I have always had difficulty asking for help. It goes way
back to when I was very young. In the midst of a large family, I always felt
that I was alone. I didn’t feel anyone was there for me. I developed an attitude of “I don’t need you anyway” and “I
can do it myself.”
Recently I discovered that I do sometimes need help and that
I could not do it myself.
It was humbling.
I was hurt, broken.
I had difficulty doing the simplest tasks: pulling a T-shirt
over my head after first pulling the sleeve over the arm I could not raise, washing my
hair with just one hand, cutting my meat, putting on socks and shoes.
Eventually I could, but not the first few days.
My mom has been on my mind a lot this past week, but it had nothing to do with Mother's Day. A week ago today I fell down a flight of steps at work. I landed hard
directly on my shoulder, dislocating it. I spent several hours at the local ER
with a coworker who brought me there. She said that while I was still under anesthesia I expressed a
desire to do water aerobics. I do not have a clue where that one came from. Before
they put my shoulder back in place, I felt the greatest physical pain I have
ever felt in my life. When it was done I woke with my right arm and
hand immobilized in a brace. The right is my dominant arm. I would be forced to
be a lefty until I healed. The doctor’s orders were to not use or raise my
right arm.
My sister, Cheryl, came to get me and took me out to her
farm in WI. Together we figured out how
I could do things one-handed. Dressing was difficult the first time. Have you
ever considered how hard it would be trying to put a bra on with one hand?
Fortunately, I was wearing a front clasp sports bra. It is doable. Cheryl expressed
the fact that she felt a little helpless watching me. I could see her frustration
in wanting to assist me. But, I would not let her help me. I needed to know that
I could do it myself and I did, mostly. In retrospect I realize that this is
nothing new. I seldom let anyone help me. In the end, the only things I needed
help with were shoes and socks.
I had many hours last week to think and memories of my mom
kept creeping in. In my struggle to adapt to using one arm, I was reminded how
she adapted her life so that she could function on her own with declining
skills after my dad died. As good as she was, putting on socks was always
difficult for her too. At odd moments when I was alone in the house, while my
sister and her husband were out doing chores, I found myself wanting to call my
mom. But, she is gone now.
Surprisingly, with everything that happened last week, I had
totally forgotten that tomorrow was Mother’s Day. It is the first without her. I
realized it while I was checking in on Twitter this morning. There were
numerous posts for Mother’s Day. It hit me hard. I had not shed many tears from
the intense physical pain from my broken body, but tears flowed from the
emotional pain of grief and loss.
In the past I had been told by several of my mother’s
friends that I remind me of her. This past week reminded me of the struggles
she faced as I myself struggled with this injury. But, right now, I just wish she
were still here to talk to. No matter what your age is, when you are hurting
you just want your mom.
I have eclectic tastes and I love finding new music. But, lately
the music I am listening to most is a CD of old music made new again, covered
by current singers. Chimes of Freedom:
Songs of Bob Dylan Honoring 50 Years of Amnesty International is a
compilation album featuring many contemporary artists. The proceeds of the CD
will go to the human rights organization Amnesty International.
It was refreshing to hear songs that I have loved for years
revived. I was surprised as well as there were a couple singers I did not
expect to like. I underestimated Miley
Cyrus singing "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go" and it quickly became one of my favorites.
While looking for the clip on YouTube I also found a mini-documentary
where Cyrus talks about doing the song and what it meant to her. I came away
with huge respect for this young artist.
But, what was very special for me was the timeless nature of
the songs written by Dylan. They are as relevant today as when he first wrote
them. The most haunting beautiful for me was “God on Our Side” sung by
K'naan. Also of note was Joe Perry’s version of “Man of Peace" and
Flogging Molly singing "The
Times They Are A-Changing.”
My absolute favorite of all of the songs was the very first
song on the CD, “All
Along the Watchtower” by the Dave Matthews Band. I have to apologize as I
could not find a video for this live performance, but did find the audio for
it. I actually bought the CD on the strength of this one song without hearing
any of the others on the CD. As good as Bob Dylan was, he did not have the
voice to do justice to this song in the way that Dave Matthews does. He starts
out quite restrained and then unleashes with power and emotion. No song after
that could really top it for me, but they are still very good.
