getting old and weary, I tried to fight the obscenity ( Cancer) that took my son from those that loved him – I tried to do everything and anything to give him his life , I questioned, researched, pleaded and prayed and when the time came to take him off a vent I had to let him go.
Now in my gut-wrenching sorrow my grieving has been sullied – taken from me by “love”- another kind of love perhaps one that is foreign to me a “self” ish love – I don’t know anymore I am drowning in my sea of sorrow battered on the shore of cruelty and selfishness……………….
I know not the way to grieve, to lessen the pain of those I love and whose mother I am still. I am as a wave crashing on a rocky shoreline, fragmented , to be sucked out to sea of grief only to be pummeled once more of the rocks of “other people and my own part of hell”.
The Draft – Click – Publish
SOURCE http://cuarts.wordpress.com/2009/09/28/we-might-call-this-meta-blogging/
The Drafts:
They sit there percolating, nagging and gathering “virtual dust”, since I started this blog over two years ago they have multiplied. Some drafts are no longer topical , some “what was I thinking” category – some painful – some full of anger- some full of happiness (written in the very beginning of this blog BC ( Before Cancer) . They are the “stems” of stem cells- healthcare- rail travel – air travel- countries- hope- no hope- history- future- religion- politics, people, truths that are too truthful to publish – life ( don’t worry I think I done death to death but… come to think of it there is the “after life” π – they are legion…..
They wait for me to click “publish” so they can take their message ( for all it is worth) to the www for their moment in time.
Many were written in the time before the sun comes up – a post that nags until I have to get up and write down the thoughts that bounce around my brain like the balls in a pin ball machine – Now you know why some of these posts make no sense I am half asleep with bells and beeps going off in my head. This was such a post.
Can we that blog , for whatever reason, make a difference in our little areas of “non expertise ( for most of us). It is difficult to blog consistently on a daily , bi weekly or weekly basis. I think maybe the Morning Journal has found that out.
I noticed the Editor”s Blog (Morning Journal) has not been refreshed daily. As I write the last three posts were April 3rd, 17th and 20th – But today they launched a new feature a clickfix
http://morningjournal.com/seeclickfix/
Wouldn’t it be nice to fix all the worlds problems with a click – but then again isn’t that what bloggers ( for the most part) are trying to do –
click alt delete π
However just fact checking this morning I noticed that Tom had refreshed his blog two days in a row but with “The End of the World As we Know It……..”
You have to becareful of the delete button you know Tom π
Unfinished Portrait – The Artistic Gene???
“In search of my son- in search of me.”
Part One – In search of my son- In search of me
Part Two – Tourjours Moi-Always Me
Part Three – Always Me – Always Chris
Part Four – In search of My Son-
Chris Ritchey – Thanks
Part Five – Dark Humour- Shedding a Light
Part Six – The Unfinished Portrait
Part Seven– The Unfinished Portrait- The Artists
(2)part two – Who are we really
Part Eight– When Premonition Becomes Hindsight
Part Nine – When Premonition Becomes Hindsight – Part Two
Part Ten– There is an “I” in Death
Both my children grew to adulthood in this old house in Lorain, Ohio. Both of them stayed here until their respective weddings. We were very fortunate to have those years.
They were surrounded by objects and art from various family sources from thousands of miles and many years ago. They were even the subject of a painting or two themselves.
Portraits painted by Terrence Gabbey ( cousin)
My great-grandfather and his sons ( on my father’s side) were also artists- however whether or not they were very good depends upon whom in the family you talk to π
Great granddad John Henry Stringer
A painting by John Henry Stringer.
Well he did manage to convince Harrods that he was good enough and they commissioned him to paint murals ( in all probability) on their walls. Harrods well there’s a coincidence –a little Harrods’ Bear served me well
His son ( my great-uncle) John Stringer also dabbled and his I have five of his paintings on my walls . If you look closely the signature says Jack Stokes.
