My clock

 

This is my clock. It's one of the clocks my mom had. She collected old clocks- or clocks made to look old! This one actually is old. Here's the back panel.

You can see the 1928 date. The fainter date seems to be 1940, and would be a later repair.

This is a wind up clock. I'm not sure how often it should be wound. Daily seems too often, and once a week usually means that the clock starts to lose a minute a day. Sometimes it loses more than a minute a day. Sometimes it springs ahead. Usually it's within a minute or two.

The clock has a single chime on the half hour. It chimes on the hour, too, but I don't know that I have ever heard it chime the correct number of chimes for the hour. I've heard it bong more than 24 times! I've heard it bong four careful chimes for 11:00!

I'd like to take it in for examination and repair. Maybe.

At the same time, I'm not sure I should. It's working, in its own way, with its eccentricities. It's quirky, not all together accurate. I worry that if I open it up for repair, it could stop working entirely.

We had another wind up clock, a wall clock that Ken and I received as a wedding gift. For more than 30 years, the clock worked beautifully. We wound it about once a month, and it kept accurate time. The chimes sounded at the correct time, with the correct number of chimes.

 

Then it slowed and finally stopped. We took it in to be repaired. The jeweler said the works could not be repaired, but could be replaced with battery powered works. It would keep accurate time again.

We would lose the chimes, though. 

It would look the same even though everything on the inside was changed.

We had the clock repaired and for another decade the clock kept time. The clock is in my car now, waiting for me to take it to the jewelers to have the battery replaced.

I will replace the battery. I still love the clock, even if it is different on the inside. 

But my new favorite may be the antique clock with eccentric timing and chiming.

Learning from loss: The first half of the 2020s.

Paging through this blog, I found the draft of the post I started about my mom's death, in October of 2021.

Since that time, two close friends from our temple family died- one expected (RG, octogenarian), the other a shock (mid 60s). 

My dad's brother-in-law died in April 2023.

My aunt died in April 2023. 

Ken died in September of 2023.

A year before my mom's death, my dad had a stroke. His recovery was amazing: no cognitive loss, no speech loss. He wasn't able to drive anymore- his navigational sense was gone, his peripheral vision was affected. In the years after his stroke, he has gradually lost strength and mobility.

At this moment, my dad is not doing well; he has pulmonary fibrosis. This will be what ends his life, almost certainly: in months or maybe a year or two. 

Another friend has been diagnosed with an invasive breast cancer.

There is war in Europe, war in the Mideast.

We have not recovered from the pandemic. 

The recovery efforts from Hurricane Helene are ongoing- or suspended in some areas, as Hurricane Milton approaches.

The 2020s have not been kind thus far; I pray that personally and globally we are able to mourn, let go, and find some positive paths forward. 

There has been joy, too; I am hoping to visit joyful memories and plans soon. Today, though, I found this post.

My mother died on Monday, October 4, 2021.  She died on the 11th anniversary of my daughter's miraculous survival of a terrifying accident.

Death is both expected and unexpected. My mom had been in declining health for some time. Yet she had rallied so many times from so many close calls that we almost expected another recovery. She had breast cancer in 2005. A heart attack, complicated by an allergic reaction and renal failure, in 2010. She was in the hospital every other month in 2011 with spinal surgeries, pulmonary embolism, pneumonia. She had a partial hip replacement.

The Covid pandemic was hard on everyone; my mom had to deal with radiation and chemo treatment for lung cancer in the summer of 2021. 

Every illness and its treatment, every surgery and recovery, was harder than the last. There were so many losses. Mom lost her ability to drive. She lost mobility. She lost so much agency- she lived sometimes with me, sometimes with my sister. 

She was bitter, often, and angry at the cards she'd been dealt. 

I can't really blame her; how could I? Her losses were undeniable. 

I'm trying to learn from my mom, learn from my dad, learn from my dad's wife. How do we move forward from these losses and find satisfaction in later life?

I compare my mom's aging with my dad's aging. Until my dad had his stroke, he and his wife DW were active- physically, socially. They had friends and outings and made regular trips to the library.

It was different with my mom. Once she stopped driving, and even more when she moved out of her own home. My mom didn't want to go anywhere. She didn't want to see anyone- her social circle grew smaller and smaller.

She just wanted me, or my sister, to hang out with her, or take her places. Not my brother as much- she didn't want to "impose" on him.

