The most precious 2 hours

I had meant to take James for the afternoon so that Terry and her family could have a break—that way she could deal with all the doctors’ appointments and other things she needed to attend to without a 6 year old in tow. The play date was scheduled for Tuesday. However, the phone rang at 7:40 AM. Terry decided to change plans. She insisted that Zefram come over to her house for the play date instead of me taking James off her hands for the afternoon. I was shocked but Terry reassured me that it would be perfect. There was no arguing with Terry. She had made up her mind. Terry insisted that I start writing on my blog again. She was adamant. “You need to write” she told me. “Besides, it is all set up. My niece is coming over to watch the kids. It will be perfect. Go home and write” she told me again. It was an order more then a suggestion, so what could I do.

My problem with writing was that I felt inadequate to put the words down. After all—I am no one special—I am just a regular person, I happen to have dyslexia, and my voice does not do justice to the grand overwhelming issues that take place in the world. Although I thought that this was a perfectly good reason not to write, Terry thought otherwise. Whatever writers block I was having (and no matter how sorry I was feeling for myself) I needed to get over it fast. Terry’s call was no doubt the Universes way of giving me a good solid kick in the right direction. Nevertheless, I was shocked by Terry’s insistence to write. I could not believe the gift I was being given. Terry is dying from cancer. I am supposed to be giving to her, not the other way around. But one of Terry’s many endearing qualities is thinking of others even in the face of her own adversity. She is always trying to do good things for others—even at the very end. So with a grateful heart, I obediently dropped Zefram off and came home to write, determined not to squander the 2 hours I had been given by a dying woman. They were the most precious 2 hours that I had ever been given. These 2 hours were more special then gold or diamonds because in reality time is the only true possession that we have as human beings and how we spend it is so very important. I was thankful for the 2 hours and was surprised at how much I had accomplished upon my return to Terry’s house.

When I told Terry how I had spent my 2 hours she simply smiled at me over her walker obviously very satisfied. She said I told you that you needed to write. She was so pleased. Terry said that she had woken up that morning and had such a strong feeling that this was something that I needed—she said that she was moved by the spirit and that she knew that she needed to give me this gift. I also realized (in that moment) that it made Terry feel powerful to be able to give something back to me or anyone. Terry could not control dying, or what was happening to her. But she could control how people remembered her. In a strange sort of way, I realized that I had indeed given Terry a gift too; the gift of dignity. I had been willing to RECIEVE her 2 hours and that was as important as anything I could have ever done for her. This made her happy. So the next time I have an arbitrary 2 hours in my life I will think of Terry and really contemplate how I use my time. Terry has taught me so many life lessons in the short time that I have known her. I am forever grateful.

Terry’s Tenderness

I have been guarded about writing about Terry Hendrix. Nevertheless, she has been playing an extremely pivotal role in my life for over a year. Terry is the mom of one of Zefram’s friends in his pre-school class. I met Terry due to her overwhelming kindness on a field trip. She was one of the parent chaperones that day, and put my mind at ease that Zefram would be fine. Several weeks later when I had forgotten about a Mother’s Day lunch-in, Terry stepped in to take Zefram under her wing. So it is no surprise that when I had invasive surgery for my Plantars Fasciitis that Terry was there to drive Zefram to and from school while I was on the mend.

From the moment that I met Terry, I wanted to get to know her better. Outwardly, she is just like any other Mom, doing all the Mom things with her son James. But she had a fire in her eyes and sweetness in her soul that is rarely seen so abundantly. All you have to do is to take a look at her relationship with her husband to know that she is a special person. My friendship with Terry had the humblest beginnings, starting over our children and related common interests. I never knew at the time that I was on the threshold of a life altering experience.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008 was a beautiful day. The sky was a brilliant crystal blue. That afternoon I hobbled down the steps to say good-bye to Terry after she dropped Zefram off after school. Little did I know that I was saying good-bye to the way that I saw the world. The pain killers made me a little loopy as I stood there suspended on crunches. Nevertheless, I will always remember seeing Terry on the porch that day. She looked so lovely and radiant. Terry was always smiling and I was affected deeply by her jubilation for life. She stood about 5’3 weighing a hundred and twenty pounds beaming from ear to ear. I asked her, “What is your secret to happiness?” She simply said that life was short. Terry was a cancer survivor and she was resolved to living life to the fullest in every moment. I was shocked that she had gone through so much but was even more stunned by how magnificent she was in that moment.

