(my)Passion

I think I was born hippie. Maybe it was the time (quite likely). Maybe it was the place (less likely).

When we moved here I thought I "knew" so much about race and inequality - and I was so wrong. It's much worse than I thought, and so deeply in us. We are so isolated in the north and surrounded by unrelenting whiteness, and so those of us who don't consider ourselves racist can pretend it's a thing somewhere, but after all rational people aren't like that and MOST people aren't like that. Right? And the problems in our own schools and lower income communities are simply about density and no jobs or...something. Right? Then you get here and the blinders get all ripped off - and this isn't even the deep south - and suddenly you're like "WHO ARE THESE HUMANS AND WHO THINKS LIKE THAT?" Then you dig deeper and discover the deeply entrenched social justice issues that affect everything from voting rights to schools - all aimed at keeping a group down, and keeping people riled up against one another - and...it's such a tangled mess. I'm living in a state with voting districts that are shaped like snakes and octopi. I am living in a state that's probably about to enact voter ID laws that will further marginalize the have-nots, regardless of skin color. I live in a state where a man can smoke a bowl, get out of his truck, and get killed; standing while black. I am looking to move back to a state that is deeply racist and pretends it isn't, which is super easy when your towns are 99.3% WHITE.

Then there's the planet. Poor thing. We get given this amazing gift and what do we do? Rape the ever loving crap out of it in a short-sighted gluttonous assault. We suddenly "need" meat three meals a day (not including snacks!) which is so destructive to the environment on so many levels from water use to land use for commodity feed crops that could be growing plant-based foods with 1/10th the water and land waste and we would be PERFECTLY HEALTHY - hell, we would be HEALTHIER!! But we continue to kill ourselves and the planet and the powers that be come up with new ways to compensate for those of us leaving the meat and dairy markets by touting Keto or Paleo as the new cure-all when the science clearly shows the exact opposite is true...the organism has subsisted on the planet for millennia with meat as a side dish, not a main course. And we are stuffing it with all this animal flesh and fat, while our cancer rates and heart disease rates continue to skyrocket. Sometimes in my more paranoid moments I think it's intentional - cut down on the population by killing 2/3 of us off with food. Last man standing, holding a carrot and a bunch of kale, wins.

Then there's the animals and the small humans - and I go back in my child-mind to the picture of Jesus from Sunday School, all white and blue-eyed, with his long hair and beard, surrounded by a rainbow of small children and small animals, dove of peace seated on his shoulder. "Suffer the little children to come unto me..." and "Whatsoever you do to the least of my brethren..." and ok yeah He didn't mention animals, but really. I have never been able to put the cow on my plate completely into a context that makes sense, and that's even harder now, having watched all these things...could we raise animals for consumption without ethical quandaries? Maybe. But that's not what we do now. What we do now are things that any ethical person, witnessing in person, would want to report to someone - immediately - to make it stop. BUT WE EAT THAT SHIT. And kids - talk about an abused group. Kids and old people - the groups we all say we care about, but never put our money where our mouths are.

And on it goes.

Trying to find "a passion" in all of this is like trying to choose which of your children to throw off the life boat first. "But I love the people and I love the planet and I love the babies and I love the animals and I love the snakes and the bugs and the birds and all the things and..." what do I do with all that?

Death and dying has been and continues to be very important to me, in the way birth is. The arrival and departure of a soul should be sacred; it should be an occasion marked not with solemnity, but with respect and awe. When we lose that we lose our humanity. Hell, we've lost our humanity.

I am not perfect. I fall, fail, make mistakes - but I keep open and willing to learn and grow and change. And I am seeking truth endlessly. I find nuggets and store them away, but hoarding does me no good - the nuggets MUST be shared. They must be spoken, they must be set free.

So what, then, is my passion, my calling, my "thing"? This has been a topic around here lately as we both wander through mid-life, coming to grips with the past, making sense of it, and moving into the future.

My kids, grown now, are still my passion - but in a different way. Now my focus needs to transition to their children. All I have learned, I can share with them. Make them all sugar free, flour free, and vegan, and get their parents breathing down my neck (insert evil laugh here). OK, maybe not - especially in a world where pizza and Pepsi are everywhere - but at least introduce them to the natural world in a way that creates awe and wonder and the reverence for all life that we lack - and if someday they chose to opt out of the animal-cruelty based food chain, then good for them. Teach them that all humans matter. Teach them that all animals matter. Teach them that THEY matter.

Outside of that, I feel like I need to find a crusade that brings all of my passion into play. Advocacy, which is ironic because that seed was first planted by the shrink last year, but I have not been able to find the path to it yet. I need....a foundation of my own, with an endless budget - I shall save the whole world! I suppose I also probably need to make enough money to feed myself, damned capitalist system. But I would so rather just give myself away to the things that ignite me. Who needs a paycheck when I am talking about restoring sanity and humanity?

For the time being, still lacking a clear direction, I want to get certified in plant-based nutrition (for which I require that green evil we all so depend on in the modern world). In my perfect world I would go back to school near-full-time, gain degrees in nursing, social justice, nutrition, education? I am not sure what best suits the rambling, incoherent path I seem to be on. Actually it isn't incoherent. I mean, at the core of all the things I am passionate about lies the same thing.