She was angry at her failing body. She was saying "NO" to any suggestion that might make life more enjoyable. Join a book club! Go to senior center for lunch! Pick up a hobby! Visit a friend!

No, no, no.

Partly it was vanity. She didn't want anyone seeing her "like this." She would refuse to use her walker or cane going in to the doctor's office, using my arm instead.

Until she had to use a wheelchair.

My mom was angry and bitter and, in my view, didn't take advantage of the opportunities she did have. She had friends, she was close to a senior center and could make more friends! 

I try not to judge. I don't know what her pain level was, or how much she worried about falling, getting bumped by kids or others in crowded spaces.

I do think about what *I* would want for myself in that situation. I try to see what the difference is between my mom and my dad.

Until this past year, my dad was positive and kept as active as he could, post stroke. Even now, with his mobility severely compromised, he doesn't complain much. You can see on his face his grief about his current limitations, his dependence on others; yet he expresses gratitude.

His hearing loss is profound, and it is harder now for him to stay engaged. He's ready to let go, I think. I am not ready for this; selfishly, I hope he will hang on for a while longer.

I'm writing around and around what I want to say.

One difference between my mom and dad is that my dad has an active and positive partner. His wife DW remains upbeat and keeps moving forward.

I had that, until Ken died.

I'm trying to learn from my parents, from the world. 

I want to stay active. I want to do my part to heal the world, and heal myself. I want to be able to acknowledge that I can only do what I can do, and be at peace that I am doing my part, and my part is not all the healing that is needed, it is not all the work that is needed.

There are others to do the work, too; or not. 

I can only do my part.

I am also trying to keep my social network strong. My mom's world shrank to needy dependence on her kids. I don't want that for my kids and I don't want that for myself.

Maybe I will return to this and make it more coherent. Maybe as we move into a new year- we are now in the first week of the Jewish New Year of 5785- I will find a clearer path forward.

For now, I will try to stay open to what new possibilities there are. I will try to say "Yes, and" to life, rather than "No, but."

Missing you

 

I missed you today.

(I miss you every day. I miss you every night.)

I was putting on the pearl necklace you gave me. It's difficult to do those clasps by yourself.

I remember you helping put on my necklace, gentle fingers lifting my hair, finding the clasp, fastening.

The feel of your breath on my neck, your lips grazing the nape of my neck, a surprise kiss as the necklace is fastened.

I miss you.

Broken glass

 

I broke a glass yesterday. Yesterday was the first anniversary of Ken's death.

I remember as we prepared for our wedding, Ken was looking for the perfect glass.

You see, he wanted a real glass, not a light bulb (that's cheating!), to smash under his heel in the traditional way at the conclusion of our Jewish wedding ceremony.

At a Jewish wedding, a glass is wrapped in a napkin, and the groom steps on it to break it into pieces at the conclusion of the service. Many theories are proposed to explain why we do this: to remind us of the fragility of life; to remind us that even in our joy, we should remember the sorrows of our past, and commit to a life of rebuilding.

Who knows why? As Tevye says, It's tradition!

At some weddings, a light bulb has been substituted. A light bulb is easy to smash!

But no light bulb for our wedding! Ken was searching for a glass. He wanted a real glass, but a fragile glass that would definitely crush. He'd been to a wedding, he said, where the groom had several tries and had a real hard time crushing the glass.

We finally found a lovely, delicate glass. I can't remember where- maybe Crate & Barrel? 

It was wrapped in a white linen napkin, and at the end of our service, Ken stomped, the glass shattered, and the shul erupted in joyous cries of Mazel tov!

I broke a glass yesterday. In the dishwasher, it was stacked under a plastic colander and somehow when I was opening the dishwasher, something stuck or jammed and I heard the sound of glass breaking.

So fragile.

The fragility of life.

Sorrow amidst so much joy. A life to be rebuilt. Memory.

It was the first anniversary of your death.

I broke a glass.

Birthdays and crises and panic attacks

 I think I am having a panic attack. I am having trouble breathing and my anxiety is soaring and I want to cry, I want to run, I feel like I can't move, I feel like I might throw up.

I'm writing to sort through it, to find a way to breathe, to sort out all the many triggers and let them rest, try to let them go.

The trigger, without a doubt, is that I sent an email to my kids with a proposed date for the unveiling of Ken's gravestone. 

I'm terrified that the date won't work for one or another and I will hurt feelings and cause problems. I can't breathe.

