Easter – The Day You Told Me You Had AIDS

The early 1990’s were a challenge.  At the end of 1990 and beginning of 1991 I was injured in two car accidents.  The first one wasn’t too bad, but I wasn’t fully recovered when the second, more severe accident happened.  Between those two accidents I was away from work for nine months.

It was Easter.  I was at my parent’s home.  After coming back from church my mom mentioned that she wanted to visit friends.  Honestly, I didn’t feel like visiting.  I often felt very tired.  Perhaps I was also feeling down because in the past I had been very active.  The injuries took that away from me. I was still adjusting.

We went to see our friends.  This was a family whose kids went to the same elementary school and church that we once attended.  Essentially we kids grew up together.

I hadn’t seen them in a few years.  Two of their three adult children, Jack and Diana, were there.

We spent time getting caught up.  Jack looked great.  He talked about taking care of himself.  When he said he’d been going to the gym I wasn’t surprised.  He looked fit.

We went outside on a beautiful spring day.

As we talked Jack told me very simply that he had AIDS.  He was focused on taking care of himself.  He was feeling alright but knew that could change at any time.   New drugs were being developed, but life expectancies at that time were only a few years after diagnosis.

When we said our good-byes we hugged each other tightly.  I kissed him on the cheek.

In 1993, Jack and I spoke before I moved to Northern California.  My body had reasonably recovered and I had a new job with my company.  We spoke very candidly.  When we said good-bye we both knew it was a real good-bye.  We were never going to see each other again in this life.

Jack was very talented. He had a great singing voice. He loved practical jokes and was quick-witted. In high school he helped me come out of my shell so that I had a part in a school play.  I couldn’t have done that without his encouragement.

In November of 1993 my mom called me to tell me Jack had died. Over the years I had sung at many funerals.  I sang for him, too, from the privacy of my apartment in Northern California.

Growing up, I saw Easter as a time to celebrate life and resurrection after the death brought by Good Friday. On that Easter Sunday, even though I had my own challenges, here was Jack living with a deadly disease.

It was probably the most unique Easter that I had ever experienced.  It was a profound time that still touches me to this day.

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This is my second post on the subject of Easter.  In case you didn’t see it, I also posted Easter Memories earlier today. I’ll finish this series tomorrow, on Easter Sunday.

December 24th – The Day We Met

Was it really that long ago?   It was Christmas Eve, 1977.  I was nineteen.

Earlier that week I was preparing to play music at Midnight Mass.

Your sister and I had become fast friends, having met at the church youth group.  The week of Christmas she invited me to Christmas Eve dinner.  She mentioned your mother made her famous home-made tamales, oh, and  her brother would be there.

“Brother?  Your older brother and his family?…You have another brother?  Really?”  Who knew what that gesture of friendship would bring!

I arrived, guitar in hand.  I wasn’t planning on singing anything, but I definitely didn’t want to leave the guitar in the car.

I rang the doorbell and you answered.  I said hello and introduced myself.  I thought, hey, nice eyes…nice smile…nice looking!

The evening went quickly because I had to get to church early.  Everyone was trying to visit with you since you were on leave from the Air Force.  I know we only spent a few minutes talking.

Your sister asked me if I would sing something.

As much as I’ve sung in public I was always shy about singing in a close-knit setting.  Most people are surprised by that but it’s true.  After a little bit of prodding I broke out the guitar.  Knowing your parents spoke Spanish, I decided to sing Silent Night because I could sing it in Spanish and English.

I didn’t realize that my voice was part of what made you take notice of me.

I said my good-byes.  You asked me if you could carry my guitar to the car.  I said sure.  Normally I would say no when people asked me if they could help.  I was always my own roadie.

It’s funny how decisions that ordinarily are so minor can make a huge impact on our lives.

It wasn’t a long distance to the car.  Once the guitar was in the trunk you said the most memorable line of the evening.

“Aren’t you going to give me a tip?”

