Thursday, April 18, 2013

The Dance

Pablo Picassa , La Danse

Mother in law called. Check. Ran 6 miles. Check. Work. Check. Elizabeth spur of the moment dental appointment. Check. Piano lessons. Check. The rest of today? Dinner, homework, more work, lunches, showers, bedtime routines. Somewhere in there I’m supposed to meet with a trainer at the gym. Hmm. That will be tricky. And wouldn’t it be nice to have some time to relax and get in a better frame of mind for my tests tomorrow?
Days like today feel like I’m moving way too fast. Everyone has these kinds of days I suppose. But I’m so tired that I don’t feel like I will really enjoy any of it. Do I cut something out? Or do I merely change my outlook?

I’m most looking forward to piano today. Elizabeth has such a talent and I love listening to her play. She taught herself (by writing on the keys of our piano!) before we moved. She has a natural gift. She took lessons for only 4 or 5 months before we moved and she had to stop, but she was playing pieces like Fanfare, Swans on the Lake, Ode to Joy, and Allegro in C. I am so proud of her. I’ve been determined since we arrived here to get her back in lessons, and start Liv too. And I finally did it! Today is their first lesson. I’m so grateful I have the business so I can do things like this for them.

So running today was awesome. I had the best splits I’ve ever had. 6 miles with splits of 9.14, 9.40, 9.00, 9.21, 10.2, 8.40, 7.50. It felt so good to be running out in the country. I actually found myself dreaming of living out there. It was so peaceful. Between that and all the country songs I’ve been drawn to lately I can’t help but wonder if there’s a country girl somewhere inside me waiting to get out :) I listened to a new song on my run today, The Dance. It may be an old song but it was new to me! My mind wandered listening to some of the lyrics. “Glad I didn’t know, the way it all would end. The way it had to go. Our lives, are better left to chance. I coulda missed the pain. But I’d of had to miss the dance.”

The song really made me think. Would I skip the dance if I knew the pain? People die. People say goodbye. People break your heart. I decided that for me life is all about the dance. Life is short and the dance makes it worth living even when you know eventually the song will end. And then? Well then I guess I have to have faith and wait for the next song to start. It was a good run today.

Monday, April 15, 2013

Life lessons from my dad

I always dread today so this year I decided to try to change my attitude. My dad left me to go to heaven at exactly 11pm, 9 years ago today. And although he isn’t here anymore physically, the lessons he taught me by the simple ways he lived his life will stay with me always…..

Live simply & appreciate the little things life has to offer. In the end you will miss them the most. Be independent. Be generous. Keep some money in your pocket even if you don’t have much & give it away freely. Maintain your pride. Work hard. You don’t have to attend every argument you are invited to. Love your mother. You only have one mother. Don’t be a piss pot :) Stay current. Watch the news & read. Drink beer :) Be kind. Forgive and forget. Never hold a grudge. Love your kids unconditionally. Drink more beer :) Laugh. Life is short. Value people, not things, because in the end you can’t take your money or your “stuff” with you when you leave this world.

And I think the biggest lesson he ever taught me was to always choose forgiveness. His love & forgiveness allowed me to become the person I am today.

My wedding picture illustrates my relationship with my dad the best. Everyone was looking at the camera with huge smiles on their faces; everyone except my dad. My dad was looking at me.

Thank you dad for always seeing the best in me, recognizing my spirit, & laughing at all my crazy antics & corny jokes. Thank you for your forgiveness & loving me unconditionally. I still miss you. Until we meet again…..
All my love
Your favorite daughter Darcey
Inside joke. Just kidding Jackie, Pam, John! Love you guys!

Below is an excerpt from a memoir I am writing.

My Dad

My wedding picture illustrates my relationship with my Dad best. The photographer took a picture of Josh and me with my whole family. Everyone, including myself, was looking at the camera with huge smiles on our faces; everyone except my Dad. My Dad was looking at me.

The death of my father was one of the hardest pieces of my adult life. No one loved me like my Dad. He smiled the widest when he looked at me and he laughed the hardest at all my jokes. He was always there. He could always find me even when I didn’t know I was lost and I certainly didn’t want to be found. From the car shop I sat in as a teenager with no money having my car fixed to unhealthy relationships I had gotten myself in. My Dad was always there to help me get up, dust myself off and try again.

