Tag: Loss

SoCS: when a spoonful of sugar is not enough…

The movie version of Mary Poppins starring Julie Andrews came out when I was very young, so I grew up with the songs from it.

“…a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down…”

There is not enough sugar in the world to help those of us in the US cope with the beginning of this second Trump term.

It’s bitter however you experience it.

Those of us who read or read commentary on Project 2025 feared this was coming and tried to prepare but that doesn’t stop it from being awful and hurting lots of people.

Various lawsuits and public pressure and government employees and elected officials demanding their rights have blunted a few things – and caused the administration to back down on a couple of pronouncements – but the efforts to rest all power in the president – well, this president – and a handful of billionaires is underway on a lot of fronts.

I can’t possibly stream of consciousness the whole picture, but will illustrate the meanness, callousness, and vengefulness of Donald Trump by referencing his reaction to the horrible plane/helicopter crash at Reagan National Airport.

The loved ones of the people killed and the grieving public needed condolences and reassurance that there will be a thorough investigation to avoid this kind of accident in the future.

Trump railed against DEI, Presidents Obama and Biden, Biden’s Secretary of Transportation Pete Buttigieg, and others, totally without cause.

Of course, he didn’t acknowledge that he had forced resignations or fired the top leaders with the FAA and other entities that deal with such accidents.

It’s a bitter spill to swallow.

We’re not looking for a spoonful of sugar.

We are going to do everything we can to help protect and console those in need, each in whatever way is available to them.

This is my little sliver of that effort this morning.
*****
Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week is “spoonful.” Join us! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2025/01/31/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-feb-1-2025/

JC’s Confessions #30

In the first few seasons of The Late Show, Stephen Colbert did a recurring skit, then a best-selling book, called Midnight Confessions, in which he “confesses” to his audience with the disclaimer that he isn’t sure these things are really sins but that he does “feel bad about them.” While Stephen and his writers are famously funny, I am not, so my JC’s Confessions will be somewhat more serious reflections, but they will be things that I feel bad about. Stephen’s audience always forgives him at the end of the segment; I’m not expecting that – and these aren’t really sins – but comments are always welcome.

I try to take mental notes as I go through life in order to give myself guideposts for the future, to give myself advice as needed.

I have watched, sadly, some instances when, as people struggled with medical conditions, they stopped doing things because they were embarrassed to be seen needing assistance or having to do things differently.

As I’ve been dealing with my still undiagnosed health problems since March, I’ve tried to keep some of my commitments going, even though that has meant making major accomodations. For example, I’ve sung the last two Madrigal Choir concerts seated because my balance problems have made standing without support to sing impossible. I also only made it through our afternoon rehearsals by lying down before rehearsal and during our break because it’s difficult to hold my head up unsupported as the day goes on.

I’ve put other commitments on hold totally, even though I get “can’t you just?” comments. The truth is that whatever I do comes at a cost. If I push too hard, I pay for it with a surge of symptoms and fatigue that can go on for days. I choose to do that for a limited number of things but I can’t do it for everything or I literally would not be able to get out of the house – or even out of bed.

We may be close to getting, at least, a partial diagnosis and some treatment, if I’m lucky. I’m alternating between hope and despondency. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this unsatisfying balancing act going.

Do I have the humility to keep asking for the accomodations I need to keep a few of my activities going or do I give up and wait to see if I can get back to doing all the things I want in the way I’m accustomed?

It’s difficult, because I’ve seen too many people lose some joy and time with friends waiting to get better when they never did. With my limited energy and brainpower, I’m fighting to keep some things going, when the alternative would seem to be losing them totally and, perhaps, irrevocably.

So, what am I confessing?

I know my health condition is not a sin. Or what I’m doing to try to cope. Or not being able to power through these situations.

But I do feel guilty for letting people down and not being able to do what I want and not having my accustomed creative and critical thinking skills.

Maybe not for much longer.

Maybe permanently.

One-Liner Wednesday: Joan’s birthday

in honor of what would have been my friend Joan’s 65th birthday, I’m sharing this post I wrote about her when she passed away in June of this year with love and fond memories.

Please join us for Linda’s One-Liner Wednesdays! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2024/11/20/one-liner-wednesday-my-cup/

another tribute?

Last week, I attended a choral concert at Binghamton University that had been billed as a tribute to Dr. Bruce Borton, who had served in the music department for almost three decades and who passed away in August.

I wrote here about the concert that the Madrigal Choir of Binghamton presented last month and had hoped that the concert at the University would address Bruce’s legacy there, but I was disappointed. It seemed that the choral groups had prepared their fall concert as usual and just tacked a couple of pieces on the end that they tied to Dr. Borton.

The most direct tie was the combined choirs singing “Bogoroditse Devo” from the Rachmaninoff All-Night Vigil. I had sung the piece with the now-defunct University Chorus under Bruce’s direction and this particular movement additional times. It was chosen because Bruce was a scholar of Rachmaninoff and loved this work in particular.