For those of you who love the words and music of Bob Dylan,
I feel this is a “must buy! “I have always respected Dylan more as a poet than
as a singer. His words come to life even more for me now that they have been
re-interpreted by others.
A little over a year ago a good friend of mine generously assisted me at a time I was very broke. She would not hear of letting me pay her back and even asked that I not bring up the subject again. Since then my financial situation has improved some and as I could not pay it back, I decided to pay it forward.
I had heard of Kickstarter when it first launched in 2008 and I considered it more as a means to launch a project of my own, but never did. Then in late 2010 I read about a project for a short film called “The Waltz” that was put forward by Dillon Wall who was the son of my friend “J” (@jclementwall) on Twitter. It was exciting because Dillon was using a short story that J had written as the basis for the film. It was a twofer! In supporting Dillon, I was also supporting my friend J. It also occurred to me then that I could also pay forward the kind gift I had been given and help many others.
Sadly, that first project by Dillon Wall did not raise enough funds in the allotted time so it was not funded. But, Dillon came back with a new pared down budget and was funded the second time to cover the cost of filming and a third time to cover the post production costs.
In total I have donated money to 6 projects. All but the first have been funded. In addition to Dillon Wall, I have helped on a project that would bring artists and writers together for Call + Response annual art show in Washington DC. The next project I funded was “Sirenstories” for Mimi Cross, who had written a children’s book and needed money to hire an editor to polish it so she could attract an editor and eventually a publisher. The most recent project I helped to fund was the The BellyFULL project from the HopeFULL Company.
Each time I pay it forward through Kickstarter to help to fund a project, I think of the wonderful gift that was given to me and the generous friend who came to my assistance when I was in need.
For a brief moment yesterday I was joyful. A musician I follow on Twitter, @WeeLaura, had recommended the group Alabama Shakes. As I am always looking for new music and am particularly fond of independent musicians, I checked them out. I listened and was happily transported. The music took me out of my body, out of my mood to a different place. I was smiling as I chair-danced to the bluesy voice of the lead singer, Brittany Howard. I felt truly joyful. That it had that effect does not surprise me. In many ways, music saved me.
Music might not seem like a big deal to some, but it is to me. I have recently come through an intense, dark period of grief. Very little could lift my spirits during that time. I had lost my mom in July and all joy left my life. Well not just joy, but all emotion seemed to be gone. I shut myself down inside and would not allow myself to feel anything. If I did, a flood of grief would overwhelm me and shut me down so hard that it was difficult to function. And that could not happen. Life goes on and I had to be able to live in it. I had responsibilities to myself and to others. For those many months last year, the only way I could allow myself to feel was through music. I was particularly drawn to singers, like Brittany Howard, who could evoke strong emotion with the power of their voice. I think I learned to feel again through them. If I had known of her music then, I know I would have been playing it.
I have come back slowly. It does not hurt so much. I can talk about it and even write about it now. And I am having more moments like yesterday where I can spontaneously smile again. When you listen, it is not just about the music, sometimes it is much deeper.
In closing I would like to leave you with Brittany Howard and Alabama Shakes. Enjoy!
I met Jennifer Haase on Twitter shortly before she releasedher second CD “No More Invitations”in July of 2011. We became friends even before I became a fan of her songs. Atthe time I was a little broke and couldn’t afford to buy it. When I finally heardthe CD, it was instant love! I reviewed it here on “Other Things” back in November. But, I was curious about herlife as an indie musician and asked if I could do an interview with her as well.I was very pleased when she graciously said, yes!
I know a little bitabout your journey and how you moved to New York from Nebraska. To take thesteps that you did requires a strong belief in yourself and your talent. Whendid the dream begin? When did you know that this was what you wanted to do?
There was always music in my house, growing up. My parents are musicians. My mother is a songwriter who was out playingher own local gigs when I was a teen. Iknow my songwriter and entertainer genes came directly from Mom, who definitelyinfluenced my desire to be a singer/songwriter, too.
I started writing songs when I took guitar lessons in my early20s. That's when Ye Ole Muse really cameto life for me. I remember asking myfirst guitar teacher in Lincoln (Nebraska), "How do you know if you'rewriting good songs?" Song structure was a mystery to me, but I wassuddenly writing a lot and it felt so natural. Songwriting made sense to me and excited me in a way that no otherwriting yet had.