His name was ‘Stringer” but because he wanted to join the fight in South Africa and the Boer War , and being that he was not of an age to sign up and against his father’s wishes he lied about his age and family so as to get into the fracas. He took the maiden name of his mother “Stokes” ( she of the Stokes of Stanshawes)
“Jack” lost his arm in the Boer War ( not sure if it was the first or 2nd one) all I know is that when he couldn’t sell enough of his paintings to pay the rent he would pawn his false arm.
There are any number of paintings / beaten copper and tapestry and Nana’s needle point that can be found on my walls . Every room has a family “art work”
We even have a small oil from the 1700’s I have no idea of the artist .
I did take it to the Oberlin Art Museum many years ago who told me it was very dirty – (well what did they expect it is over 300 years old ) – We call her The Old Bitch – dour faced in her old frame- probably Dutch -but who knows a throw away Rembrandt ? She too came from my Grandmother’s house where she was before that only she could tell.
I cannot take down the plethora of paintings etc. Each one means something to me , I am running out of room. I look at uncluttered spaces with envy BUT as I discover more and more of my son’s work in boxes and portfolios the walls are filling up even more. In searching for the fact as to whether this family “knew ” Chris – (as 2nd guessing was thrust upon us by “the committee of 19” ) I have made discoveries as my son’s work speaks and hopefully some that will help his little nephew as he grows. I can tell you Nikki’s walls are filling up too. π -Thank you Cleveland Institute of Art!
to be continued ….
Gentleman Time Please!
and Ladies too!
No this is not about the “pub calling last orders” This post is about R E S P E C T
I admit I am in a fragile state, my emotions are raw and that isn’t likely to change any time in the near future.
I did surface a couple of times from my depths of despair to attend “meetings/visions/input” on the subject of what “COULD” happen in the vicinity of this “old neighborhood”.
The forums for the Complex Complex were more a slanging match than constructive thought process and sharing of concerns , they turned me off completely.
Gentlemen ( and a couple of Ladies) started the rants and insults to those facilitating or in opposition to their opinion and it was like a protective sound proof doors slammed about my being, all that got through to this somewhat befuddled brain was an irritating muffled noise.
I then, since I was informed that a Container Port in the downtown and in fact on the Pellet site of Charleston Village was going to be discussed at the Lorain Port Authority meeting last Tuesday , I once again dragged myself up and out.
I have definite feelings as a “surface dweller with some knowledge of just what is a Container Port” BUT I had promised Mr. Fallis months ago I would “listen” to his plans and proposals when they were definite. However, I would have questions that I would be asking ( in writing) as to how he would “negate the negatives” of which I was already aware.
It was already very difficult for me to attend this meeting and as I looked out the windows at BRL. My focus was my son once again as I gazed upon his contribution to BRL. I fought to maintain my emotional incontinence .
And it started, there were approximately 20 people in the “audience” all but three over the age of 50. The antagonistic, bombastic and insults to people and their integrity was the bar set for the discussion.
Just like the forum I attended the “polite policeman “ patiently tried to let the ranters have their say.
There is a small group of people who dominate these meetings and not just in this “Complex Complex” situation but in all things Lorain.
Is it because of the frustration and helplessness felt in the grand scheme of things. I don’t know – all I do know is –
please if you want to be heard then try being articulate instead of ranting like some old bull in heat bellowing at the top of your voice for attention.
Gentleman, please start acting like Gentlemen otherwise ears turn to cloth and maybe the point of view you have may be heard and “listened to” in the world of debate.
April 10th – A Big Day in the Life of a Little Boy
Twice before the invitations to the Christening were sent and twice it was cancelled. The bad news of Hodgkin’s spread its evil presence in our lives.
The third time the charm? A day was chosen to celebrate Gavin’s 1st Birthday and his Christening Day to also be the 1 year anniversary of the first time his Uncle Chris first held his nephew – There was laughter, children , blessings, love and silent tears and wishes of what “should’ve been” and what is ….
Thinking Upside Down and Backwards aβPissenlit” Supporter!!
