That One

I often wondered what position you'd have played if you'd been interested in football, if Brandon hadn't been the football player in the family. You've experienced some trials that many will never go through, and you've allowed them to turn you into the man you've become. I'm so proud of you. Happy Birthday. I love you.

That One

beneath the glare of the stadium lights
all eyes are on the high arc of the football
except mine
I watch him--that one
waiting, expectant, his pliable stance
anticipating exactly how far to move forward
where to place his hands
for the perfect catch
he is ready
although he always hated
being the center of attention
and never let me give him a birthday party
not for any number of Ninja Turtle figurines
but he’ll stand in the limelight now
with the same focus
for the right game

the ball falls gracefully
giving him time to think
judge where to place his body
how many steps between adolescence and manhood
moving forward
anticipating the exact second
the ‘whhhoot’ sound that only he will hear
when time, space and matter meet in his open, steady hands
he wedges the ball hard against his breast
the crook of his left arm
leans into the rush
determined, fast on his feet
like that time
north of Duschene
icicles on the sage brush
being chased over snowdrifts
not caring where he ran
navigating ravines and embankments
with those sliding-into-home moves
that had them both impressed--
how does a boy learn to run like that?
and distressed--
we better bring him back

now
he looks ahead far enough
to judge the next step
the right direction
how big the linebacker rolling toward him
how close to the goal line this time
even though it’s almost certain
he won’t make it
but the hope is worth it
a whole field of spectators cheer him on
rise to their feet
while he rushes
into the organized melee
turning left, then right
he is fast, so fast
he'll make it one day
yeah
he’s the one I watch
that one

This is, by far, the most

inspiring event I've seen in a long, long time. Susan Boyle, several days ago in the UK.

Friend

I looked for you again
an unexpected email
one of your old friends
feeling guilty that you died
she didn’t know in time
didn’t call you back that night
oh, the sorrows and regrets
googling ‘citicow68’ and
there you are, just like that
your name, face
really just a glimpse on the internet
some personal details
almost like reading someone’s journal
your honesty, fears
trusting others to understand
I didn’t know
you wanted to die in your sleep
not something a mother and son would talk about
in everyday talk easier
to reprimand you
for watching so much ‘South Park’
and have you done your Statistics homework yet
both of us in school then
pursuing the carrots we called dreams
pushing you on, onward
never really knowing how far you could go
but what would happen to you, if I quit?
your patronizing grin
trying to rub the anxiety out of my shoulders
you didn’t need pushing, only encouragement
did I give you enough?
tell you how proud I was that you kept trying?
kept going when life knocked you down?
I didn’t realize, until after
how many times you got back up, over and over
with a smile, a kind word, a thank you
so I stare, for the thousandth time, at your picture
the one nearest to what appears when I close my eyes
see the real you just beyond the veil
your love intact
your peace assured
I get your message
return the email
tell her
no regrets, my friend
only happiness
only love
only peace

Brandon's Life in Pictures

My daughter created this beautiful slide show to honor Brandon on the anniversary of his death.
Click here to watch it. Make sure your speakers are on.

Diversity

Last month while I was in California, Rachel and I did something we've only talked about doing for years--we went to a singing-clapping-rockinout kind of church in San Francisco--Glide Memorial, a non-profit started 40 years ago in the tenderloin district. What a fabulous experience. Glide resides in a large, old building on a corner. It isn't fancy. Someone pointed out that children who live there have never seen the Golden Gate bridge. So many experiences in life we take for granted! Two services are held in the chapel each Sunday to accommodate everyone, but don't imagine pristine and ceremonial. It was anything but. The chapel is old, the floors and benches are worn and the whole building needs a face lift, but never mind. The spirit of the people who attended more than made up for any physical deficiencies in our surroundings. Rachel and I attended the early service and sat in the middle just a few rows from the front. The band warmed up (yes, they have a 7 member band including brass!) and then the famous Glide Memorial Choir filed onto the stage. No robes, no costumes of any kind, just people in all their diversity. They didn't have any sheet music either, just voices and heart. When they began to sing, and boy, howdy, can they ever, the crowd stood up and sang with them. Honestly, I've never seen so many different ways to shake a booty, or had so much fun!