He was a pretty simple guy. And by the world’s standards he was probably just an average guy. He didn’t talk much but when he did people listened. I wish I could say that that he told me some profound truth about life and living. But he didn’t. He just loved me. I made mistakes. And he loved me. And I made another. And he loved me. He almost always had a smile for me whenever we were together. Somehow he gave me what I needed just by the joy and smile he had when he saw me. He loved me and he changed my life just doing that.

My Dad had a stroke in May of 2001 a week before I delivered my daughter, Elizabeth. So, in May, I gave birth to my first born child and my father. My Dad could no longer care for himself. His needs became increasingly harder to meet. His mental abilities diminished before my very eyes. I struggled to celebrate my daughter’s first year of life while watching my Dad’s life as he once knew it slowly slip away before my eyes.

Elizabeth and I spent hours with my Dad in 2 hospitals, 2 nursing homes, and 2 adult care homes over the course of  2 and a half years. I pushed my Dad in front of me in his wheelchair as I pulled Elizabeth in her stroller behind me. Their needs were the same in many ways and yet I found myself continually conflicted and choosing between them. Minute by minute the clock continued to tick losing time I could never get back with either of them, the beginning of Elizabeth’s life and the end of my Dad’s.

I remember my Dad’s first day in the nursing home he would eventually die in. I was busying myself, setting him up for dinner with all the other residents. In the background you could hear residents calling out for help. I tried to make the pureed food in front of him look as appetizing as I could in spite of the smell of feces permeating the room.

“Dad”, I began, “I have to go but look I have your dinner all set. I will be back in the morning”. 

I had prolonged leaving long enough. My husband and daughter had been waiting patiently for me to go. They had finally left frustrated to go down to the car and wait. They were hungry. But my Dad was hungry, too. And I suppose I was hungry, but I don’t think I knew it at the time.

“Dad,” I continued. Elizabeth and I will be back tomorrow morning. Do you want me to sneak anything in for you?”  I used to sneak all kinds of goodies in for him, from chocolates to suckers to fried egg sandwiches, all his favorites.

And then came the moment I will never forget. As I leaned to kiss him goodbye he gently grabbed a hold of my arm. Quietly, he whispered in my ear, “I can’t live like this.” Tears streamed down my face. Quietly, again, he said, “Honey I can’t live like this.” I was sobbing at this point and I replied, “Dad what do you want me to do?” And recognizing this moment of lucidity as they were so few and far between he looked at me with his big blue eyes and said, “Please. Just leave some pills by my bed.”  I went home and cried myself to sleep. Josh and Elizabeth ate alone.


Elizabeth was 2 and we were planning our annual trip to Myrtle Beach. The evening we were to leave Elizabeth and I went to the nursing home to see my Dad. We got off the elevator on the 6th floor to find my Dad propelling himself by his feet down the hall. I stopped for a moment to watch him. He would go a few feet and stop as he intently sucked on the lollipops we had left for the nurses to give him. He looked at the signs on the wall as if he were reading them. My mind wandered back to the nights as a teenager I would come home to his apartment as he sat in his favorite chair reading. He loved autobiographies and current events. I wondered if he missed those times too or if his mind was now content with reading the names on the doors that lined the halls like unopened books on a bookshelf. I wondered if his imagination formed his own stories for those names as he studied them so carefully making his way down the long hall.

“Hi Dad”, I said and he turned to look at me. 

It was a good day. I could tell by the smile that greeted me. He quickly took the sucker out of his mouth and looked past me at Elizabeth. “And how’s my little Geraldine?” he asked.

“Geraldine?” I replied. To that we both burst into laughter. He knew he had said the wrong name again. He had called her this before and I often wondered why. As far as I knew he never knew a Geraldine.
He quickly corrected himself and said, “I mean Queen Elizabeth!”

