It Is Mostly in The Knowing

I wrote the poem below in 2005 as I was anticipating my father's death. He had a rare blood disease which was diagnosed when he was 60+ years old. The illness was described as "something that could kill you in a month or one with which you could live well for twenty years before it killed you."

Either way, it would kill you but there is quite a difference between "imminent" vs "in the future." Fast forward twenty or so years and after having lived very well, the disease once again took hold and more or less set its date for my father's soon to be passing at 88 years old.

There are so many things which can occur in this life we most often take for granted and in a moment they can turn your life around. We expect and live as though the details of our lives are "permanent" when in effect they are "impermanent," always changing. 

The change could be a car accident that would change your life forever or an illness that could end your life after months of suffering or in a few days or weeks with little or no notice. The change could be about you or about someone you love.

As I was pondering my father's impending death years ago, every time the phone rang, I realized that without the knowledge of an event that already happened, your life stays the same as does your level of happiness and fortitude in life.

Then a call comes in, information is shared, and with the knowledge imparted you cry, are sad, freak out, get depressed, or feel (or know) that your life is basically over (or the one of someone you love.) Also, the "knowing" could be good news!

I got to thinking about all of the situations in which the "not knowing" could be going on and then "knowing" arrives and changes everything. I reflected on the idea that some things in life change and you will never know about the change and therefore never have a negative (or positive) reaction to the change.

Just for example in a long shot, your favorite university professor which whom you have lost touch since you graduated many years ago has died. You have no way of knowing that he died so you do not grieve his death. In this situation and the end of the story: no knowledge, no reaction!

In thinking about the period of time between the "knowings vs not knowings" of my life I came up with waiting to hear about these good things: receiving a grant from the Chicago Council of Fine Arts for my Maybe the Clown performances, receiving a fellowship (two years in a row) from the State of Illinois in the area of Gifted Education, acceptance to a juried application for a residency in the area of creative non-fiction at the Ragdale Foundation, acceptance of Michael's Museum by Chicago Children's Museum.

On the difficult side: news of my mom's passing in 2010, my diagnosis of Lymphoma in 2003, my life partner Gregory's diagnosis of Dementia most likely Alzheimer's Disease in 2005, the news of Gregory's death in 2015, and others.

Recently I had several tests for some gastrointestinal problems I had been having. All tests returned no cancer and therefore I was relieved. Working on other possibilities of gluten and/or lactose intolerance I have been working on the problems with success.

Currently, with a lymph node in my neck swollen for approximately 6 weeks and no sight of its getting smaller (or larger for that matter,) I am keeping optimistic and positive knowing that "what is, is" and what is, is already going on. The only difference is that I am unaware of what the "it" is!

I received an e-mail announcing that my health organization has the results of the new tests so I logged into the site only to find that it is under maintenance until tomorrow at 2:00 AM. So again, the knowledge is there but unknown to me so I can be scared and depressed or happy and relieved, the decision for now of how to be is up to me. The power is there but the knowledge isn't. At least until 2:00 AM tomorrow morning! 

I was able to sign in sooner so bravely did so. Wishing, praying, hoping no longer were viable. The results were in and totally out of my control except how I might behave if the news was CANCER! And I am not sure that I would be able to control my behavior since the last time I had to deal with cancer was in 2003 when I had a Lymphoma and literally lost a year to Chemotherapy. At least then I had Gregory to be with me and to support me. Let me say I made it through but it was HELL and I do not know if I could do it again, especially without Gregory here to help.

And the news is: 

CASE: SHP-20-00210
PATIENT: MICHAEL HORVICH

Nature of Specimen: Neck Soft Tissue, Left, Ultrasound-guided Fine Needle Biopsy


Gross Description: Prepared 1 slide(s) fixed in alcohol, 2 air-dried slide(s) and a needle rinse. A core biopsy was collected and submitted for histologic processing. A cell block was prepared and submitted to surgical pathology for processing.

Clinical History: Solid left neck soft tissue mass (2 cm). Left supraclavicular enlarged lymph node. History of parotid lymphoma.


Total Number of Slides: 3 + core biopsy + cell block

DIAGNOSIS:
No malignant cells identified. No cancer! Looks like a benign lipoma - we will have you come back to the office after Covid 19 to follow up for minor removal process!

• • • • •

FEAR 2010

There is a fear

That lurks just behind

The awareness of your thinking

Hiding

The next moment

Will not be like this moment

Or the one before

Different

And with a comment

Or the ring of a phone

All will change

Forever

The God Test

Based on my concept of: The Quinternity.