I was thinking of making joke,”Here’s a tip.  Take this one from me!” but I couldn’t think of a punch line that quickly.  Instead, I looked at you, smiled, said thank-you and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek.  You smiled at me, wished me a Merry Christmas and we said good-bye.

I knew you were on leave from the Air Force, so I wasn’t sure that I was going to see you again.

Little did I know that we would go out later in the week while you were still on leave.

On that night I certainly didn’t expect to become engaged, break up, get back together, and finally marry you seventeen years later!

We met 34 years ago on Christmas Eve.  I’m glad I said yes to your sister’s invitation as it turned out to be one of the most important days of my life.

What an adventure!

Happy Anniversary, Al.

Love, Cathy

Why is it hard to admit a mistake?

The WordPress topic of the day is “Why is it hard to admit a mistake?”

Interesting question!  I can approach this from several angles – professional, personal or spiritual.  Where to start?

Briefly, no one wants to admit a mistake professionally.  Mistakes in my line of work can be costly in terms of money and (company) reputation.  I also value my own reputation.  Being up front and admitting a mistake can actually keep a solid reputation intact.  Hard as it is to admit a mistake, in the long run this serves everyone best.

This brings me to the next idea.  Why is it hard?  Well, making a mistake, when it’s “a big one” can equate with the notion of failure.  Who wants to admit that they failed  and, maybe, caused disappointment? Who wants to leave themselves wide open for possible scrutiny?

I’ve had a sudden thought about recent stories in the news where lives have been ruined and people may be brought to justice because no one admitted they made a  mistake…hmmm…I’m not sure where to take that thought, but it makes me pause.  Many times we don’t understand the long-term ramifications when we make a mistake, and when we don’t admit it.

So what to do?  I was raised in a rather strict religious tradition.  We grew up with the teaching that some mistakes are sinful.  Can you think of this from a child’s point of view? Who want to be known as a sinner? We can be forgiven, but we must admit our mistakes.  Now, as an adult, I have a better understanding of this.  There can be freedom and forgiveness in terms of my own relationship with God.  On a personal level freedom and forgiveness can occur when the ones who hear the admission respond with love, understanding and an open heart.

This topic just started a brief but interesting dialogue with my husband.  We spoke of what it’s like to admit our mistakes to one another.  Neither of us wants to disappoint or hurt the other.  We also trust each other, and we know we’ll work through the ups and downs that life brings us.  We’ve also learned that, once “the crisis” has passed, a sense of humor can go a long way when someone admits a mistake!

My husband mentioned how he experienced relationships in the past where the admission of a mistake was met with hostility.  That statement grounds me.  I know I’ve experienced the same.  I can probably write an entire post on that statement.  It was a good perspective that I hadn’t considered.

This question makes me look at myself.  How do I respond when someone admits to me they made a mistake?  Am I willing to practice what I preach?  Hmmm…I can see that this question once again gives me pause.  I am hopeful but, as the topic indicates, this admission is not always easy!

Christmas Music Already? Hmmm…

Last week I turned on the radio in the car expecting to hear some classic rock.  What did I hear? Christmas music!  What?  So soon?

Forgive me if I sound like a Scrooge, but it wasn’t my cup of tea at that moment.

For me Christmas is not a secular day.  It is a deeply spiritual and religious day.  There is a time and a purpose in being able to wait for this day.   In some religious traditions this time of waiting is called Advent.  In others, there is no name, but there is a time to prepare.  A time to be still, to reflect on what the world would really be like if there was peace on earth and good will toward everyone.

Yes, I do send Christmas cards and give gifts.  I am the odd person who strongly prefers to write Christmas cards with a fountain pen.  For me, there is something very traditional in that.  I realize the recipient doesn’t know this, but it makes a difference to me.  I can’t rush.  I have to slow down when writing them or I will make a mistake.  I admit I am a crafter, crocheting a variety of items to give away during the holidays.  More on this in a future post.  Since this takes time I work on projects well before Christmas.  I see this as a personal endeavor, a way to pace myself and calm my mind in the midst of all that goes on around me.