We had a laugh at this as he ooed and ahhed over Elizabeth as he usually did. Elizabeth loved to try to push his wheelchair and hand him different items she would find. He seemed to take much delight in this.
We took out my cell phone and called my sister Jackie. He talked with her and told her he loved her. She was also leaving for Myrtle Beach. Soon Cindy stopped in and all of us were talking as Pam came in. Pam was going to Myrtle Beach with us and she had been tanning at the tanning booth. Dad took one look at Pam, tanned as could be in preparation for the beach, and she gave him a gleaming smile. He looked at her and then looked at me and said, “Why are her teeth so white?”

We all had a good laugh and great visit. When it was time to go I wheeled him to the dinner room. Everyone had been brought in and a nurse was sitting next to his place at the table feeding another resident. I pushed him up to the table, dreading the goodbye. The nurse said, “John, who’s this?” as she looked at the 2 of us. I will never forget the last words he said. He looked at her with a smile and look of pride that could light up the night sky and replied, “That’s my daughter, I have 6 of them you know!” Oh how I cherished those moments that proved he knew me. I kissed him goodbye and told him I loved him. He told me he loved me too and to be good. Those were the last words he said to me.

The trip to Myrtle Beach was long. We left that night when I got home from the nursing home. Josh had the van packed. We went to breakfast in the morning when we arrived in South Carolina. I had left my cell phone in the car. There were over 30 missed calls on it when we went out to the van to leave. My heart stopped. What could it be? As I was trying to listen to voicemails my sister called the phone. Through her crying she managed to say that Dad had another stroke and it wasn’t good. I called my sister who was with him. She told me that this stroke had left his whole body paralyzed and he was unable to speak. The doctors had said that if he did not regain use of his body in the next 24 hours, he would never regain it. I felt as if someone had taken the air out of my lungs. I couldn’t breathe and I could barely speak. Tears streamed down my face as I found the words to ask her to put the phone up to my Dad’s ear. I was sobbing as I told him everything would be okay. I was on my way. My sister told me that a tear streamed down his face as I spoke to him. I knew he had heard me.

The drive home from Myrtle Beach seemed like an eternity even though Josh made record time. Elizabeth was approaching her 24th hour in the car over the course of 2 days. I have never cried so long and so hard in my whole life. I would pull myself together for a moment or two only to burst uncontrollably into tears again.

We pulled into the nursing home at about 11pm. I went immediately up to the 6th floor. I dried my tears as best I could. I needed to be the strong one this time. I went in and I was greeted by the big blue eyes that I had known my entire life. He laid there in the bed unable to move his hands or his feet or his legs. His whole body was paralyzed. He couldn’t even swallow. The only part of him he could move or use to communicate were his eyes. It was in that moment, when I saw his pale blue eyes, tired and helpless looking directly at me that I knew it was time. He had given the good fight and it was time to let him go. I knew this in my head. But it didn’t get to my heart for 8 days.

Day after day went by. People came and went. My sister Jackie and I stayed. We basically moved in the room. We slept in chairs and we laid on his bed next to him day and night. I remember singing, “Let there be Peace on Earth” and “Here I am Lord” to him hundreds of times. I remember vividly when my daughter Elizabeth came in to say goodbye. Her life had been turned upside down. Mommy was never home. Uncle Larry and Aunt Jackie had temporarily moved in with us. She was with many different babysitters. There was always commotion. Mommy was always crying. She stood by the side of his bed and the nurse rolled him to his side. She looked at him eye to eye and said, “Papa, my head is spinning around and around and around!” Just that one simple statement and my Dad let out this small noise as if to laugh. She kissed him and said “I love you Papa” and went home with Josh.

The nurses kept telling us it wouldn’t be much longer. He hadn’t had any food or water in over a week. We all knew what his wishes would be and as painful as it was, tried to carry them out. He just kept holding on. He was such a fighter all his life. Everyone came, his brother Vincent and his sisters. All 8 of us kids had said our goodbyes. My Mom had said goodbye. But he just held on.

I will never forget the eighth night. The nurses told us that his systems were shutting down and that it wouldn’t be much longer. We had all heard this before. Jackie and I were exhausted. Neither of us had really slept more than a few hours at a clip. Everyone went home except the 2 of us- the oldest and the youngest- the “bookends” as they called us. Jackie was on his right and I was on his left. We tried all over again saying it’s okay Dad. We’ll be ok. You can let go. We tried to pray with him. We told him that his Mom was waiting for him. Just let go. He didn’t.  Jackie asked him if he wanted to be alone. Maybe that was the problem. We wanted to be there but maybe he wanted to be alone. A tear streamed down his face and we knew he didn’t want to be alone.

