Expressing the Inexpressible by Sharon O'Donnell

A few days after the death of Elvis Presley, my good friend Tina and I went to an Elvis movie marathon at a local theater. It was 1977, and we had recently junior high, a rough span in which our childhood friendship had suffered somewhat as we both spread our wings and made new friends. But there we were -- sharing this together, as corny as some of our other 'friends' might have thought of it -- because we used to love to play Elvis records and watch his movies. Even though Bobby Sherman was the teen idol who had stolen our heart, there was still room for an older Elvis because we recognized pure talent when we saw it and heard it. So we turned to each other when he died because we knew the other one would understand the sense of loss each of us felt. I'd felt so bad that fame had made Elvis a prisoner of sorts in his own home and he'd taken prescription drugs to deal with it all. He'd had that something special, and the world clamored for it, and in the process, we trampled right over Elvis, the human being. I remember how empty I'd felt, how I wrote an entry in a journal the night he died, trying unsuccessfully to express what I felt.

Whitney Houston had that something special too. Her voice singing "I'll Always Love You" expressed for me what I would want to sing to a certain young many I dated in my college years but had to say good-bye to. I'd actually discovered that song when Dolly Parton wrote and released it a few years earlier, and I had the 45 spd. record. And it was good. But when Whitney sang those words and breathed her own emotion into them . . . well, everyone who heard it thought of someone from their past who they had to say good-bye to also and this song -- became the anthem for those experiences in our lives. I'd forgotten that her fantastic rendition of the national anthem at the Super Bowl took place in 1991 during the first week of the first Gulf War, and that it wasn't just about a beautiful voice but about the emotion and pride in that beautiful voice that was so evident to all. A rallying cry for the nation. I recorded it the other night along with a report about the war that put in all in context, so I can play it back for my sons to see, for my sons to feel. Whitney at her best, Whitney sharing her love for her country, Whitney brimming with confidence that comes from somewhere deep inside as well as from, I believe, a higher being. Whitney.

And yet it is another sad ending. Elvis, Michael, and now Whitney. Yes, this certainly says there is a huge drug and alcohol problem that is running rampant in our society today. But this also says to me, that these souls who yearned to express their innermost feelings through their tremendous talent, perhaps fell short because life and reality could never be what they wanted it to be in their souls, in their visions of what life should be. They made mistakes and bad decisions. But under it all, I believe, was their innate desire to express the inexpressible. It is an emptiness I've felt as a writer and yes -- as a mother, a void I've tried to fill but can't. It's impossible to attain that kind of communication and harmony and connection very often. Every now and then some musical notes can capture it briefly.
And then it's back to reality. Reality is a tough place.

There was a time for each of them before reality affected them as it did. It is that time we should remember -- their pure ideals of wanting to stand there on the stage and make us FEEL what they were feeling through their music. That they did.

And that they always will.

Wicked October - by Cara Potapshyn Meyers

Unfortunate occurrences seem to haunt me during the latter part of October. I had a bad car accident on October 21st sixteen years ago. I ended up with chronic pain for four years straight (one of the reasons I’m a Later Mom). I continue to have intermittent pain as a result from that accident, although I am thankful that I have quality of life today.

My father was hit by a truck walking down the street on October 25th and suffered a subdural hematoma (bleeding in the brain) ten years ago and required months and months of intensive medical treatment.

Yesterday, October 26th, at her bi-annual check-up, my female dog was diagnosed with metastatic cancer of the spleen. She is not a candidate for surgery as she is 17 1/2 years old (120 years old in human years), and is too anemic to perform surgery on. The best we can do is give her quality of life for as long as possible.

Although she is 17, she has been a part of our family for roughly 13 years. We rescued her from a shelter at age 4. She instantly bonded with my husband and considers him the sun, moon and stars above. Her second favorite family member is my son. She has been his Nanny Dog since the day he came home from the hospital. When she would hear him crying over the monitor, she would pace back and forth, desperate to comfort him. As my son became older, she let our son do absolutely anything to her, as if my son was her “puppy”. When my son was a toddler and learned to brush his teeth, we had to buy a second toddler toothbrush so that our son could brush our female dog's teeth also. He would stack toys on her, ride her, roll on her, pull her whiskers...she never flinched. He was her "puppy."

Since she has gotten older and more frail, my son started bonding more with our far bigger and younger male dog, Maxi. Maxi and my son are "buddies." Maxi waits for my son to come home at the end of the day and smiles when he sees his "buddy" home! My son, much bigger now, does to Maxi what he used to do to our female dog. He rides Maxi, helps walk Maxi, rolls on the floor, hugging Maxi and receives "kisses" from Maxi in return. The bonds have switched. In a way I am glad. Our female now has a limited life span. Maxi, according to our Vet, has a "healthy, happy full life ahead of him," even at age 13. 