As far as the radio I asked myself what the fuss was all about.  I had no rational reason.  Did I?  Somehow it just didn’t feel right.  The Sunday after Thanksgiving is the when reflections and religious ceremonies often begin in terms of preparation for Christmas.  I know it’s not that far away.  I guess it was the realization that this waiting time is a part of me.  It’s important to me, even if it is something that I hold quietly within myself.  I guess I didn’t appreciate the interruption in that personal cycle.

My husband later joked with me and reminded me that I often brighten up when I hear Jose Feliciano sing Feliz Navidad.  He’s right.  Some people don’t care for the song, but it is part of my culture.  It was a song that crossed boundaries growing up in a predominantly Hispanic area.  It was a song that, growing up, I learned to play on the guitar with classmates.  Everyone would sing it at the top of their lungs.  Later, I learned to add percussive instruments like claves and the guiro.  Even though I haven’t played much music recently these rhythms are a part of me.

When I heard the Christmas music last week I changed the radio station.  It had been a while since I enjoyed jazz in the car.  It will be a nice change of pace until I’m ready to tune into the “sounds of the season.”  I can wait until then.

Visiting with Mom

Mom visited this week.  A few weeks back she “announced” she was coming.  I didn’t mind.  Funny thing was I had started making plans and knew I would have to change them.  Ah, well.  It was all good.

We did the rounds of shopping, including visiting two yarn shops.  I was inspired to start some serious crocheting for the holidays.  I’ve been doing this for the past several years.  I hadn’t crocheted for quite some time.  I re-started when I was facing a lay-off.   It was productive and relaxing.  I was hooked, so to speak.  The crocheting has been prolific ever since.

The yarn shops had very beautiful and luxurious fibers.  I could spend hours examining the skeins, imaging what I would make.  For now, I settled on a few small items.

Back at home Mom settled back on the couch and watched me crochet.  As I worked my way through the yarn I would show her my progress.  A couple of times I wasn’t satisfied with the outcome so I pulled it apart and started again.  We enjoyed talking about the stitches and the “finished objects.”  At first she talked about taking all the items I made back with her so she could give them out.  She had no room in her suitcase.  I had already given her a shawl and several scarves.  I would mail the other items; she enjoyed giving them out.

On a different note, I am always introspective at this time of year.  There are a lot of reasons for this.  As I look back on this year I’ve considered the tremendous amount of change that took place.  I started a new position in a different department…traveled on the job…met new people…was greatly challenged…began to feel more secure in the new position…Al supported me…Mija was settling into the school year…was it a successful year?   Well, let’s just say that I was satisfied.  More on this in a future post.

When we took Mom to the airport I saw our reflections in the two glass doors leading into the terminal.  When I looked at our reflections I had another brief flash of introspection.  I saw my Mom’s reflection and mused that this is what I would look like in twenty years.  We have similar features.  We have short hair.  Hers is white, mine is mostly silver.  We each walk with a limp, depending on how tired our legs are.  She has grown old gracefully and I  wondered if I was doing the same.

I only see her a couple of times a year, so I wondered how many future visits there would be…ever.  I wasn’t sad about that thought.  I realized we would have to make the most of every single visit no matter when they may be. With that in mind we said our good-byes. Even though I didn’t know when I’d see her again I knew she would call when she got home.  She did.  That’s my mom, ever faithful.

My Special Girl…the Pure of Heart

Today in church there was a special blessing.  My daughter, her teachers and classmates who make up the Special Needs Faith Class would receive a blessing along with their families.  This is an important day as it shows the community that those with special needs are really present in our everyday lives, even if we don’t realize it.   It was also very early in the school year, so in a sense it was a way for people to celebrate the beginning of the new year.  It’s important for the community to recognize this.