"I'm gonna do when the spirit say do!"

"Do when the spirit say do!"

"I'm gonna do, Oh Lord, when the spirit say do!"

"Do when the spirit say do!"

"I'm gonna laugh when the spirit say laugh...

"I'm gonna sing...dance..."

I taught this song to Soren after I came back to Maryland and he laughed out loud the minute I began to sing. Of course, I was clapping with the song the way I learned it--on the down and third beats; later we added our own extra verses...I'm gonna jump...hop...pray...eat...clap...He still grins from ear to ear whenever we sing it.

The meeting lasted 1 and 1/2 hours and was about 2/3 music and 1/3 talk. It's not the kind of Sunday I could do every week--I need my quiet, reflective time, but the experience was unique and joyful. I'm glad to have been a part of it. I loved the pastor's interpretation of the prodigal son, because it was all about hope and never giving up. I sat there looking around at the people from all walks of life from the wealthy to the homeless, listening to different languages being spoken around me, and I thought to myself that this is probably the purest San Francisco kind of experience anyone could have.

Glide feeds the homeless (as well as anyone else who wants to eat) three hot meals a day, 365 days a year. I hope the city of SF is subsidizing them in some way for all the work they do. In addition to serving approximately 70,000 meals per month, they have a youth program to help young people finish high school and find work, a day-care program, an after-school program, a drug and alcohol education program, and they just finished construction of a high-rise in SF that will provide permanent homes to 81 low-income families. What a great example of vision and how much love and determination can accomplish. If I ever live in the Bay Area again, I would love to do some volunteer work there.

I am moving

to Baltimore very soon. I had planned to wait until the end of summer and go before grad school starts, but the plan now is to drive across country, arriving in Baltimore around the 15th of December. I feel great about this and I've received nothing but support for my decision, even though it will be difficult to say goodbye. A whole lot is happening now also, and the time before me feels as though it will shrink and disappear like a dark highway seen from a moving car. I'm working on Christmas presents so I can leave them here rather than ship them from the east coast. I'm doing the cooking for Thanksgiving this year--when have I not?? Then I'm going to Idaho with family right after Thanksgiving to attend and speak at a funeral for one of the dearest women in the world--my mother-in-law--a bittersweet experience. When I get home I have to pack--books, china and crystal, clothing; get the car tuned up and ready; decide on which things to take with me and which things to leave for the moving company; and there are a few people that I must see in person before I leave. Have I forgotten anything? Oh yeah, I really, really want to weed my garden one more time and leave it looking satisfied and happy. My niece Jasmine is planning to take it over after I go. Thanks, sweetheart! I can't think of anything that would make me happier.

In case anyone is wondering, I'm also seeing my oncologist right before I leave. My Kaiser will transfer to the Baltimore/D.C. Kaiser area. Woo-hoo! I'll continue with health care but as far as I'm concerned, the cancer is gone and it's not coming back.

My 76 year-old mother has decided to be my traveling companion from Utah--about 1/3 of the way there. It's been many years since I've had Christmas with my Mom. Her presence in Baltimore will make four generations under one roof. With the passing of my mother-in-law, I realize how precious the time with my own mother is. Mom can be a hoot but I've learned that when it comes to her, expect anything. Time stops. Expectations drop. It's a different world and I just go with the flow. At any rate, Mom and I will be making memories. (Just last night she told me about a staged food fight she and my dad had while they were entertaining guests! Forty-nine years old I had never heard that story until now.) I'm going to let AAA map our route for us, but maybe we'll meander a bit and stop in the old neighborhoods in Kansas City and/or St. Jo. I'm also hoping to blog during our trip, at least a time or two.

Bottom line is that I really do feel led to Baltimore by the hand of the Lord. This is not a move that I'm taking lightly. Many unknowns await me and sometimes I have these mini anxiety attacks where I stop what I'm doing and concentrate on breathing...inhale...exhale...Most of the time though, I have the feeling that I'll enjoy many new and wonderful experiences. Please don't be sad. I'll be back often for visits. After all, my little Rolan is here as are my sons and many others I hold dear. Speaking of Rolan, I copied this photo from Michele's and Clayton's blog so you can see how fabulously cute my newest grandson is...