I think I will justthrow the question back to you that you asked your first guitar instructor. Howdo you know if you are writing good songs?
I still don't know how to answer that question, I honestly don't. It's all about feel and emotion to me. If the song truly moves me as a writer, nomatter the song structure, it's likely going to move a few other listeners,too. I just go by that gut instinct,though that said I'm not always right.
I get that. It is thesame for me as a writer. Sometimes the writing can be cathartic and I cannotrest until I get it out. Is that true for you too and have you ever written asong that was too personal to share?
Oh, yes. Songwriting is often arelease for me, too. And, yes, I'vewritten songs that were too personal to share. Or the timing wasn't right to share it yet, depending on therelationship or experiences the song is about. I think some songs were more aboutjust writing them than sharing them. Getting them out of my body, ya know?
What prompted themove from Nebraska to New York?
I took a songwriting workshop at The Omega Institute in Rhinebeck NYthe summer of 1997, with Rosanne Cash (as leader) and 17 othersongwriters. It lasted five days and wastruly a life-changing experience. I loved the people I met, many of them NewYorkers. I went home and startedapplying for jobs in NYC. I landed amanager position at a new bookstore in the city. I put most of my belongings in storage andheaded east. That was February 1998.
As an Indiesinger/songwriter you are essentially doing this alone. How hard has it beenand what other things are you doing to supplement your income while pursuingyour dream?
It's been, and continues to be, the hardest thing I've ever done butwhen the rewards come they're worth every second of this wacky and oftenfrightening way of living. I'm afreelance writer, as well, depending on article writing and other projects tohelp pay the bills. My goals this yearare to expand my custom songwriting clientele and place some of my songs withTV, film and commercials. Expanding alllevels of my business as a songwriter is extremely important year after year.
Knowing what you knownow, would you do it again?
Yes! As hard as it gets to stay alive and smiling in this business,songwriting is still my deepest love and one of the ways I feel valuable, especiallywhen I'm writing songs for other people. That's still the most moving work forme.
I consider myself blessed as I have some excellent friends.
Seriously, I would not have made it these past months without them. Last July
my mother died and I felt like I was drowning in grief. My friends kept me
afloat. I am not sure how I would have managed without them.
Grieving over the loss of the unconditional love that only a
parent can give is incredibly hard. There is emptiness inside that can never be
filled. After the funeral, life goes on whether you are ready or not. Going
back to work was especially tough as I work in a group home for developmentally
disabled adults. The thing is, with this job it is necessary to check any
emotional baggage at the door. Much of communication is non-verbal and
role-modeling. If you do not have your emotions in check you may quickly find
them reflected back at you. Your stress and pain becomes theirs making it even
harder to deal with.
However, I was very fortunate that I have two excellent
coworkers who are also my good friends. They literally protected me emotionally
at work and ran interference when necessary. A few times they suggested I take
a long break to regain my composure. I was the in-charge of the shift, but they
took charge of me and helped me through a difficult time.
I think I was even more amazed at the support I received
from my online friends. People I barely knew reached out to comfort and support
me. I was sent phone numbers and told that I could call day or night. I wouldn’t
do that, but it was a comfort to know that they were there.
Although, many people reached out, I could really only talk
to a few. They understood when I could not talk and stood quietly by, respecting
my space. I know that it must have been frustrating for them. I could not tell
them what I needed. I didn’t know. Mostly they just let me talk. They did not
tell me what to do, they just listened. Months later they are still here for me,
listening when I need to talk.
I still have my bad days, but I am better than I was. And I
got here with the help of my friends. So to everyone who was there for me I can
only say thank you. I am fortunate to have all of you in my life whether it is
in person or virtually as an online friend. You are the best!
Evening fell. It had a cold sky the shade of cobalt blue that occurs
just before the sun is completely extinguished, turning to the full darkness of
night. The view from where she sat on her porch was framed by skeleton trees,
still bare and leafless. It was
hauntingly beautiful, she thought, much prettier than the gray day where no sun had appeared.