The next day, Terry’s husband gave me a call. There was an ominous sound in his voice. Terry had experienced a seizure overnight and was in the hospital. In true Terry fashion being worried about others more then herself, she had her husband call me right away so that I could make alternate plans for Zefram. Two weeks of testing determined that the cancer had returned with a vengeance. This time the cancer had found its way into her spine and her brain. She started a regimen of chemotherapy and steroids and slowly her world and body morphed. Within months she looked like a different person. One day she joked that she felt like the Buddha except less enlightened. She was now bald and had the voluptuous figure of a Raphael painting. But the cancer never touched her spirit. This is the miracle of it all. The fire in Terry’s hazel eyes burned more intently then ever, and still does.

There have been many ups and downs for Terry and her family. The Medical Community can no longer cleanse her body of cancer, but she is resolved to face each day on her own terms. I constantly marvel at her strength and am touched by her love. Terry is a true hero. She is a hero for getting out of bed in the morning to spend time with her four year old son. Other times she is a hero in the way she smiles or hugs someone. Every task that Terry does, regardless of how simple or immense makes her a hero, because she is making a conscious decision not to go quietly into that dark night.

Terry has every right to be angry. Angry at the world, at fate, at God; but more times then not she drinks every moment in like sunshine like she is storing it up for a rainy day. Most would consider her situation the rainy day yet she still looks to the future. I am not writing the story of Terry for you to feel sorry for her. She of all people would not want that. I write this story because Terry has found the secret to life and happiness despite her circumstances. Terry has shown me that it is our relationships with one another that make us strong and make every moment worth living. Slow up and love well and often would be her motto. As for me, I will always remember Terry’s great tenderness. To be with her is to share a moment with God. Sometimes that moment is shared in smiles, sometimes in tears but mostly it is shared in her zest for life. Warren Zevon, the musician who passed away from Mesothelioma famously said when asked about his diagnosis “…you’re supposed to enjoy every sandwich”. This pretty much sums up Terry. It’s the simple things in life that bring us joy and contentment, and that is her secret to happiness.

Cultural Learning 101

Turning Friday Night into Family Night has spurred some wonderful and deep conversations within the Cochrane Family. Our children have been able to be engaged and learn from these conversations as much as the adults. Recently, we had Fatimah and her two children Wudood and Hanaa over for dinner. Alex my 7 year old son had a very special question for Fatimah which I broached with her earlier. “Why do you wear that on your head?” Alex asked shyly. My friend Fatimah is Muslim, and wears a head scarf. The rest of us held our breath because we did not want to offend Fatimah or her family by asking insensitive questions. These were our guests and our friends and we did not want them to feel on display. Fatimah merely smiled and very patiently answered that her headdress was called a “Hijab.” She went on to explain that she wears it out of reverence for God and as a symbol of her Muslim Faith. Alex then asked, “Do you ever take it off?” Fatimah laughed;” Yes, I take it off when I am alone or in the presence of my family. However if there is another male in the house who is not related to me I put it back on.” The conversation went on for a while and then Fatimah turned to her 12 year old son and asked him to explain further why she wears the Hijab so that it would be a learning experience for everyone at the dinner table. Wudood chimed into the conversation by saying, “It is to protect her beauty. “ Fatimah further explained that her beauty is a special gift that she reserves just for her family. The conversation took many twists and turns that night. Over pizza we discussed many of the religious and cultural differences (and similarities) between the Muslim and Christian Faiths. Our two families talked about the fasting for Ramadan in the Muslim Faith and the tradition of giving up something for Lent within the Christian Religion. That was a very special night in our house. Our home and our dinner table became the focal point of learning, sharing and understanding. Much of that conversation was as poignant as any formalized education our children will ever receive in school. Understanding, and therefore tolerance, starts at home regardless whether it is religious, racial, political or ethnic – and sometimes can take place over pizza. The bigger lesson to be gleaned from Alex’s question and the answer he received is love and respect. He asked a potentially impolite question in a respectful manner and received a thoughtful and detailed answer. Learning to respect and love everyone for who they are is a lesson we hope will last our children throughout their lives. Respect and Love and Understanding all lead to peace, and peace is perhaps the greatest manifestation of Gods love available to us on earth.