On Closure (the beginnings of)

I had been feeling for a while like I needed the ashes to go to Maine. Thing is, I had kind of planned that a few people would come along with, and arranging it felt too complicated. Who can go on what day, and at what time, that sort of thing. And how do we all get up there, and do we stay or not stay? And should we go now, while it's cold, or wait until it's warm?

Yesterday, Saturday, I woke up feeling this pressure on me. It had to be NOW. I was anxious and snappish and cranky, and finally told Gene that I needed to just take them and get it done. I think I would have gone alone, but he offered to come along as driver and assistant. And off we went.

But Mom... you make ME share...

We brought along my comfort animal (we call him this because he is!). This was his longest car ride to date, and his first trip to the beach. My mother would have appreciated that he rode the whole way there on top of her ashes which were in between the front seats of the car. When we stopped for a break, Gene got himself "a snack" at McDonald's. There was some debate about who should have what part of the "snack". In the end, Yoshi only got a tiny tidbit.

I got a coffee. It's about all I will eat from McDonald's. Newman's Own, black. Iced in summer, hot in winter. When my mother was asking for frappes (caramel!) all the time I always got myself a coffee to be companionable while she sipped. It was ironic then that when we got to New Hampshire, Hampton Beach, I used my empty cup to tote ashes across the crowded beach. There were lots of people out with dogs and kids; life and activity all around. There was this lovely family playing touch football in the sand. Couples hand in hand, dogs chasing balls.

Convenient ash-hiding cup

But that really made it all the more perfect. We came here as a family when I was a kid, and on the last trip to Maine she had asked me to leave ashes here. And so I did. Being behind the camera was an excellent cover. I did not cry much here.

 Hampton Beach

I just waited for the ashes to wash out to sea, mingled with the sand.

Last bit

We headed north into Maine. First we stopped at Bob's Clam Hut in Kittery and split a clam platter, gluten and all. She would have liked that. She probably would have liked it better if I'd added on chowder, eaten the fries, and asked for extra tartar sauce, all washed down with Coke Classic. I went with six clams and one fry - enough to say I'd had it, but not enough to make me too horribly sick from the wheat I hoped. They do have gluten free options, but it is just not the same.

Then we headed to the coast. First we stopped at Long Sands beach. We stopped at the southern end of the beach where it's very rocky and there were no people. Again I used the camera as a shield, snapping away and keeping distant emotionally.

Long Sands

This was maybe my favorite spot for the ashes. They were quickly swept out to sea, the smaller bits dropping down between the rocks, which felt very organic and beautiful; the ashes blending with the foam. I think I would not mind if my kids brought me here when I am gone. We came here when they were small and camped at Camp Eaton. We played on these very rocks in the evening at low tide. But I digress.

Next we went to Nubble Light. By now I was over the whole coffee cup thing. There was too much left to fit in the cup, and this was where she really wanted the bulk of the ashes to go. I just grabbed the bag and went. We clamored on the rocks for a bit; Gene trying to get me to head further away from people, and me insisting that I be in front of the light and "who cares about the people, anyway". Guess who won?

Right where she wanted to be

Not having the camera with me here changed things. I couldn't manage camera, ashes in a bag, slippery rock and get any decent pictures, so I handed it off to Gene. I went from observer to mourner in a heartbeat. As the ashes fell from the bag and floated around me in a gray cloud, I felt the pain of loss and the relief of the absence of someone who has eaten up so very many moments of my life. Now, I feel free and clear and clean in a way I never have before. Sometimes I resent the loss of so many days and years of my life; particularly the ones when I was very small. I wonder what I would be like if she had been more stable. Would I trust people more? Would I be more open with others?  Probably. Other times I realize that if she had died earlier I would not be who I am today. And that would be a loss in its own way.

She's in there

I put her exactly where I'd planned since our last visit, in a crevice that faces the light. She approved this last fall when I took pictures down here and showed them to her.

Here, I cried. I sat with Gene for a bit up against a rock and just was sad for a bit. This place is changed for me now. I don't know how that will affect me in the future, but then every pebble that drops in our life makes ripples, and this was really more like a big rock being dumped on one of my favorite places.

Then we took Yoshi up for his portrait. This is a tradition that really began with my kids and extended to Kioshi and now Yoshi as well.  He is most handsome. We met a few other dogs here, and he played nicely but not a lot - no fences, so no racing and running and jumping. He makes friends easily.

Tradition

Today I am sore which I think is from the gluten, and tired, but I feel a bit of healing. Less raw, I think, and definitely liberated in some new way. I wrote a lot the other day, and I will write more in the future; the things she wanted me to write about her life and about mine. In the end, when her own acceptance of her mental health issues became more real to her, she was adamant that I get it down. And I will.

She's in my car...

But for now the big question - do I vacuum? Or just pretend it never happened and leave her there?