She broke the seal on the bottle of cognac and poured two
fingers into the brandy snifter. The familiar smell was stronger than the organic, mossy smell of the woods. Slowly breathing it in, she hesitated before drinking, rolling it
around in the glass. At first taste, it burned a little on her tongue and
throat as it went down. A fine cognac should not be adulterated her mother had
said. It was probably the only thing they had ever agreed on. She felt the
warmth as it descended onto her empty stomach. She closed her eyes and leaned
her head back into the chair, waiting. After a brief moment she took another
sip, then frowned and quickly gulped the rest. She refilled the glass, this
time to the rim as the darkness enveloped her.
I am quiet these days. I don’t know what to say, what to feel. Conversations go on around me. I just listen. It is all I can do.
I guess maybe I am still a little lost. I no longer know what my purpose is. I am trying to move forward, but it’s hard when I have no idea where forward is.
I am a little lonely. I am a little sad. I am missing someone I don’t know. Can love be lost if it was never found?
I tried to write a post this week on things I am grateful for this year, but I couldn’t do it. It is not that I don’t have anything to be grateful for, I do. I just couldn’t do it, as the grief that I thought was under control came back and smothered me once again.
The past four years I have spent nearly every holiday at the nursing home where my mother resided. It was a two hour drive, sometimes through nasty Minnesota weather. I made that trip because when my mother was admitted, I vowed that she would not spend a holiday alone. It was part of a larger promise I made to my dad on his last day. I don’t know if he heard me, but I told him he could go. I would take care of mom.
The food at the nursing home was good, but it was hard to watch my mother just push the food around on her plate, taking only occasional nibbles. We were almost always the last ones there. Mom and I had always lingered over meals. Years ago, the kitchen at the farm was the place to be. She and I had many long conversations over coffee after breakfast. Sometimes the dishes weren’t cleared until we realized it was time to make lunch. But, the nursing home was different. The conversations were usually me encouraging her to eat, something. It usually was dessert. But mostly, it was silent.
I missed those conversations we had at her kitchen table. Mom had always kept up with current events and although we did not agree on many things, we could always talk. I always called her when I had good news or when I needed some support. I think that was the hardest thing to deal with after she started to decline. I lost a huge part of my support system and I have not yet recovered it.
In previous years, I paid close attention to the weather in preparation for any holiday. Last Thanksgiving we had a huge storm Thanksgiving Day. I avoided it by driving down a day early and staying two nights instead of one. This year the weather was beautiful, but I had no place to go.
Mom died four months ago. I knew the holidays would be hard, made even more difficult because her birthday was December 18th, a week before Christmas. I tried to prepare myself for this. Tried to become emotionally stronger, but I still found myself sinking into the despair of grief. I denied it. I fought it. But, I lost the battle. I find myself back in that empty place, grieving my mother.
It was as if the music demanded my attention, first subtly and then more overtly. I stopped the game I was playing and listened…
The music to which I am referring is the newest CD from “indie” singer/songwriter Jennifer Haase, “No More Invitations.” I started playing it late one night, when I should have been going to sleep. But, sleep was proving to be elusive, so I started playing mahjong online and put the CD that I had just gotten in the mail on as background. However, it wouldn’t stay in the background. Together the music, the lyrics and the compelling voice came together for a wonderful distraction. At the last note of the final song, I found that I did not want it to end. So I played the whole CD again.
I have never been a casual listener of music. While I can appreciate a nice tune with nonsensical lyrics, I love a song that truly says something. When the words reveal a deeper meaning and are layered just so between the notes, I am transported much in the same way as when I read a good book.
At first listen, I did not find a weak song on the entire CD. Jennifer Haase’s voice and the deliberate way she sings show a maturity from her first CD, “Listening Chair.” Each song seemed to evoke an emotion that we all can relate to in our own way. From the sad and mournful “Oneonta” to the tastefully, seductive love songs: “Beautiful Man” and “As the Record Spins,” Haase delivers a universal message that we all can relate to and it becomes our own.
I should also note that “Oneonta” contains a special treat featuring background vocals from Rosanne Cash. Although I hesitate to compare Haase’s music to any particular singer, I do hear the influence of Rosanne Cash in the lyrics and the ability to create a mood as a poet would, using only words. Without the music, the words could and do stand alone.
However, when done right, the music can take the words to a completely different level. I found this effect most strongly in the song, “All Out of Try.” The music represents a mask, a “la la la” everything is ok on the surface attitude. But, the words reveal a life kept secret from others, particularly in the chorus.