THE GOD TEST OF MY MOTHER'S PASSING

TRUTH: The truth is that I cannot prevent my mother’s death. The truth is that death is part of life and if you live your life to its fullest you must embrace death to its fullest. The truth is that she had a wonderful number of years enjoying all her family around her on a daily basis, enjoying Gregory and me during our many phone calls and on our brief but love filled visits to Texas, enjoying time with newly made friends. The truth is that she was alert until the end, while not in too much pain, and got to say her goodbyes to each family member. The truth is that I could not up and go to TX to be with her during her final ordeal. The truth is that I called two or three times a day, sent flowers, sent candy, sent a picture of Gregory and me to put by her bedside. The truth is that I told her she should leave when she was ready and not to hold on for any of us.

LOVE: Our relationship was full of love, expressed and otherwise. We had no secrets of significance, no undiscussed issues, no resentment, no hate. 

FORGIVENESS: I forgive myself for feeling guilty at not going to her bedside. I forgive myself for all the pain and sorrow I caused her through our lives together knowing that I did my best. I forgive her for all the pain and sorrow she caused me through our lives together knowing that she did her best.

PEACE: Knowing the TRUTH, based on our LOVE for each other, and being able to have FORGIVENESS for the trespasses of the past, I am at peace with her passing.

FAITH: I have FAITH in the STATE OF MIND that is GOD to know that she is being watched over, as am I, during this joyous but difficult transition for both my mother and myself. I have faith in my abilities to deal with her passing and to live my life filled with love.

A Final Portrait

My mother died three years ago on March 27th, 2010. She died on my birthday. When people hear this they want to feel sorry for me but I stop them short. While I miss her terribly, and while my birthday arrives with a bit of pain and has become more contemplative for me, I feel that it is a blessing that she chose to die and begin the next part of her journey on the day she gave me life. Read on.

A FINAL PORTRAIT

In the final years, mom pulled in her life closely around her. Metaphorically woven together into a comfortable, snuggly feather bed, the fabric of her life consisted of her family, a “day girl,” a friend,  her home and her husband’s memory.

Her sister Annette and brother Harold; remaining sisters-in-law Elaine, Ann, & Esther; her more like a daughter than a sister-in law Delores, cousin Ann, and her good friend Ida; a number of nieces, nephews, and great nieces and nephews living their own lives, with their own families, in their own parts of the country were in touch by phone and period visits.

Her daughter Libbe, while feeling guilty at times about their interactions gave her a life, a home, the safety of knowing her needs were taken care of, a lot of meals out, books to read, movies to watch, someone to shop with, a friend to talk to, love, and more. 

Her son-in-law George, while not always having the patience to explain things to her in a way she would have liked him to was her financial advisor, maintenance man, schlepper, TV partner, technology provider, dinner companion, best friend, many of the above together with Libbe his wife, and more.

Her son and his partner, Michael and Gregory, while not always as available to her as she would have liked were the memory of life in and visits to Chicago; voice of calm, comfort, and creativity; many telephone conversations & periodic visits, pride, love, joy & more.

Her grand children (Scott, Lauren, and Jackie ) and their spouses (Jodi and Steven) while not always living their lives as mom would have liked them to, provided her with great grand children, support, company, dinner partners, a source of conversation, fun, celebrations, gifts, love, and more.

Her great grand children (alphabetically: Ben, Brandon, Charlie, Chelsea, J.D., Jennie, Jerry, and Jessie) while at times noisy, over-active, and/or misbehaved, were a constant source of love entertainment, celebration, compliments, milestones, and more.

Her best friend, Bernice, shared meals, joined family functions, had sleepovers, and discussed their children and other life issues. Bernice enabled mom to continue being Jewish in her expression, in her complaining, and in her view of things in an otherwise Jewish deprived Texas.

Her “black day girl” (using that term only as a point of divergence and comparison) started out as an outside caregiver from the 

“service.”  Eventually Latonya worked directly for mom and for more than six years became, among other roles; an inseparable part of the family, a grand daughter, a sister, a girl friend, a confidant, and probably one of the most important people in mom’s smaller world  because of the continued independence she helped mom maintain. “A sister from a different mister!” Latonya, Cory, and Carmina became an important part of mom’s family.

All of the people in mom’s life helped provide her daily NEED to worry. She was quick to let you know those worries and what she thought about “Poor This One” or “Poor That One.” I think that if she didn’t have something to worry about on a daily basis, she would not have been with us for as long as she was.