It was difficult for me to listen to it. I knew it well and could notice the differences in interpretation but the most glaring difference was the lack of maturity in the sound, especially from the basses. It’s not, of course, the singers’ fault that their voices are still maturing, but it demonstrated the reason that University Chorus, which included students, staff, and community members, was so important to Bruce. A more age-diverse choir can produce a richer sound and excute a greater expressive range than a younger choir. This might not matter with some repertoire, but it does with Rachmaninoff.

I was disappointed that they hadn’t reached out to the University Chorus alums still in the area to join the students to perform this piece. It wouldn’t have taken much rehearsal to include us as we know the piece well and it would have been very meaningful for us. I wish they had also reached out to us or a faculty member who worked with Bruce to speak about him. As it was, the only spoken tribute was from a former graduate conducting student, read from a cell phone by one of the conductors.

The concert intensified my feelings of loss, not only of Bruce but also of University Chorus, which was so dear to his heart and to our community.

losing Joan

(Photo by July on Unsplash)

I got news yesterday of the death of a college friend.

Joan and I met in Ron Perera‘s first-year music theory class. Like me, Joan was a western Massachusetts native and a Catholic with close ties to her family. She was a talented violinist. I remember her giving a demonstration to our theory class, showing us all the techniques used to create different sonorities for us to use in our compositions.

For junior year, Joan went to the University of Michigan and decided to transfer there to finish her education. However, “once a Smithie, always a Smithie,” Joan remained a member of the Smith College class of ’82.

Joan went on to a successful career playing in orchestras, concluding with a long tenure with the Kennedy Center Opera Orchestra in Washington, DC. Her performance schedule kept her busy but, two years ago, she was able to attend our 40th reunion in Northampton, visiting family in the area which hadn’t been possible during the height of the pandemic. While we had been keeping in touch over the years, it was the first time in decades that we had seen each other and it was great. We started speculating where we would each be living post-retirement when our 45th reunion rolled around.

Right after reunion, Joan developed COVID. Fortunately, she wasn’t very sick but she was bummed about missing some of her opera performances.

It was a shock when she was diagnosed with acute lymphoma that fall. She immediately began chemotherapy. Due to the intensity of the treatment and her weakened immune system, she had to stay at home, where her husband Paul was her loving and capable caregiver.

In summer of last year, Joan was able to resume performing while her treatment migrated to a maintenance regimen. This January, she was posting about the orchestra.

And, sometime since, her remission ended and the cancer came back with a vengeance.

I didn’t know.

Early this month, I had emailed her some new photos of my granddaughters and Joan sent a reply about how beautiful they are. Sending photos had been something I had done during her home-bound period and continued to do from time to time. I am grateful that I was unknowingly able to add a moment of love and beauty to her final weeks.

Hearing the news of Joan’s death from our Smith friends was a shock and brought waves of tears. It’s also brought to mind this recent Washington Post article, raising the disturbing prospect that SARS-CoV -2 infection may play a role in the development of cancer, particularly rare or unusual ones. It will take years of research to determine whether or not this is the case but the mystery of it all is disquieting.

The final commendation at Joan’s funeral will begin, “May the angels lead you into Paradise.” May there be a beautiful violin waiting for you there, Joan.

Father’s Day in absentia

Photo Credit: Andrea Eastman

Today is celebrated as Father’s Day in the United States. My dad, known here at Top of JC’s Mind as Paco, passed away in 2021. My spouse B, father to our daughters E and T, is visiting with extended family in Maine; T is with him but I wasn’t able to make the trip.

Because of all that, I wasn’t really planning to observe Father’s Day today but I got an email from my younger sister, asking if I had a hard copy of the photo above. Nana and Paco had this portrait taken at Eastman Studios in Binghamton, New York, after they retired here. I don’t have an exact date, but I’m guessing it was taken in the late 1980s-early ’90s.

I went upstairs to look for it in the two large bags of photo albums and framed pictures that we had taken home from Paco’s last apartment. The first album I picked up was one that my sister had put together for one his last Father’s Days.

Of course, this photo was part of the album.

I spent some time going through it. It begins with photos from Nana and Paco’s youth and their wedding in 1954. There are photos of my sisters and me growing up, our home, extended family, and travels. Later, there are photos of them with their grandchildren and finally photos of their great-granddaughters.

So, I did get to spend time with my dad today and see his smile – multiple times.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.

Miss you.

Memorial Day

(Photo by Lucas Sankey on Unsplash)

Today is observed as Memorial Day in the United States, set aside to honor all those who died in the armed services.

One of our neighbors has turned their front yard into a memorial for the day with small flags in rows and a sign listing the last names of those killed in recent US military actions, starting with Iraq and Afghanistan.

Remembering them and all who have died in service of the United States today and hoping for peace and comfort for the families who grieve their loss.