At Peace

I don't have a lot of space in me for words right now, so this will need to do. They are my mother's words, the obituary she wrote for herself nearly a year ago:

Priscilla Avery Morgan, 68, of Greenfield died Sunday, November 13, 2011 at Charlene Manor Extended Care Facility after a long illness. Priscilla was the daughter of James and Eleanor Avery. She grew up in Leyden and Greenfield. She attended Greenfield schools. For many years Priscilla worked at Crocker Communications and The Franklin Medical Center as a switchboard operator, both jobs she enjoyed very much and took great pride in.

 She is survived by her daughter, Melissa Morgan-Oakes and her husband Gene Oakes of Bernardston; a grandson, PFC Daniel Adams and his wife Sarah of El Paso, Texas; a granddaughter Megan Oakes; a very beloved great-granddaughter, April Ann Adams of El Paso; two sisters, Patricia Haselton of Swanzey, NH and Prudence Carnahan of Greenfield, and several nieces. A brother, Francis Avery pre-deceased her.

At the request of the deceased there will be no services. Disposition of her remains will be at the discretion of the family. In lieu of flowers, it is asked that donations be made to Hospice of Franklin County; 329 Conway Street; Suite 2; Greenfield, MA 01301 and the activities fund at Charlene Manor; 130 Colrain Road; Greenfield, MA 01301.

The "long illness" was a lifetime battle with depression, suicidal ideation and borderline personality disorder. If you or someone you know struggles with suicidal thought, PLEASE CALL the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

I know, I said I'd be right back

I probably said I'd be positive too. I don't have it in me, sorry. But I do have some honest reflections of a trip I took a day ago.

Yesterday I took my mother to Maine and New Hampshire to visit places she has loved for most of her life. Places that hold memories, places I simultaneously hoped and feared would trigger something in her emotionally. They did not. I am further reminded of what her mental health diagnosis really means. She has what we in the biz call "flat affect" lately. No expression of emotion, positive or negative.

For me there was a lot of protective sarcasm laced through the day. I expected to be sad, and was almost surprised that I was not. But, like a good daughter of "a borderline", I took my emotional cues from the woman who gave birth to me and reared me, and saved the juicy crying and stomping parts for when I got home. I quipped to Gene via text about "the day in food" - excellent for the diabetic body - beginning with a large Strawberry Coolatta (with whip!) in Keene, then oysters, clams and fries, fish chowder, three tubs of tartar sauce, crackers, and a Diet Coke (of course!) from Bob's Clam Hut, and ending with a large Orange Julius bought at The Mall of New Hampshire.

In general the ocean was a place where my mother could be counted on to be mostly relaxed and at peace - rare in that she was for the most part emotionally consistent when we were there. As a result, I have only positive memories of time spent at the beaches of New Hampshire and southern Maine. Other places in my life are more conflicted. I think this makes my feelings about her decision to end her life more complicated as well.

Although I worked in long term care and spent a lot of time caring for people who were dying, and helping their families to come to terms with the terminal changes that were occurring in their loved ones state of being, when it is a close relative the balance shifts. I knew this, and expected it, but knowing and experiencing are two very different things. You find yourself feeling and thinking all of the things you've allowed and encouraged others to express to you in the past. You try to give yourself the same permission you gave resident's family members to be angry, hurt, scared, etc. Some days this is more effective than others.

Because there was technically "nothing wrong with her" when she stopped taking her meds and started refusing treatment this is a slightly more perilous and painful journey for her family and friends than it might otherwise have been. Knowing that it is a choice - and now, with the dramatic changes in her medical status as a result of those refusals it seems a slightly more logical one - makes it difficult to comprehend. Her sisters struggle with it, one admitting that she just cannot deal with the concept, and the other an expert in belligerent denial. My kids struggle too in their own very separate ways - ironically much like their great aunts; one denies, the other grumbles. My father, my mother's nieces and close friends; everyone is confused, hurt, angry, sad - some or all of the above.

Some of us know the whole truth and understand how much of what she has said to us has been manipulative or attention seeking. Others don't, and for them I think it may be easier in a way. You can deflect the anger onto others if you don't understand who and what she is at her core. You can say "How sad that she is all alone and abandoned!" when the truth is so far from that sad little world she has created.
I, most of the time so far anyway, am sad. But there are stages to this process, and I will hit them all in the end. Thank God. It means I am healthy and normal.

The rest of her chosen path is before her. She moves toward an ending, or what she hopes will be an ending. I could analyze the spiritual side of suicide, passive or otherwise, based on her religious beliefs, but that hurts my head too much. I move toward something unknown and undesired - a future in which I live with the knowledge that my mother killed herself.

In a while - months, years, who knows when death will take her - I will retrace the path I followed yesterday. It is not likely to be soon. Her body has proven to be much stronger than anyone could have anticipated. I will, I hope, be accompanied by people I love and who love me. We will stop along the way and I will plunge my hands deep into a box of ashes and spread them as I have been asked to at all of these places she says she loved so much. I expect it will be painful but cathartic. I pray that it heals some wounds of mine and of others around me and around her. I pray that she has peace in the end; a peace she has struggled to find in her life but has never quite been able to achieve. I pray that in her eventual death there is meaning, some kind of meaning, for the people she leaves behind. Mostly I pray that when the time comes, it is quick and without pain. For her. I know it won't be for the rest of us.