I read this every day

"I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the Lord. Psalms 27: 13, 14 Thank you, dear cousin, for sending this to me.

Change of Plans

Most of you know by now that I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I apologize if you are finding out for the first time. Everything has happened at top speed, including diagnosis, settling on a treatment plan, and moving out of my condo. Larry managed to squeeze in our long planned trip to Idaho to see mother as well. I adore and revere her and I'm so glad that I got to see her when I did. She will be 91 in September.

Tomorrow I have surgery at Kaiser. I'll be at the hospital for about a week, then I will be staying with my sister Rachel in Concord. Chemo will start in 2 to 3 weeks. My new mailing address is 1777 Kirker Pass Rd, Concord, 94521. My cell phone number is the same, but I will probably not be on the phone much. I have every confidence in my Heavenly Father and the love of so many friends and family members. This will not be fun, but in the end, all will be well. I will post more as I'm able. With love...

Revelation

The whole encounter lasted less than a minute. I had just dropped off some medical forms when I saw a young woman with long blond hair and nondescript clothings softly crying, sitting across the room, waiting for her appointment with a psychologist. Her face was entirely wet from tears. She clutched a soggy tissue in one hand and made no attempt to hide her sorrow; couldn’t actually, I’m sure. I felt a little tug at my heart, but what could I do? I left the waiting room and walked to the elevator. I reached for the down arrow, but stopped just short of pushing it. I couldn't just leave, pretend I hadn't seen her, forget who I am now. I turned and walked back in. The woman looked up when she saw me and began sobbing harder. I walked over and touched her knee. She cried harder. I waited. “It will be ok, whatever it is, I promise,” I said quietly, so as not to draw attention to her from the other patients. She looked up at me with intense green eyes and a face full of pain, as though her very life depended upon my every word. “Don’t give up” I said. She nodded and sobbed out a “Thankyou.”

As I took the elevator down to the ground floor and walked across the parking lot, my own eyes filled with tears. It had rained all night and the morning sky was still gray and overcast. So much sorrow in this world! In the car, I thought about the woman all the way to Mills. I don’t know why she was so grief stricken and I wondered: A broken heart? Betrayal? A dead or dying child? Divorce? But does it really matter what the source of our pain is?

These past months, knowing I’d be writing memoir for my senior project, I’ve been agonizing over the purpose of writing such a difficult story as ours has been. Other than my own obvious need to find a place for those experiences, I've been thinking: Who will read them? And why will they care? My professor has been pushing me to find a thesis and determine who my audience will be.

“Don’t give up” I had said to the woman. There were times when I wanted to, no doubt, but I didn’t, and that is probably the single most important decision I've made which gave me back my life. I think I just found my thesis.

What's in a Score Anyway?

Yesterday I drove to Fremont to take the GRE. I could have gone elsewhere but I would have had to wait longer and since I need the scores for a couple of schools, I decided the sooner the better. The test was about what I expected, some essay writing, some analytic, some vocabulary, some math (x*!@@#*!) and some reading comprehension. Everything was timed though so that was a little stressful. Anyway, I did OK, not bad, not fabulous, but as I was driving home (in Friday traffic with lots of time to think) I realized that the scores might mean something, but they don't reflect who we really are. For instance, how does one measure enthusiasm, or passion, or dedication to a profession? The GRE can't hear one's voice, or recognize the conditions under which someone might be testing. I told myself all these things so I could stop worrying about which school I'll get into. Hopefully, my writing samples will stand on their own; I'm realizing throughout this process, that so much of what we do depends upon faith. I can't read the future, and based on my past, I don't think I'd ever want to, except maybe a little bit, like WHERE am I going to be living next year? But oh well, I should take the advice I give my children: No sense worrying about it now because I can't act on it anyway. And I don't want to waste the present by worrying about the future, something we Mormons are occasionally criticized for. So...it's December, I have a paper to write, a tree to put up and time to spend with my Mother. Happy December!