Intimacy – what is it?

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Talking…about hopes, fears, experiences, ups and downs.

Listening…to the other person’s dreams, anxieties, history.

Communicating…without words. Doing those little things that have more meaning than verbal expression.

Trust…knowing that the other will keep their  promises.

Confidence… that the other will stay with you through emotional pain, physical malady, life and career changes.

Comfort…being present without fear, worry or doubt.



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This was one of the last words my mother spoke to me.
“Hate, hate hate,” she said in the angriest voice she could muster for a frail little women on her deathbed. I knew it was directed towards me – she was very frustrated about things and she didn’t like the answers she got from the people caring for her (and me) a day prior.
In the few months that have passed since her death, I have learned that society is not tolerant with people in mourning – they hate how I react when I get the in your face memories or flashbacks or whatever you want to call them.
I hate having to hold back tears in front of people, even my husband, whom I expected to be more understanding than he seems to be.
I hate that I realized everything about my mother – how much she really loved me, how important I was to her – too late.
“Hate, hate, hate.” I sure hope she didn’t leave this world hating me. That was the last thing I would have wanted.
I hate being alone – with no close relatives to understand – to hug me – to become my pseudo- Mom, a confidant in times of pain and hurt.
Hate is a strong emotion.
I hate hate.

Massachusetts Toll Takers – What the hell?

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OK, so my niece is driving back to the South Shore from dropping me off at the Mini dealership in Peabody so I could pick up my car. She gets to the Tobin ($3.00 toll) and since she doesn’t drive the toll roads of MA often, she does not have a Fast Pass. At the toll booth, she performs a complete search of her vehicle and comes up $0.70 short. The jerk writes her a $50 ticket – for being 70 cents short of the $3.00 toll. WTF? He then tells her if she comes back and pays him the 70 cents, he will void the ticket. Long story short: she gets off an exit somewhere in Boston, finds an ATM, withdraws some cash, gets lost in Boston getting back on Rt. 1, gets lost in Revere trying to get BACK onto the Tobin Bridge – to give this guy 70 cents. The icing on the cake: he charges her ANOTHER $3, because she crossed the bridge again.

She was unable to pick up her kids from school – she had to call her husband so he could leave early from his job to race to the school to pick them up.

Calculate the gas wasted (by my niece – driving randomly around the poorly marked streets of Boston, into Revere, through ‘lovely” Chelsea), the wages lost (by her husband, leaving work early), how inconvenienced the school was waiting for the kids’ father to arrive…To pay the toll taker 70 freaking cents.

Is this the harassment that the taxpayers of MA are paying for?

What if she was a tourist? Nice freakin’ impression she would have of the city and the State (excuse me, Communist-wealth) employees.

Welcome to Boston. Screw you.

How Long?

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How long is it going to hurt?
How long before I can get a decent night of sleep?
How long before the panic attacks ease up?
How long before the tears stop their stealthy attacks?
How long before the acceptance sets in?
How long before I see her again…

Random Queries

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Is there a Heaven (or a loosely defined place for the energies that comprise a personality)?
Do we just “end” at the end?
What is the meaning off all of this if there is nothing that follows?
Will our animals be in “Heaven?”


My Memorial Card for My Mom


After much deliberation and a whole heck of a lot more tears, I drafted these words for her memorium card:
God sent your guardian angels to guide you home, to abide in heaven with them, whole and complete, free of pain and suffering.
Feel the love and peace as you walk through Heaven’s gardens with the loved ones that have gone before you.
Those of us on Earth will see your smile in the wildflowers, feel your love in the rays of the sun and see your happiness in the twinkling of the stars.

Then the followidsc_4913ng came to mind – a favorite verse from the Bible that was made into an upbeat and beautiful song over 30 years ago – so I added this verse at the end.

For you will go out with joy. And be led forth with peace;  The mountains and the hills will break forth into shouts of joy before you,  And all the trees of the field will clap their hands.  Isaiah 55:12


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A few weeks back, someone told me that no mater your age when your last parent dies,you are orphaned. Damn skippy, they were right. The sense of abandonment, the “what did I do to make this happen?” thoughts, and the sadness of being left with a simple box of belongings that represented a life. A life that gave you life, and (hopefully), nurtured and cared for you. All of that is in that box.

The US gives use 2 or 3 days off of work to grieve and get over it, then pack all of your feelings in that box and continue your 9-5 life. Two years later when you have that nervous breakdown, everyone will wonder why.

There is something to bs said for ritual, and our ancestors worldwide seemed to grasp that need for recognition of a loss before life continued as usual. (if I wasn’t so caught up in my grief, I would have done the proper thing and provided a list of scholarly references we detailing such rituals here.) I thought I was done grieving – having pre-grieved 3 times prior with the close calls she had. I grieved after her stroke – it stole her psyche – the part of Mom that made her “Mom.”

I had said what I needed to say, and it was all OK. Then I got that phone call at 835a on February 21, and every bad thing I was angry or resentful about just melted away, leaving the memories of laughs, and how we clung to each other in our struggles to stay sane while being held captive by my father.

What I would give for a chance to hold the good memories close, and to make her last years here much better.

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