I have books put aside to read with my son as our female dog's days are numbered. One book is called "Saying Goodbye to LuLu." Our female dog is named Lama, but we refer to her as LuLu at times. It is a perfect book to read with him about a boy who is losing his own dog. I hope it will help my son cope with the process of losing Lama.

I am secretly glad that my son is establishing a stronger and stronger bond with Maxi. After our never ending divorce, Lama would have lived with my husband. Maxi will stay with us. As Lama will be approaching her demise, I am relieved to know that my son with be living with and already have established a solid bond with Maxi. It hopefully will lessen the pain and grief for him.

Presently, our son is assisting us in cooking ground beef for Lama...her appetite is fair. We are buying her favorite foods and offering them to her in between her naps. With every bite, my son is elated. At the same time, it is hurtful to watch. My son thinks he is helping her to get better and be the dog he has always known. He doesn't comprehend that her life may have to end very soon.

I am also thankful that Lama didn't die on Halloween...my son's favorite time of year, despite the fact that he hates sweets. He just loves getting dressed up and parading around in his costume. Had Lama died, his adoration of Halloween would diminish significantly. He already will be losing too much in his young life. He doesn't need to add his favorite time of year to the list.

Wicked October. Thank goodness November is here.

Trying To Wake Up by Maureen Eich VanWalleghan

I am tired; exhausted really. My eyes are burning. I slept until almost 9:30am and still I don’t feel rested. Death can really make one tired.

My father has taken a turn for the worse. My stepmother has called in hospice and then all my brother’s unresolved issues got dumped into my lap in an intense email when I informed him of what was happening. I have chosen silence as there is nothing I can say to change my brother’s feelings or even “fix” the situation.

The death a week ago of my great aunt is upon us as the issues regarding my uncle start being discussed and considered. And the true impact and coming loneliness of loosing a spouse after 58 years of marriage starts to be felt.

Recent news has deeply touched me. A favorite preschool teacher of my daughter's—a woman with a very gentle soul—has a premie baby struggling to get a foothold in this world. I felt her fear as my own daughter was in the hospital at five weeks old for an emergency operation.

The ten year anniversary of 9/11 is haunting me as it does every year when that moment gets reviewed and more personally remembered.

Death is heavy and it is the burden the living carry. I sometimes wonder did it feel differently when death was evermore present in the day to day living in another age, when death could not be kept at bay. Probably not...

My antidotes for this morning: coloring with my daughter and a shower. Both are relaxing and hopefully a little barbecue with friends later this afternoon will pull me out of myself.

Also at times like this I am drawn to Rilke. “Orpheus. Eurydice. Hermes” comes to mind. I have Stephen Mitchell’s translation of The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke. With the amazing wonder of the internet, here is the link to that poem [Orpheus. Eurydice. Hermes], which hints at the exhaustion of the living when dealing with the dead.

For me, poetry can be a healing salve that soothes the rawness of feelings I have inside myself. Poetry is power. Sadly, most folks are afraid of it. I hope readers will go to the Rilke link and let that magic be felt for themselves as it is felt by me.

Where Do We Go When We Die? by Maureen Eich VanWalleghan

So I am dealing with a death in the family and wondering how to discuss this with my five year old daughter. My great aunt died yesterday. She and her husband were like a second set of grandparents for my daughter. Since my husband’s parents are dead, my husband had adopted my aunt and uncle as surrogate parents, doing things for them and often taking my daughter with him on his visits to their home.

My aunt was a very feisty gal. When I asked her what it was like to be married to someone for over 60 years she replied “It’s a lot of cooked meals.” Start doing the math and the number of meals is mind boggling. She was funny and fun. My daughter enjoyed her company. Hanging out at her home with my uncle and their two dogs, my aunt would always pull out little toys or pens and paper for my daughter to enjoy.

I really treasured my aunt. I think because she was not my mom we didn’t have the same emotional charge over issues and so it was easy to just relax around her. Generationally, she easily could have been a parent to my husband as she was 87 years old (I think.) I am going to miss her and so will my husband and daughter.

As I consider the upcoming conversation about death, I am trying to think of the questions my daughter will ask me like “Where do we go when we die?” When one has an obvious religious paradigm that governs their lives, answering the heaven question is clearly based on that religion. As a former Catholic, I just can’t speak to the big issues of life with the answers I grew up hearing. Both my husband and I fall more into a Native American ethic, though neither of us happens to be apart of any tribe. As a way to address our anti-religion stance I have started going to the Universal Unitarian church in town. In my conversations with my husband about this, I reminded him that we both had religions that we rebelled against, the least we can do for our daughter is to give her a structure for religion. And if there is something we disagree with at church then as a family we can discuss it.

A few years ago when my daughter was three years old, our dog was run over and had to be put down. We buried our wonderful dog at the lower lake by our home. My daughter got to see our dog just before she died and to touch her in death before we put our dog in the ground. My daughter asked a lot of questions, but three years old is not almost six years old. And a dog is not a person. But there it is: death is death.