Besides the comfortable environment of her daughter and son-in-law’s home, her havens were the kitchen, the living room, her bed room, and her bathroom. She could often be found at the small round kitchen table paying her bills, having a bite to eat or a cup of coffee, sorting her pills, waiting for her Libbe to wake up so they could go to lunch. She loved watching television gangster and crime shows in the living room, especially when she could share them with her George. Her bathroom was neatly lined up with lotions, potions, and unguents from one end of the sink counter to the other. The stool in the tub enabled her to bath at ease with the help of a medicare nurse that would come in twice a week to help with that task.

Her room consisted of a twin bed, a night stand, a comfortable chair, the closet filled with her clothes, an oxygen machine, and her iPod, DVD viewer, and TV. On bookshelves along the wall were the books she had read so voraciously sometimes keeping up to five books going at one time, as well as picture frames and other mementoes. The chotskies lined up on the shelves were of every type from cheap to valuable and reminded her of those she loved and the life she so looked forward to each day. The walls were covered with photographs of the family through the ages and other memorabilia. On one shelf, stood the bride and groom Stieff Teddy Bears from their fiftieth wedding anniversary. On the nightstand next to her bed was a favorite picture of her husband Lou and a small prayer book. Most nights her daughter and she would remember him by reciting a prayer together.

Her physical ailments were those that any ninety two year old might encounter with an emphasis on her heart and lungs. When she sorted her pills into the correct compartments for each day, she could (and would) tell you the name of each pill and its purpose. The bulk of her pill bottles before sorting were kept in a white plastic,  smaller size laundry basket and consisted of what seemed like dozens and dozens and dozens of brown plastic bottles. 

She was so aware of her health needs that more often then not she could diagnose her own ailments before they fully arrived. During the final ordeal of her life she awoke early and knew she needed to go to the emergency room. Sure enough she had identified the very early stages of pneumonia. 

But early or not, it seemed that it was time for her to leave us. She rallied and failed and rallied again and failed again. In a dream she finally had a visit from dad, having wondered for the five years since his death why he hadn’t visited earlier. She had time to say her goodbyes to each of the immediate family members and friends. She wondered aloud why God didn’t want her yet. She said she was ready to go.

She pulled her life even closer around her and while her family and friends stood watch, her own wishes of not suffering, not having to go to “the home,” not causing too much of a burden to her children, and leaving while she slept were granted.

Saying “She is missed!” does not begin to describe the great sense of loss so many of those whose lives she touched and whose memories she will continue to touch, feel. Rest in peace daughter, sister, wife mother, mother-in-law, grandmother, great grand mother. Rest in peace Adeline.

Grace

We are coming up on the third anniversary of my Mom's death. I wrote this the year she died as part of a tribute book I created for the family. Seems fitting to include it here since I haven't published it previously.

Monday, March 29, 2010

GRACE

I am one with the limitless grace of God.

These words from the poem "I Am There" by James Dillet Freeman beautifully describe God's grace in action.

Do you need me? I am there. You cannot see Me, yet I am the light you see by. You cannot hear Me, yet I speak through your voice. You cannot feel Me, yet I am the power at work in your hands.

God's grace is constant and true, providing all I could ever ask for, and more. Grace is at work within me and around me. It is the light that illumines my path, the wisdom that guides my thoughts and actions, and the power that fills me with strength and peace.

This DAILY WORD reading is particularly significant today as it reminded me of the wonderful changes, rebirth, and growth that mom went through from the time that dad passed until she joined him.

We’ll start with Dad. The last years of Dad’s life were, at most, difficult for dad and every one around him. They were even more difficult because of his illness and the medications which no longer seemed to be controlling his long time blood cancer illness. 

Mom and Dad’s move from Florida to Fort Worth was a mixed blessing. Most of their friends in Florida had passed, there was no family there for them, and they were finding it harder to live on their own. Texas was ideal because lots of loving family awaited their arrival, they found a beautiful jewel box of a home not to far from family, and the weather was not too severe.

It was difficult, however, for Dad to adjust to the move. He was ill, he was old, he was confused with dementia. Now 87 years old, he couldn’t do the things around the new house he used to be able to do twenty five years earlier when they had first moved to Florida. Mom had given up driving by now and even with her help navigating, he didn’t do too well driving in Fort Worth traffic. While he loved being with family he had trouble dealing with the noise and activity level and late hours of his daughter and son-in-law, a grandson, two granddaughters, their spouses, eight great grand children, and several dogs.