Picking Dandelions – Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot (1796β1875
There is an old saying we English have about the Irish ( please no holy wars “I” didn’t make this up )
“They think all upside down and backwards”
So some may think I have some Irish lurking somewhere with my thinking- I admit to being “green” π
SOURCE
I watch eagerly the first sign of spring -for me it is DANDELIONS – I love them . I like their little sunny golden heads popping up without a care. Chop them off and they still come back, their downy soft seeds will blow and procreate ( thankfully for me ) on my neighbor’s lawns no matter how many times they are treated.
I have always loved Dandelions. I used to collect armfuls of them as a child. My mum called them “wet the beds” a term that comes from the French :
The name Dandelion comes from the French βDente de Lyonβ or βLionβs toothβ, so named because of their jagged tooth-like appearance. The French now call them βPissenlitβ meaning βwet the bed.β
Maybe it was because the Europeans “introduced” this plant to North America , that is right this “weed” you all hate ( well most of you) was introduced by the first settlers . You see they were needed in this new world for their unique properties.
When the Mayflower arrived in 1620, there were no dandelions in North America. By 1671, they were everywhere. They were introduced to America by European immigrants whose cultures used dandelions as part of their regular diet.
We waste the Dandelions, berate the Dandelions do everything we can to kill the Dandelions…. well ever heard that Mother ( Nature) knows best???
There are so many wonderful things that Dandelions can give us , they are great “food” ( check out these recipes) for us and the bees,
Most of the important bee plants in the northeast are wildflowers. Of these, probably the single most valuable early spring wildflower is the dandelion. If a hive survives the winter, beekeepers know the bees will be safe from starvation if they can stay alive until dandelions bloom.
SOURCE
you can have coffee , tea and wine. Even more important is their medicinal value
Dandelion is a natural diuretic that increases urine production by promoting the excretion of salts and water from the kidney. Dandelion may be used for a wide range of conditions requiring mild diuretic treatment, such as poor digestion, liver disorders, and high blood pressure. Dandelion is a source of potassium, a nutrient often lost through the use of other natural and synthetic diuretics.
Fresh or dried dandelion herb is also used as a mild appetite stimulant and to improve upset stomach (such as feelings of fullness, flatulence, and constipation). The root of the dandelion plant is believed to have mild laxative effects and is often used to improve digestion. Research suggests that dandelion root may improve the health and function of natural bacteria in the gastrointestinal tract. Studies have also reported that dandelion root may help improve liver and gallbladder function.
Some preliminary animal studies also suggest that dandelion may help normalize blood sugar levels and improve lipid profiles (lowering total cholesterol and triglycerides while increasing HDL, “good,” cholesterol) in diabetic mice.
AND NOW MAYBE A RESOURCE FOR OHIO’S FLAGGING ECONOMY
http://www.treehugger.com/files/2008/08/dandelion-rubber-could-be-alternative-to-tree-rubber.php
The exact details concerning growing and harvesting the plants, such as how many inches apart and when they should be planted, are still being worked out, but the researchers expect that within a few years the processing plant in Ohio could produce about 20 million tons of rubber annually.
DISCOVERY NEWS
Scientists from Ohio State University’s Ohio Agricultural Research and Development Center (OARDC) and the Ohio BioProducts Innovation Center (OBIC) recently received a $3 million grant to design and build a processing plant that would turn sticky white dandelion root sap into quality rubber for less money than current methods, say the scientists.
Protect the Dandelion!!!!! Stop stomping out Dandelions -you never know you might need them!
The Sisterhood
Photo appears with permission of Virginia Mak
We may not even recognize each other if we were to pass on a street but we know each other so well. Our outsides are unique to us, we come in all ages, sizes, colours and creeds but our innerselves are carbon copies of each other.
We walk the same path no matter where in the world we are. We have become secretive, good at hiding our true selves from others, even those that love us the most.
We “deal” differently, some use their faith, some their talents, some throw themselves into good works, others just throw themselves into work, some get counselling, others counsel, some have other family members who need their nurture, some eat – others don’t, some drink to fill the void that each of the Sisterhood of Sorrow feel deep within us.