We finally decided that I should try to step out of the room. Maybe he just couldn’t leave me. He had spent his whole life taking care of me. I was the youngest, his baby. So I stepped out. I was exhausted and drained. I felt ready to explode when I left the room. I went into the meal room. It was a glass rectangular room full of tables overlooking the Chemung River. This was the very room where my Dad had told me 3 years earlier to please leave some pills by his bed. I had to let him go. In that moment, I dropped to my knees in front of the window and I sobbed. I remember that moment like it was yesterday. I prayed. And I prayed. And I prayed. I repeated over and over the same thing out loud. “Please God. Please take him. Please God. Just take him. Fucking take him.”

I dried my eyes, and went back into the room. I quietly walked over to the bed and put my head on his chest. And I cried. I told him how much I loved him but it was time to go now. Jackie did the same. Within minutes he was gone.

After a moment I stopped crying. It was done. He was gone. He had been there and now he was gone. The energy in the room had changed. Up to that point the room seemed stifling. Even though it was just Jackie and I, I remember feeling crowded and overwhelmed with emotion and energy. When he died it just all vanished. The room immediately felt empty and cold and I suddenly felt this intense urge to get out. My brothers and sisters came after he had passed. I don’t think they ever understood why I wasn’t crying and why I was in such a rush to leave. I don’t know if I fully understand. I felt defeated. I felt alone. I felt empty. I felt lost. He was there. And then he wasn’t. I needed to go home.

Jackie and I drove home silent. We came in the house and both of our husbands met us in the kitchen and we both fell apart. I got myself together and went to bed only to cry myself to sleep again. This was the first of many nights of crying myself to sleep.

The bikini

So I have been working really hard at getting healthy and fit. It’s been a really long road. Shedding the pounds continues to feel like I am taking off layers of myself I’ve put on throughout my life. Each layer seems to bring something new and unexpected and I learn something about myself with each layer I peel off. 

Sometimes it feels refreshing and sometimes it feels scary and I feel pretty vulnerable. My weight was almost a protection for me. It kept me safe from having to face certain pieces of my past as well as certain aspects of who I am. It smothered my confidence and kept it so well hidden that I often didn’t believe any existed.

My weight loss journey has required a bravery buried deep inside of me that I haven’t tapped into since I was really young and my parents were divorcing. Running is taking me to my bravery. Running is getting me strong. I hated running as a child. I was painfully shy and I would often run away and hide afraid. Today I’m running for very different reasons. I’m not running away anymore or to hide, but to remember who I am and finally be me.

So today, feeling strong and lean and confident, I went to the store and tried on a bikini. Well, more like 10 to be exact! I was certain someone would look at me and tell me I had no business looking at bikinis and politely usher me to the “mom” bathing suits nearby. But no, no one seemed to care other than me. I went to the dressing room unbelievably nervous. I put on the first and I slowly and cautiously turned around to peek in the mirror. It was quite a moment. Not because I thought I looked spectacular. Nope. I just stood there. I was amazed at my reflection because I couldn’t believe I had found the courage not only to put a bikini on, but also to get my body fit again and in many ways, my life back.

If the bikini could have spoken, I imagine in my mind it would have said, “It was never your fault. It’s okay to look beautiful. It’s okay to look sexy. It’s okay to be thin and fit.”

So today is a landmark day for me. Today I made the decision to leave my shame behind in the dressing room. Today I came home stronger and with the bikini!

*April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. SAAM is a national campaign that commits to raising awareness and promoting the prevention of sexual violence through public education. If you are someone you know is a survivor of sexual assault, help is out there. RAINN, Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network is the nation’s largest anti-sexual violence organization. RAINN created and operates the National Sexual Assault Hotline 1-800-656-HOPE in partnership with over 1,100 local rape crisis centers nationwide. RAINN also runs the National Assault Online Hotline ( Reach out for help.