Writing a review of a CD is not something I would normally do. It is in fact only the second review of any kind that I have done in the 6 years I have been writing online. The first was for an indie writer. I did it because I have tremendous respect for those who are gifted with talent and the determination to develop it, those who have the courage to follow their passion. Jennifer Haase is an example for all of us who still believe in the possibility of our dreams. But, talent alone is not enough. As an independent musician, Jennifer Haase is doing it alone, without the benefit of a record company to help promote and market her music. When I received the CD it arrived in a simple package, the address labels handwritten by Haase herself. I teased her on Twitter telling her I was going to keep the package so that someday I could say, “I knew her when…”
I am known by my friends and family as someone who shares music that I love, and I do love this particular CD. But, instead of burning CD’s to share, I am purchasing copies to give as gifts. It is my way of supporting the dreams and talent of a truly special singer who is also becoming a great online friend.
It is at times like this where I wish this blog were more well-read. It is new and mainly a personal one, read mostly by friends. So I asking my friends who do read it to help me support Jennifer Haase by buying the CD and hey, tell your friends about it. If I have not convinced you in this post, you can check out the music yourself on her website, Rhymes with Classy or at her artist’s page on Reverbnation ,where you can also hear songs from her first CD and custom songs written for special occasions, (another great gift idea!).
I will admit to a little selfishness here, I want to hear more! I am hoping someday to be enjoying a 3rd CD from Jennifer. That doesn’t happen unless she can promote and sell her current CD. So I am asking you all, my friends, to do what you can to help a new friend of mine. Maybe also consider looking at other independent writers and musicians to support. In doing so, you can keep many dreams alive.
I found it in a drawer, neatly folded. It was charcoal gray, a heavy flannel material. My mom had asked me to pack up his things so that they could be donated. I packed everything else, but I kept the shirt.
I don’t think I ever saw him wear it. And I am sure he did not buy it himself. It was probably given to him by one of my siblings as a present. Whenever we were at a loss as to what to buy him for Christmas, a shirt was always a safe gift to buy. It looked like it would be really warm.
When I got home I hung it in my closet. Often when I chose my clothes for the day, I would see it and smile. The first time I remember wearing it was the day we drove to Milwaukee to my uncle’s funeral. He was the youngest of my dad’s siblings. He was also the last. It was an extremely cold day, as I recall below zero with a nasty wind-chill. It was appropriate for the weather and I felt like I had my dad along to pay my final respects to his younger brother. And it was really warm.
It is a comfort, this shirt. I wore it recently to work when I knew it was going to be a tough shift. It is a tangible piece of him. I loved my dad and after 6 years I still miss him.
My friends haven’t gone anywhere. It was I who left. After Mom died, many have offered to be there if I need to talk. It is just that I can’t. My words are gone.
I would love to return to the state of mind in which I could have long conversations about nothing and anything. You know, they were the kind of conversations that went on for hours, but only seem like minutes. They were conversations that you had no idea what you talked about later, but knew that profound truths had been shared along with a lot of silly nonsense. I seem to have lost that ability to share in this way.
Twitter had become my favorite online site. It kept me in touch with the latest news. I also had a few friends that I connected with and shared thoughts and music. But, after Mom died I couldn’t be there at all. It was all just too noisy. I don’t want to lose touch with these friends, but in many ways I already have.
I find myself at times lurking on Twitter. Conversations between friends go on around me in a carefree way. I miss being a part of them, but can find a way in. It is as if we are in different worlds and maybe we always were.
I no longer spend much time there. It is just too hard. As of late, I have tried forcing myself to reach out, but it is so difficult to do. I can’t talk about the trivial stuff that is the main content of most conversations as I am weighed down by my grief. I want to scream, “Can’t you see that I am in pain!” But, they can’t see that. They don’t even know I am there, mute in the corner, unable to speak. There are no words for what I am feeling. They cannot see me fighting back tears alone in my room, lit only by the screen of my laptop.