We are met with well-intentioned formulae for “dealing”
“Time to move on” .. It is early days but you will feel better “…. “Time heals”….
“You had the best years of him/her”…. or “it isn’t like you had him/her for any length of time so it must be easier”….. “At least you understand why (because of the illness), there was a reason” ….or ” well at least the accident was quick it wasn’t like you had to watch him/her suffer”
and so it goes on…
Well meaning advice and observations from , the non members of the Sisterhood of Sorrow but only those that have gone through the terrible initiation of membership truly understand that you become a mother the first time your body tells you -YOU are.
And even though your child’s heart stops sometimes before they see the light of day , or days, or weeks or months or years after they come into the world of “others” YOU are changed. YOU the vessel of life has experienced something unique to mothers. As your being filled with life it set in motion a trigger – a fierce , unselfish need to protect and cherish. “Self “ is no longer part of you.
The Sisterhood knows only too well the child you carried and nurtured inside your own body left an imprint on your heart and very being that becomes another facet that is you . It doesn’t matter that you have given birth , the little being expelled from your body in pain and joy, there is an intangible something that remains, imprinted forever on your essence. Maybe one day they will discover a medical term for it but any mother knows it is there and it never goes away .
So The Sisterhood, who have bonded through the loss of their child try to move on. Our constant grief starts to embarrass some, make others uncomfortable, makes others sigh, others ignore, we make others reach for ways to help, some are scared for us and others worry . We are an emotional enigma.
Only the “sister in sorrow” knows the reality of the agony her fellow traveler feels. I am told by another sister who walked my road before me and continues her weary journey :
“ The pain doesn’t go away or lessen , you just get better at hiding it from the outside world – you are expected to carry on as normal eventually by those that care about you “.
We grieve, each in our different ways, we who have outlived our child, not understanding why , looking for answers that are more than platitudes of
“A greater plan” “Better place” “you are only given what you can bear”
We absorb the emotional pummeling those words bring not wanting to show the pain they cause to those who are trying to help. We know they are trying to deal with us to bring us back to being US again.
Just as becoming a mother changed us so losing a child changes us , we will never be the person you knew before our loss just as we will never be the person we were before becoming a mother.
We do not walk our path by choice the journey has been cruelly thrust upon us. We do not ever want to have fellow travelers join us the way is too long and painful and the journey never-ending.
The Key to the City -A Thank You
No it wasn’t the Key to the City of London, but the honor bestowed was just as humbling and gratefully accepted as if it had of been. London my home of my youth has given way to Lorain home of my “coming of age”.

Mayor Krasienko apparently made a touching speech on February 13th at DeLucas. In my early days of emotional incontinence I couldn’t make the event, but before the people gathered that evening I was awarded the Key to the City of Lorain.
I met with Mayor Krasienko ( he was forewarned he could end up with a blubbering woman on his hands- but he said he could handle it ) for lunch a week ago Monday at the Rose Cafe where he quietly presented me with a lovely engraved plaque for a “positive impact”. He did end up with a blubbering woman!
Although I am deeply humbled and honoured I wanted to accept this plaque on behalf of “Everyone” who has made
Photo Mark Teleha


Settlers’ Watch,
Veterans Park and
Charleston Pioneer Cemetery,
The Black River Bicentennial and
Charleston Village possible.
I AM NOT ALONE IN THESE THINGS- WITHOUT THE PEOPLE WHO CARE AND THEIR FRIENDS AND FAMILY ALL I COULD DO IS SHOOT OFF MY MOUTH!
So I geared myself to reign in the tears and go to City Council on Monday night to thank those who do care for this city we call home.
Well it wasn’t to be my emotions were dragged farther down a bottom less pit and another gut wrenching kick to my soul took place.
However, I did send a written thank you to the City of Lorain on Charleston Village letterhead and here it is:
THANK YOU ALL FOR BRINGING A LITTLE LIGHTNESS INTO MY WORLD AND FOR BEING THERE FOR LORAIN AND THIS LORAINE
April 20, 2010 at 10:52 pm 19 comments