During these difficult times, mom and I had a long conversation about the concept of GRACE. We all get older, we all die. None of it is easy but one can do it gracefully. Grace to me means not bringing down others, knowing that they are doing their best. Sometimes life is a bitch. Sometimes we feel like we hate others who bring us pain. But we do not have to accept the negativity of the situation and can look for the truth behind the circumstances. We can do our best to control the only person within our power ... ourself. When we can remain positive, others can follow. Grace, the elegant power of unconditional love, for others as well as for oneself, works miracles. The next day, I found a colored glass stone at a religious shop with the word “GRACE” engraved on it and gave it to mom. I think she took it to heart. For a while we both called her “Grace” in place of her a first name or “mom.”

At 88, Dad passed. It had been a difficult year in Fort Worth for both Mom and Dad with all the new adjustments and his illness. It had taken a toll on Mom. She was an octogenarian as well, had put much energy into helping Dad physically and emotionally  and had health problems of her own. She moved in with Libbe & George, her daughter and son-in-law & slowly regained her health.

An interesting phenomenon occurred. Her attitude began to change. All the parts of life she had sacrificed because of Dad, all the things she loved but gave up doing because Dad hated them, all of the ways she had closed down ... began to shift. She began to enjoy life again. She started reading again. Not just reading but reading voraciously, keeping two or three books going at a time and sometimes finishing a book in a day. She could “Go Out for Chinese” whenever she wanted to, she now stayed up until all hours of the night, she enjoyed being with the grandkids, she could got to movies as often as she liked, she made new friends, she learned to eat Sushi!

Over the next four years she had her health ups and downs, made quite a few visits to the emergency room, gave family a few end of life scares, started using a walker, and obtained the help of a wonderful person in the name of Latonya. Her attitude stayed positive, she loved life, she enjoyed her family. She continued to be bright, thinking, and intelligent. She kept track of her medications, paid her bills, arranged for her doctor visits, mailed birthday cards, and traveled.

In her final days, she identified the beginning of pneumonia and got herself taken to the emergency room. She got worse and then she got better. She got worse again and her kidneys began to fail. She knew her life was near the end and she spent time with each family member privately. I assume she told each one how much she loved them, what a beautiful person they were, and not to be too sad when she had to leave them. She talked about making “arrangements” with her son-in-law George, her best friend as she called him. She held her daughter’s hand and told Libbe how much she loved her. She talked to her son Michael and her favorite Gregory in Chicago two and three times a day and had his their picture on her hospital bedside table. 

At the end she was moved to Hospice. She was ready to go, didn’t want the hospital to poke and prod her anymore, wanted peace. After settling into the Hospice, she was given a few sleeping pills to help her rest. She died that night in her sleep without having suffered to much. She had hoped for that. Don’t we all? She lived the final years of her life in grace and she died gracefully.

Stories from my Father

In honor of the seventh anniversary of my dad's death, here are two of his stories (as augmented by yours truly.)

The Heysidonder Man

The "Heysidonder Man" is a title given to a very important position in the temple. 

On the Sabbath, when most Jews should be in temple praying to Hashem the Heysidonder Man does his assigned task.  Hashem means "The Name" because you should not take the name of G-d in vain. When you are praying to him you can use his name but when you are referring to him you should not use his name. (That is if you embrace any of this.) 

Many Jews do not take the services at temple seriously. They use temple as a vehicle to visit, catch up, gossip, be seen etc. Also, there are what are known as the "High Holiday Jews." These Jews only go to temple on the most sacred holidays, to atone for their sins, to be sealed in the Book of Life for Health, Happiness, and Prosperity and to visit, catch up, gossip, be seen etc. 

So being a generally roudy group, someone has to take them in hand and keep them in tow. This duty falls to the Heysidonder Man. He is usually a well respected member of the community and the temple, takes his religion and the act of praying seriously, is almost always quite old, and speaks with a foreign (read Yiddish) accent.

It is his job to tell the people attending the service but who are being disrespectful to the Rabbi, the Cantor and those who are serious about their prayers, "Hey Sit Down There!" The offenders almost always listen and the Heysidonder Man's job is done for the time being. Sometimes he has to tell the offender(s) again, "Heysidonder!" They usually listen on the second telling.

The Ibish Oise Machine

This story comes from the time that my mom and dad went on vacation taking the train from Chicago to Florida. This was in the pre AMTRAK days when the rail lines were still privately ownedhand the trains had names like The City of New Orleans, The California Zepher,  and the Super Chief. 

The trip took close to 40 hours going from Chicago to Washington, D.C. and then transferring to another train to Miami. In those days, travel by train was in its heyday and the trains were filled to capacity. Besides single travelers, families and larger groups would travel together.

There were your assigned seats or compartments for sitting and sleeping, observation cars, snack cars, dining cars, and cars for drinks. Many people packed their own food for breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and snacks.