So tomorrow on the drive over to see my uncle we will be talking about life and death. Today it will be more discussions between my husband and myself so that we are clear—as clear as anyone can be when faced with a loss—about the esoteric question that we all have: where do we go when we die. Figuring out how to explain what we believe to our daughter is definitely more difficult without religion.

Where Are We? by Maureen Eich VanWalleghan

...I saw a hawk

crucified on a

barbed-wire fence.

I guess as a kind

of advertisement

to other hawks,

saying from the pages

of a leading women’s magazine,

“She’s beautiful,

but burn all the maps

to your body.

I’m not here

of my own choosing.”

–Richard Brautigan

in his 1968 book:

The Pill Versus The Springhill Mine Disaster

As an artist my work has often dealt with death, not in a salacious way, but as an exploration of the human condition and its dark under shadow. The other defining quality in much of my work is exposing the invisible “other perspective” —those who are most impacted by death—the living. Not surprising then that the unfolding of the murder of two teen children by their mother, Julie Powers Schenecker is on my mind right now.

The reason for considering this event here, at this blogspot, is that this woman is a mom and she has done the unspeakable. She has crossed over the line not just because of the act of murder, but because of who she has killed: her children. As I was thinking about this woman and what I wanted to say, Brautigan’s poem came to mind. As a sensitive person, certain things seep into me deeply in a way that is often difficult to explain except to say that it is what makes me an artist.

So many questions come up for me about this woman. The nuance of “why” keeps my judgement of her in check. The act is unspeakable and yet I wonder if it is possible to consider where this darker side resides in each of us. I write this here as part of a larger question I am currently writing on with regard to the state of motherhood in America today.

Beyond the comments I have read attached to every article about this tragedy, is it possible to leave judgement behind and really consider this woman and discuss the impact this event has on all of us?

Cyma Shapiro Chats with Julie Metz, author of Perfection

Q: You have become easily identified with your bestseller, Perfection— a story about love, betrayal, and finding oneself. However, many readers are unaware that you are also nearly classified as a new midlife mother, having conceived in your late 30’s. How does your age factor into your story?

A: Age is a factor in my story. When my mother gave birth to me in 1959, she was considered an older mother at age 30. I had my daughter at 37. When my husband died I was 43, and the mother of a six year old. To start over as an older parent at 43 was one of the many challenges I faced.

Q: You’ve said your current household is full of “girl power”—one woman in menopause and one teen on the cusp of life changes. This is a new trend, reflecting the complexities that are emerging from new midlife motherhood.  What are your feelings about this phenomenon? How has this forced you to reexamine your own life?

A: I am mindful of this situation every day. I recall having difficulties as an adolescent with my own mother because she seemed “out of touch,” though in fact we were closer in age than I am to my own daughter. I struggle to stay current, whether it involves mastering new technology or understanding social trends so that I can stay connected to my daughter’s life. The truth is that I often feel exhausted and clueless.

Q): With the emergence of new midlife mothers, do you think traditional societal expectations are slowly dissolving? That is, do you think a relaxation of family structures will eradicate many traditional norms within our lifetime?

A: Our own family looks conventional enough from the outside: man, woman, child, but we have different last names. Our goal as parents is to provide support for our young adult while fostering her growing independence. But for now we choose to do this without some of the traditional formal labels. Around me I see many divorced women and single mothers struggling with similar challenges. Personally I don’t think formal labels mean as much to kids as what’s really going on. So I try not to worry too much about traditional labels. 

Q: As a midlife mother, what do you have to offer now, that you would not have had during your younger years?

A: I like to think I am smarter, but mostly I think I am better able to accept the idea that I am imperfect. 

Q: If you had to live your life over, again, would you have chosen this same path?

A: While I often wish I had the energy of myself at 25, I have no regrets. I love the child I have so much, so there is nothing I’d want to change.

Q: We say that this zeitgeist is a result of breakthroughs in medical technology; socio-economic freedoms for women and a relaxation of traditional norms -- all converging on our generation. Given these new opportunities, will you educate your child differently than you were educated by your mother?

A: I would love my daughter to take time to find her true calling before having children. My mother led by example and I don’t know that I would take a different approach. My hope is that coming generations of women and men will help create a society that is more open to working mothers. And I hope my daughter will be able to make career and mothering choices that will suit her life and talents.

Q: Finally, do you have any advice for new midlife mothers? 

A: Make time to keep yourself healthy and fit, so you can keep up with your kids!

Julie Metz is the author of the New York Times bestselling memoir Perfection, which was a 2009 Barnes & Noble Discover Great New Writers Selection. The recipient of a MacDowell fellowship, her work has appeared in publications including The New York Times, Publishers Weekly, Glamour, Hemispheres, and websites such as Wowowow.com (The Women on the Web), Family.com, and the story site mrbellersneighborhood.com.