Mothers Day Madness

Like a bride on her wedding day—I got caught up on what the perfect Mothers Day should be instead of what it was. I was very focused on what I was not getting for Mothers Day. Scott slept in. He and the kids did not make breakfast and then Scott went off to give blood leaving me alone with 3 children to get ready for church. I was mad! It was evident that there would not be a reprieve from cooking or any of the chores that makes a day ordinary. By the time I got to church, the bitterness of being underappreciated was reaching deep into my soul.. As I just hinted at, the perfect Mother’s Day for me meant escaping the responsibility of child rearing for the entire day, and obviously that was not going to happen. But the feelings of wanting to spend Mother’s Day without my kids & family added an extra layer of guilt to my already consuming bitterness. I was almost so over consumed in self pity that I almost missed the wonderment of the day. There were extraordinary things that were happening all around me that my bitterness was blocking. Scott had given me a blackberry for Mothers Day to help me organize my life, a gift that I had been pinning after for a great many months. Also, he actually was going off to give his donation of blood in my name—a very thoughtful gift to say the least. To not be out done, Zefram’s school had done a luncheon for all the mothers in his class. They had read little bios about each mother which the kids had come up with. Mine started out this way. “This mother loves all the colors of the rainbow. She loves wearing church clothes, making walkie talkies. I like it when she makes me green eggs and ham” (which is something that I do every St. Patrick’s Day for the kids). Alex stepped up to the plate by writing a litany of verses that started out with “my Mom dot, dot, dot.” He filled the template in with “My mom can cook. My Mom can paint. “My Mom can sword fight”. That one really made me laugh, although it is true. “My mom is Love.” Wow! It does not get much better then that. Later on, I spotted Alex coming up the road with Ms. Mary; she is the 80 year old woman that lives next door. Mrs. Mary was pushing Alex’s bike and Alex had 3 huge alabaster stones clutched to his breast. He had found the stones in one of the neighbor’s yards and had asked them if he could bring them home for his Mom. Clearly I was not under appreciated. My family loved me and I needed to see the love from the place they were giving it.

Saying Good-Bye

Two week ago I went to a funeral for Arthur Burton. Unfortunately, I know very little about him. Until I went to the funeral, on April 29th, I had no idea that he had been in the Marines or held a government job. So why did I go to say good-bye to him on a rainy Wednesday? Because he touched my life. I was particularly struck by how a person (like Arthur) that I hardly knew could affect me so deeply. What I did know was that Arthur was a great man and that he had tremendous presence of spirit. He worked at Sports Fit, a local gym that I attend in the Bowie Area. In this setting he acted as an unofficial ambassador of goodwill. Seeing Arthur in the morning was like seeing the morning sun. He was always smiling and greeting people. He had a knack of looking into someone’s eyes and making them feel special. Just his smile would light up the hallway. Although Arthur was most known for shaking hands with his tennis racket at Sports Fit, I knew him for shaking hands with people. I met Arthur when I was pregnant with my 3rd child. He used to call me Mamma. I ran on the treadmill until my 9th month and even played tennis. This amused Arthur. He was always around to give me a high five, a thumbs-up or a kind word of encouragement. These little tokens of common decency meant the world to me. You never think that simply saying hello and being genuinely happy to see people can be so powerful in someone’s life, but it was for me. Arthur’s kind words kept me going. It was like getting a dose of adrenalin everyday. Sometimes, his thumbs-up gave me the strength to run an extra mile. Even though I only conversed with Arthur for about 60 seconds a day, I learned so much from him and the way that he lived his life. Arthur taught me that simple kindness and a radiating energy can change the world. If we could all emulate Arthurs approach to life there truly would be world peace. May we all touch each others lives in the way that Arthur touched mine.