As you can imagine, the train cars got more and more rank as the 40 hours (if the train was on time) dragged by. Human odors, bathroom waste in toilets that didn't always work, leftover food like salami etc, stale odors, garbage, wrappers, pop bottles, etc. piled up. By the end of the trip, the living conditions on the train were almost intolerable and it was quite the mess.

My father's idea was that when the train was at its destination and all the people disembarked, the doors connecting the cars would be propped open and a HUGE vacuum type machine would be attached to the last car. It would be turned on and would suck out all the all of the odors and garbage in one easy sweep.

He call it the "Ibish Ois Machine." Ibish ois in Yiddish means: to clean out.

Adeline Horvich RIP March 27, 2010

Taken from: Everything is Waiting for You. Poems by David Whyte

FAREWELL LETTER

She wrote me a letter
after her death
and I remember
a kind of happy light
falling on the envelope
as I sat by the rose tree
on her old bench
at the back door,
so surprised by its arrival
wondering what she would say
looking up before I could open it
and laughing to myself
in silent expectation.

Dear son, it is time
for me to leave you,
I am afraid that the words
you are used to hearing,
are no longer mine to give,
they are gone and mingled
back in the world
where it is no longer
in my power
to be their first
original author
nor their last
loving bearer.

You can hear
motherly
words
of affection now
only from your own mouth
and only
when you
speak them
to those
who stand
motherless
before you.

As for me I must forsake
adulthood
and be bound gladly
to a new childhood.
You must understand
this apprenticeship
demands of me
an elemental innocence
for everything
I ever held in my hands.

I know your generous soul
is well able to let me go
you will in the end
be happy to know
my God was true
and I find myself
after loving you all so long,
in the wide,
infinite mercy
of being mothered myself.

P.S. All your intuitions were true.

Mom, Me, Libbe, Dad

Happy Birthday Mom

Adeline Horvich. Born January 10, 1919. RIP March 27, 2010.

Adeline Horvich. R.I.P. March 27, 2010

Writing Less

I seem to be writing less about general things as I write more about Alzheimer's Disease and Michael's Museum. Both of these are taking a lot of time and effort from me, both a labor of love but also a drain. Carmen, the current opera in which I am appearing at The Lyric Opera of Chicago, makes me sound like a prima donna doesn't it, is also taking time and love but that will end by my birthday on March 27th. This just in time to celebrate not only my 66th birthday (which I think I would prefer to let quietly slip by) but also the first anniversary of my mother's death. And this will take time and effort. I yearn for some empty time away from what I know I would end up carrying with me anyway. No escape. Will need to do some work on this.

Snake Oil Continued

This is a reply to Jan Yourist's BLOG entry today. After reading my reply, you can click on the link and read her BLOG.

Jan,
I used to love watching these "Retailtain
ments"  or "Entertailments" as you called them. When I was a young boy, I would spend a day downtown Chicago and the highlight of the day at Woolworths Five and Ten (besides a piece of pizza for lunch) was watching the demonstrations.

Choppers, slicers, dicers. Some 50+ years ago I watched the same "Ever Sharp" demonstration. I wonder if they are using a new hammer? One year, I did buy a slicer, dicer, shredder, chopper ... with the set of knives thrown in ... and a free recipe book ... with a life time guarantee ... for my mother as a Mother's Day gift.

In thinking about it, I wonder if she really appreciated my gift considering I was giving her more tools with which she could cook for and take care of us. She accepted graciously.

CLICK HERE TO SEE JAN'S BLOG

Mom

As you know, my mother died in March 2010. The first year after the death of a loved one is always difficult being the first spring without, the first Christmas without, the first birthday without, etc.

Most of the time I can carry her memory with me, letting her disappear into the background as I go about my daily routine. Sometimes, for no specific reason, she comes to the front of my memory. I find that I am suddenly, strongly thinking about her and feeling sad. Missing her.

Yesterday when Mom "arrived," I decided that it was her way of saying, "Hello." And that should cheer me up, not make me sad. So I have resolved that when my mom is strong in my thoughts, that means she is with me, watching me, sharing with me the moment's joy. She is greeting me, acknowledging me, loving me. Saying HELLO to me. And is she is with me, how can I be sad?

Mother Would Have Been Proud

Today for lunch, we had tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich. Mother would have been proud.

Mother, however, would not have recognized our version of what she used to call "Comfort Food." Our version included tomato jalapeno bisque soup and four cheeses (American, Pamisian, Romano, and Asiago) grilled with olive oil butter on whole wheat pesto bread.

Yumm!