Absence of conversation and human contact forced me inside my head. But, restless thoughts have led to sleepless nights. To combat this I have started to play games on my computer and have become addicted to mahjongg. I play the simple version on Yahoo with numbers and letters. The traditional version required too much thought. I wanted and needed a mindless activity. I play as fast as I can and have found that I am most successful when I don’t think about it at all. I just click on the tiles as fast as I can. Winning is not important, it is just in the doing. Then, I found getting to the mindless state was easier if I played music. I used an old mix of 12 songs and put them on repeat. I might go through them several times in one session.I play until my eyes are too heavy to stay open. Sometimes this allows me to sleep.
But, this is only a temporary solution and I want my old life back. I want to be carefree again. But, I fear those days are gone for good. I am different now. Death changed me and there is no going back.
Life changes are inevitable. I accept that. But, I just miss what it was. I miss who I was. But mostly I miss the unconditional love that only a parent can give.
I was talking to a friend on Twitter yesterday about grief and losing loved ones. She had written that some people expect that you should be able to move on and find closure. But, we both felt that sometimes that is impossible to do. You don’t just get over it, but people want you to. Life moves on and they expect that you should too. During that conversation I posted the following:
“Anyone who believes that has not suffered great loss or is in denial. Grief is a soul deep emptiness that cannot be filled. You can only hope to learn to live with it.”
They don’t understand that it is hard, nearly impossible at times to avoid the overwhelming presence of grief. I go about my daily life, but it is never far away, just waiting to suck me back in. When you lose family, it is as if part of you, your history, is gone. For me it does feel like a large piece of my heart and soul was ripped out and went with them. We were all so inter-twined… and then they were gone.
Grief over the loss of a loved one is so hard. I can’t even begin to describe it. Sometimes it is like a huge weight that is sitting on you and won’t let you up. So you just sit there or if you are still in bed, you just lay there and let it cover you like a blanket. I feel helpless as it encompasses me and everything around me. Everything I touch is somehow tainted. I see things differently. I question the motives of my friends. I feel alone and a little lost, but I am afraid to reach out to anyone. I don’t want them tainted by this as well.
At times like this we all need to bleed. It is a part of the process. We need the pain that heartache brings. It is the only thing we can feel. So we wallow in our grief. We push it around in our mind, experiencing it piece by piece, until it becomes a part of us, until we can pick ourselves up and learn to live with it.
Experience has shown me that in time the pain of loss will be less. But, it never completely leaves and we are forever changed by it.
I lost my mom on July 13th.It had been anticipated and expected for the past several years. But, it still took me by surprise. There were so many times in the past few years that I thought I was going to lose her, but she rallied and got better. To have her just die in her sleep was not the scenario I expected. There was no particular health issue. She just died.
I miss my mom. But, I have been missing her for many years. She changed when she went into the nursing home. The strong-willed mother who never feared giving her opinion was gone, replaced by a vulnerable woman with a far-away look in her eyes. I missed her advice. And although I didn’t always agree with her, I missed the conversation over coffee after breakfast. We often would talk so long that by the time we cleared the dishes, it was time to make lunch.
These past few years when I shared a meal with her it was at the nursing home. I watched as my mom just pushed the food around her plate, nibbling here and there, but eating little of it. We didn’t talk much anymore. There was a lot of uncomfortable silence; at least it was on my side. I am not sure how it was on her side. I felt that I no longer knew her.
I am told that there is a lot of my mother in me. It wasn’t until I got older and could appreciate her for the woman that she was that I took it as a compliment. I loved her independence and even as her skills started to deteriorate, she found a way to compensate so that she could live independently. I believe she started to die when she realized she had lost that independence, forever.
It was hard for me to go see her at all. I dreaded the drive down and many times cried after I left. I put myself in her position. I knew how I would feel. It hurt to see her.
Now she is gone. In a way it was almost a relief. Her soul was set free, independent of an aging body that no longer worked well. She would say that she had finally gone home. But, I still hurt.
Tuesday night it all came back, triggered by a totally unrelated event. Grief and a profound sense of loss overwhelmed me. It was as powerful as that first moment I heard she was gone. Once again tears flowed and I sobbed uncontrollably.I could do nothing, but grieve.
No matter how old we get, I think it is always a comfort to know you have a parent out there. That connection to unconditional love is a precious thing. When they are gone, you realize that you are truly alone. It is up to you and you alone. And maybe in reality, it had been that way for many years. The death of a parent confirms it.