There is so much pressing, pressing, pressing on me. Good, bad, indifferent, it is all too much and I cannot hold up, I fear.

So many people that I feel I should be helping. 

My dad is not doing well. He literally cannot catch his breath; there is scarring in his lungs and the damage is accelerating and in months or possibly (not likely) years, this will almost certainly be what ends his life. 

I'm not ready. Selfishly, I want him to hold on. 

I feel the pull to be there to help him, and his wife DW. I go when I can; I feel it's not enough.

Another family member will need surgery, will need my help.

A friend has had surgery, could definitely use some help. Another friend is going through major life changes, I feel that I should be more help. Another friend is hurting, I feel I should do more.

I want- need! - to see my grandchildren.

I have several responsibilities at my place of worship- I need to meet with the soloist, I need to meet with the committee, I need to line up service leaders.

I have signed a contract to teach at Byzantine U- once again, a class brand new to me that I have never taught before and therefore must create ex nihilio.

I need to review all the different accounts I have, so that when I go to a meeting this week with a financial advisor I can ask intelligent questions and understand my financial situation, so I can plan a path forward from here.

I need to tidy the house, so that I can schedule a house cleaner. I need to clear out my house, so that I can get it ready to sell, so I can be ready to move. 

I need to find another house. I need to find a vision of what home might be. 

My dog threw up this morning.

My car needs an oil change- how can my car need an oil change? It just had an oil change!

I'm sure I'm forgetting something.

That's just my personal life. Then my nation and my world are in crisis, in flames, chaos, a dumpster fire. 

It is so hard to stay centered in this moment: in this moment, I have enough, and I could be at peace if I were to be just in this moment and no other, for at least one moment.

In my last post, I wrote about the challenges of Father's Day, and family gatherings- especially the 4th of July, a long tradition in my family that was so much harder than I thought it would be- and I thought it would be hard. I found that I spent a day and a half, almost paralyzed, recovering. 

I wrote that post on the eve of my birthday.

My birthday was hard and also sweet. My friend SR came in from North Carolina, and we did a three day trip. We didn't stick to our original plan- in part because my schedule is so uncertain now, considering my dad's health. We had originally planned a trip to Mackinac Island. Instead we went north to Frankenmuth for a nostalgic chicken dinner and found a new wine bar (on Wine Wednesday! Half off!). Then we went west. We found some nice restaurants and visited the Frederik Meijer Sculpture Garden.

We came home, spent the night, went to brunch. SR went to family commitments; I went to some of mine, including an unplanned trip to my dad's. We will get together again in the next week, clear out a closet, empty a drawer...

I nibble at the edges of the things that must be done, never ahead, always behind, hopefully not too far behind, hopefully a last-minute 11th hour sprint will see me through- on whichever crisis is the most urgent- in the moment.

Navigating my grief: 9 months in- now 10 months-

For a while, I was cruising along. Getting things done. Reconnecting with friends. Now...

The holiday of Shavuot began on June 11, Tuesday, and our Temple observed the holiday on Friday night with a dairy dinner followed by the service. I was anxious about the food, and we also had no staff that night, so I did essentially all the set up, and then I and CR and MS and MB and maybe some others helped clear. It was a long day but all went off fairly well. 

Father's Day was that Sunday, June 16. I went with son JE and his kids to a Toledo Mud Hens game. Ken would have loved it. 

My own dad was en route back to Michigan from his and his spouse DE's winter digs in Alabama. DE's son RF and his spouse picked Dad and DE up from Alabama and brought them as far as Tennessee, and then my brother flew to Tennessee to pick them up and drive them in their car to Northern Michigan. I then drove, with my dog Princess, to say hi to Dad and DE, spend the night, and bring my brother back down state.

My dad isn't doing well. He is short of breath on any exertion. We did manage to go to the casino- a favorite past time of theirs- and when Dad sat on his walker (the four wheeled kind) we could push him to where he wanted to go. That worked out well enough.

I was home for a short time, then my friend CR watched my dog and and son JE's dog at my house while I went to Camp Michigania  with  JE and his family. I did all the things- horseback riding, archery, riflery, crafts, swimming, yoga, meditation, and attending guest lecturers. I especially enjoyed the Anishinaabe speaker.