Also, praying for peace so that no more deaths will be added to those already suffered over the centuries.

“First Grandchild” on Silver Birch Press

I am honored that my poem “First Grandchild” from my chapbook Hearts (Kelsay Books, 2023) is featured today by Silver Birch Press as part of their ALL ABOUT MY MOTHER series. Many thanks to Melanie and the Silver Birch Press team for including me in this series!

The first grandchild in the title is my daughter E, shown in the photo above holding baby ABC with my mother, known here at Top of JC’s Mind as Nana, and me.

You can read a bit more about the writing of the poem in the author’s note at the link above.

Having this appear at this time is especially poignant. May 16th would have been my mother’s 92nd birthday.

Tomorrow, May 22nd, will be the fifth anniversary of her death.

It’s a good day to remember the immense love and care that she showed for all of us for so many years.

Her love lives on.

(a different) Mother’s Day

In the US, we are observing Mother’s Day today. While its origin was in a call for peace after the Civil War, today it is celebrated as a tribute to mothers of all types and ages.

Since the death of my mother in May, 2019, Mother’s Day has felt bittersweet to me, as it brings back that time when, within two May weeks, there was my mom’s last Mother’s Day, birthday, and the date of her death. It’s complicated further by having daughter E and granddaughters ABC and JG five time zones away.

This year has brought the additional worry of a family member’s upcoming surgery and the possibility of an underlying disorder yet to be diagnosed.

Then, there is the general upheaval in the US and so many other places in the world, war, hunger, the climate crisis, disasters, and I will end the list here, but we know it is much longer.

It’s a lot with which to contend and I’m not coping very well.

I mentioned in a Stream of Consciousness Saturday post in mid-April that I was hearing a sound in my left ear. This, along with some additional symptoms, has led to several primary care visits, a diagnosis of tinnitus, some attempts at treatment, and, on Friday, a decision to order an MRI to rule out various tumors or other abnormalities.

Of course, there is the possibility of not “ruling out” but discovering.

I admit that I’m struggling. I’m practiced with blocking things out or setting them aside to concentrate on caring for family members. Part of my problem right now is that the timing is unfortunate as I am the main driver and errand-runner and don’t want to be out of commission when I’m needed to help with surgical recovery and follow-on medical appointments. I know spouse B will drop everything at work to take care of things but I also know that his project is in a critical phase right now.

I need humility, trust, and the grace to step aside and let others take over the work I should or have been doing and put other things aside for a while, but it’s hard and I’m worried and tired.

Maybe they will examine my head and not find anything.

Wait. That doesn’t sound right.

Maybe they won’t find anything dangerous.

Maybe, I can get a grip when the MRI is actually scheduled and on my calendar. After all, this is not my first rodeo with medical mystery ailments. Some of them have even been mine. I’m just more annoyed with my own. I know I need to channel some of the compassion I have toward others and apply it to myself.

And maybe take a nap.

It’s been helpful to write this down. I am questioning whether or not it is wise to post it, but have decided to do so because authenticity is part of the charm? hallmark? conceit? of Top of JC’s Mind.

And, yes, it’s Mother’s Day and B is making lamb spiedies and grilled asparagus with his homemade tiramisu for dessert.

And there have been sweet cards and a present.

And the lilies of the valley are starting to bloom.

They were my mother’s birth flower and a favorite of hers.

The photo is from my mother’s 87th and last birthday, lilies of the valley from our yard and cards from my father and their artist-friend Jim.

Miss you today, Mom.

19 years ago

About my friend Angie.

(Hearts graphic by Angie Traverse)

Nineteen years ago today, my friend Angie died from lung cancer. She was only 54. She had never smoked or lived in a house with high radon or worked in a place with known carcinogens but, by whatever combination of genetics and living, cancer appeared and was diagnosed when she was fifty.

She was treated by some great doctors locally and in Boston and she fought hard for four years and some months, but passed away on Good Friday, 2005.

There have been a lot of developments in cancer treatment since then, some of which are advertised on television. I often wonder if any of those medications would have helped Angie live longer and better.

For years, I made contributions on March 25 and on Angie’s October birthday to the charitable fund established in her memory but, a few years back, the online page went away. Now, I just remember and write an occasional post. One of my favorite Angie posts is this one, written when I turned 54.

That year, I also wrote a poem about Angie, which was published by Wilderness House Literary Review:

Fifty-four

We were the October Babes,
You from 1950,
Me from 1960.

On your fifty-fourth birthday,
You managed coffee ice cream with hot fudge
Despite the metastases in your neck.

On my fifty-fourth birthday,
I raise a solo toast with your favorite Coke-with-a-lemon-wedge
To the October Babes being fifty-four together.
*****

This October, God willing, I will turn 64.

I wish Angie were still here, as an about-to-be 74-year-old grandma, mom, artist, and dear friend. The world could use her compassion, creativity, and spirit right now.