Easter Tidings

What does Easter mean for you? When I was a little girl it meant going to my Great Aunt Angela's house, spending time with my cousins, finding Easter eggs and eating lamb. Holidays are all about tradition and routine. There is something reassuring in routine and that’s why it is imperative to pass these traditions on to our little ones. Like reading a book or brushing our teeth before bedtime, traditions help weather the storms of financial and social unrest and all the other disasters in our lives. No matter what happens we can always count on Peeps and Chocolate Bunnies. This year the Cochrane Family is going to New Jersey to see my Great Aunt who is now in her late 80’s. Over the years she has been a stoic pillar of the family. Aunt Angela has spearheaded family togetherness and brought everyone around the preverbal dinner table for years. She is the reason that my cousins and I are still close. Speaking of which, all of my cousins will be going home to the roost as well this year. We all feel the call to go home and experience some type of normalcy in our lives. The big change is that we are now the adults that will be hiding the eggs for our excited progeny. This Easter, I am reminded that life is about family and the warmth of a simple hug. Easter brings up so many feelings that I want to share with my 3 children. It is such a rich time of year to connect with them. I try to read them the Passion Story so that they can understand the depths of despair found in the human condition and the joy & hope of rebirth that comes on Easter morning. This week our children Alex, Zefram, and Athena chose Easter as the Theme of the Week. That means that we will talk about Easter at the dinner table every night. There will be Easter stories and my older son is already getting a head start by sketching down what Easter means to him (I believe he has a lot of references to candy). Nevertheless the lines of communication are open to what this ethereal time of year is all about. As the matriarch of our young nuclear family I am learning to build traditions like my Great Aunt Angela. I want our children to understand why the church is decorated the way that it is before they ever step foot into it; why we sing Hallelujah from Handles Messiah. But the lessons of Easter will not stop there. It will follow to the dinner table as we explain to our children why we eat the things we do. I will tell them that we eat lamb to represent the Lamb of God. Then I will follow with a story about my Uncle Lou and how he used to make sure that there was always enough lamb for everyone to eat on Easter. Aunt Angela will further enlighten their education through wheat pie, Strugala, and homemade bread with colored eggs. These are dishes that people have been making in our family for hundreds of years. Like those that celebrate Passover, there is something consoling in eating foods that tie us to the past. It restores hope in our lives. Easter is such an abundantly ritualistic holiday. There is so much to teach my children about it and with luck, they will get to spend a lifetime learning it and living the traditions we hand down to them.

Empty Bed

I got out of bed and felt an overwhelming amount of sadness. The bed was empty. Scott was in England. The fact that he was gone was not a shock. We often take trips without each other, but it struck me of how much we talk to each other. When Scott goes to Virgina or Florida he is only a text message or an email away. This is not the case from London. It's radio silence, and the silence is deafening. It was as if he was here and then snatched away. On a small scale, this is what it must feel like when someone dies. One moment they are there and the next you are reaching for the phone and realize that you can’t talk to them. The feelings of sadness touched me deeply and reminded me of how much I love Scott. He means so much to me. It makes me appreciate him so much more to realize that he will not be in my life forever. It also makes me aware of my attachment to him. In Buddhism they say that all pain and suffering comes from your attachment to things. Our biggest attachments in life (without a doubt) are our loved ones. A small controlled simulation like this makes me contemplate how I would handle a situation if the worst would ever happen. Maybe one of the things that make death so hard is that we never talk about it so we are unprepared for all the emotions that go along with it like waking up in an empty bed. For now, I am very happy that Scott is coming back in a week, and buying a GSM phone while there to end the radio silence.