Then home on June 29th, and a visit at my brother's house on the 30th, as his son BE was in from Japan with his spouse and their 21 month old identical twins. My sons AJ and JE, and JE's son JD, also joined to visit.

Since AJ was in from Chicago, we also went to visit our friend KD, back from a North Carolina hospital from having a dislocated hip while she was attending a family event.

Then after one day home, I was off again to the North country for our family's traditional gathering on the 4th of July. While there were many great moments, all in all this was extremely hard. I was missing Ken so much. My dad's condition is serious and was evident- he'd seen his doctor, and it turns out he has scarring in his lungs that cannot really be treated, won't get better, and maybe in 2 months, or maybe in 5 years, this will almost certainly be what ends his life.

I came home Monday, the 8th of July. I waited until I'd made sure my dad had lunch, as DE had errands and then Mah Jong, and then I headed home for the 3 1/2 hour drive.

I still haven't recovered. I am despondent. It is so hard to find hope. I have so many things to do, but feel no desire to do any of them. 

Monday my sister took me out for my birthday once I got home from up North. 

I took today off, more or less. I did a few things: finished unpacking, made an appointment for my dog to go in the kennel (my friend SR is coming in for my birthday and we will plan an overnight adventure or two), balanced the check books. It is taking a tremendous amount of effort to just make myself make a LIST of what I should do.

I wasted some time on Facebook, too. I'm wondering what's up/ has been up with Byzantine U. I've been remote, and I am glad of it. I've seen a couple of posts from students / grads of Byz U commenting about a need to get together and process what they went through (more than just Covid, it seems) and then today I saw a post from a past (guest) faculty member saying: Faculty, BELIEVE your students when they tell you the harm your theatre program has done to them...

So cryptic.

Anyway...

I am despondent. Part of it is I feel like I should be helping at least three of my friends, at least three of my relatives, and I am feeling like I am letting them all down because I have no emotional reserves of my own. 

Part of it is the world and the nation: climate crisis and rise of fascism.

It is hard to stay centered in doing my part, as best I can, and releasing the anxiety- knowing that the best I can do is the best I can do, by definition. 

I miss Ken.

Work: Third U and Byzantine U

 Adventures in Academia.

If you have been following my travails, you will recall that I have been ghosted by the Chairs/ Department heads at both Byzantine U (where I have taught for about 20 years, including my teaching fellowship on the way to my PhD) and Third U (where I have taught for at least 3 years). 

I emailed the (interim) department head of Third U one more time. I set the deadline of May 25, stating that if I hadn't heard from them, I would assume that there was no work for me there. I am part time faculty, without a union at that institution, so my work is only by the semester. Still, not having had word for months after multiple emails is frustrating.

May 25 came and went, and I never received an email. I kept checking my Third U email (I have a different email address at each institution), and eventually I noticed an email welcome and greeting from the new head of the department to the entire department (not to me specifically). This new head, of course, won't know me or anything about me.

Hmmm... still mad at the previous interim head for ghosting me, but I'm guessing he was relieved to be relieved, so to speak.

TOTALLY unprofessional behavior, nonetheless.

For Byzantine U, it's harder because I have a contract, and there is a Union, and the Interim Chair, if not the department, has pretty much ignored the contract. So I wrote to the Union Rep, as briefly as possible, reminding them of my situation and updating them that it's still crickets from the Chair. 

I heard back from the Union Rep, and they said that there's not much to do- but I should proceed with another email, this time cc:ing the Union Rep, and NOTING that I have cc:d the Union Rep, and stating  something like "According to our contract, when I return from a Leave of Absence, my course assignment rights are supposed to be unchanged. The union, which is CC'ed on this email, can confirm that fact." They recommended I give him a response deadline, and then follow up with the dean if I still didn't hear anything.  

So I did this. 

Funny thing, when I mentioned the Union Rep was also on the email, I heard back in about an hour! The interim chair wrote:  (excuses excuses) and I'll get back to you by June 1 (coincidentally the deadline I had given). And he did - half way through June 1, he emailed:

For Fall 24, we are going to utilize you in the [grad class I have never taught before].

UTILIZE! So, again a new class that I haven't ever taught before. *sigh* I will teach that one, and hopefully a spring one, and then I think I'm done.

I'm clearly not valued here.

At least, by administration. During this time, at least three different students, from different eras of my teaching, have reached out to say how outstanding I am, how much they learned from me, how much they valued me.

But, hey, they're "just students," so what does that matter?