Where the web is concerned I’ve always been protective of Mija.  I admit that. She’s a vulnerable person.  This is the first time I’ve ever written about this subject.  There are a lot of reasons for that.  Suffice to say for now that I felt this was important.

When we entered the church she sat quietly next to us.  A few minutes after the entrance song we were called to the front with other families.   The celebrant said, “They are special because they remind us by their love that we are to be loved, and that we are the ones who are in need of that love.”  I had never quite heard it that way but I agreed with that statement.  He later stated he was once a teacher of special needs children, and spoke of the impact they had on his life.

Many special needs people who have cognitive challenges live in the here and now.  They don’t understand the concept of “later.”  When Mija wants something, she does understand the words “Please wait.”  It’s once of the few phrases that she speaks.  Still, for the most part, she expects us to drop what we’re doing to take care of her needs.  When I’m tired this is particularly challenging.  It is an exercise in patience and humility.  I’m reminded of this every day.

With many special needs people “what you see is what you get,” meaning they don’t pretend about how they feel.  When they are happy you will know it.  When they are sad or angry you will know it. They don’t mask or pretend.  When you hear “Blessed are the pure of heart…” there is no greater demonstration of this than the special needs kids in Mija’s class.  They show you who they are at their very core.  It’s very profound because you find that you must rise up and respond in kind.

Someone once told me that everyone has a special need as we all lack something in our lives.

After the blessing the children and teachers returned to their classroom.  We were very proud of Mija.  This was the best she had ever done in church.  Other times she was restless or impatient.  This time she enjoyed looking around at everyone.

There are many stories to share but for now this is a start.  I’m grateful to the teachers and families of this special little community for all their support.  We are truly blest.

From Journal to Blog – Garage Sales and Friendship

9/19

My pal Lisa told everyone she was having a garage sale on Saturday and Sunday.  After a week of traveling I was pretty beat.  Saturday was out. I spent most of the day on the recliner trying to unwind.

I thought about our 10 year friendship.

We first met when we traveled from the Oakland-San Francisco Bay area to San Antonio.   Each of us was trying to decide if we would move to Texas as part of a company program.

Lisa was traveling with her daughter, Parke.  I was traveling alone as mija was to young to travel.

When we first arrived in SA our reactions were immediate.  I love the heat.  It was 90 degrees and I thought, “This is great!”  Lisa stepped out of the plan and said, “It’s soooo hot!”

It was the start of many adventures.

The reason for the garage sale was to “clean up and clear out” as Lisa is moving back to California.  

On Sunday when I arrived at the garage sale Lisa and Parke were putting out a few more items.  Lisa told me she found two boxes of albums (yes, LP’s)!  Too bad I didn’t have a turn table.  As it turned out these were some of the items to go in the next couple of hours.

We sat and reminisced.  Ten years.  Had it really been that long?  We spoke of ups and downs, but mostly we spoke of friendship.

Parke will be staying in Texas.  Lisa knows if Parke needs anything she can always reach out to Al and me.  There was no question of that.

As we sat in on folding chairs in the garage Lisa expressed mixed feelings about the move.  Still, she knew it was the right thing to do.

One thing we both noted was the ease with which people can now communicate using e-mail, FB, video etc.  In the past when people moved away, would people really stay in touch…really call…really write a hand-written letter?

We knew we would still stay connected.

While I’m sad to see her go, I’m also happy that she feels good about her choices…that she feels this move will bring her new opportunities.

I’m sitting in a plane (again) as I write all this into a journal.

The sky over Texas is mostly clear.  For the past couple of days there has been much-needed rain. There is a large, lovely, winding river below.  

Somehow it takes me back to that first plane trip when Lisa and I first got to know each other…

My friend, I wish you all the best in the next phase of your life.  I know we’ll meet again.

At the end of this week a few of us will gather with you at a restaurant to celebrate your friendship.

I ask the flight attendant for some hot water so that I could make some tea.  Time to relax and enjoy the rest of the flight.

In the meantime, my friend, safe journey and God bless.