by Allison Moore | Aug 24, 2018 | Day by Day |
“You can’t cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water.” —Rabindranath Tagore
Justine and I have been swimming a lot lately. It’s been so uncomfortably hot this summer and my good friend Sandy, who lives nearby, lets us use her pool whenever we ask. This is the same pool that I spent so many mornings in the weeks after Vernon died. It seemed like I always wanted to be in the water then. In the hospice weeks, when I stayed in hotels near the nursing home, I made sure they all had swimming pools and dipped in every afternoon. I’d never been much of a swimmer, but feeling weightless in the water must have brought some kind of comfort. Being underwater felt more like being in another world—a silent, dappled universe so distant from the dry land of humans and all its stress and death. I wanted to grow gils so I’d never have to return to the surface. I worked at holding my breath longer.
I decided I wanted to become a swimmer. The bottom had fallen out of all the systems I thought I could trust, reality was unreal. Why shouldn’t I become a swimmer if I decided to? I could be anything. After all, I had no identity for that period time: stripped down to simply being a woman vaguely in charge of some children. I bought goggles and a rubber cap. I imagined that with practice, I’d soon be doing fifty laps without stopping. But of course I was very sloppy. Just a few laps would wind me—it’s hard on the lungs, this exercise. I had no clue how to pace myself. And after that first month or so, when the morning air got cooler, I forgot my ambitions and tried something else to ease my grief and help me move forward: What would I be? I could be anything. I could learn anything. But I still didn’t know what I wanted. I was merely trying things out to see what would help, what would stick. All I knew is that my old life was behind me, and I was someone new that had never existed before. I didn’t know my own self anymore. I didn’t know her yet.
Now, I’m far from an excellent swimmer, but I’m better than I used to be, and I love being in the pool. My alien new self feels at home immediately. At this significant time of year, I’ve been thinking about the water and how many times I used that metaphor to describe parts of our journey with the ailing Vernon: mermaids, scuba diving, sea mammals surfacing…the sensation of drowning, This entry about the Ocean was posted after Vernon died exactly two years ago today. To my mind, its the most significant thing I’ve ever written. (I hope it stays that way.)
I want to stretch out a little more on the subject of swimming and talk about the healing the old stories that we’ve let define us. The summer I was twelve, while boogie-boarding with my friends at a San Clemente beach, I got caught in a rip tide. I would have drowned if a lifeguard hadn’t finally seen me and fished me out. I was terrified and humbled, and because my family moved away at the end of that summer, I never had to face my fear by getting back in the water. When we’d visit, I’d just stay on the shore. Playing in those waves didn’t appeal to me at all. But earlier this month, at our family reunion, a group of us went to the beach. I watched my younger brother dive in and start body surfing in the waves. He looked so great and natural, as if he was part dolphin, having so much fun. As I watched him, I had such a strong impulse that I wanted to have that kind of fun too. Suddenly it was time. I marched down to the water, unusually warm for California (turns out it was a record temperature that day, lucky me!) and made my way to him. “I want to do what you are doing. Show me how!” And we played and laughed and dunked under the waves together like kids. My arms felt strong, I knew I could swim. In that moment, my story had completely changed. I was now someone who enjoyed being in the sea. I wasn’t afraid. I was no longer living the story I’d believed for so long. At the end of the weekend, my brother and I agreed that that day was the highlight for both of us—we had so much fun together and felt so free.
Of course we all want to avoid trauma, but in time, and with work, its not without its gifts. It transforms you…and sometimes even makes pathways to healing that you never would have discovered without it.
by Allison Moore | Aug 20, 2018 | Day by Day |
School starts tomorrow. Maki and I are ready. Not so sure about the little one who, for the past few weeks, covers her ears and shouts “I don’t want to hear it” anytime I mention the word school. That said, it was probably the best summer we have had as a family. Maki stayed in California for the first time ever, which allowed us to relax in and out of each other’s schedules in a way that we can never do during the school year. We had a lot of fun: art lessons with Justine’s friends and band practice with Maki’s, visiting cousins from seemingly everywhere, getting to the beach to escape the heat, and way too many cartoons. Still its going to be a shock to all of us at 6.45 tomorrow morning. Cold Turkey.
Earlier today, a friend of mine mentioned that she knew it was a “big week” ahead for us, and was I ok? I assumed she meant summer ending and school starting. “Oh yes, it will be fine. I thought I’d have the house clean and supplies bought and organized, but I think this year we are just going to roll into it, and straighten up as the week goes on and we are forced to accept its ” (This is the beauty of Public School.) She gently laughed and told me that she meant Vernon’s passing-anniversary, which falls this next Friday. Then I realized how it hadn’t come to mind. I mean, I think of it a little here and there, maybe even every day for the past couple of weeks, but its a thought that soon disappears behind other thoughts, more current thoughts, like whatever is happening right now. I really didn’t expect to be so nonchalant about this year’s moment. As I’ve said before, last year’s grief seemed to hit so hard for most of August and September. I expected to at least have my guard up. But strangely, that hasn’t been necessary yet.
What a strange thing to not feel so sad about the sad things. Yes, of course it is still sad…its a sad story. But when I talk about him, I feel like I’m speaking from a distance now, another story that happened among many other stories in my life. Yes, it was the absolute worst one, and it was horrible and so unfair, but with a little time, it sort of blends into the collection of books in my body’s library. Again, let me stress it was a really transformative, important book. But now with a few smaller but still-interesting books under my belt, my imagination has blossomed, and I’m fascinated by the prospect of new stories, new pages, new voices.
I wonder if this has something to do with feeling like I was married twice. I was married to Vernon v.1 for 7.5 years, and I was married to Vernon v.2 for another two and a half. It mixes up, sometimes I miss the connection I had with the first one, but it seems so long ago now since he was here, I have to grasp the air to remember what that was. And I’m grateful to the second version in all his awkward helplessness because he taught me about a deeper substance of love that was in me somewhere after all. So it’s likely in the rest of you too, hidden away, a mysterious, beautiful strength you find when you need it (but possibly only then.)
I loved both of him. And both of him loved me. Both of him loved the children (whether they understand that yet or not.) That is a lot of love to experience. Now we know that we can live well without him too. All that love doesn’t just disappear though: it moves in my relationship with the kids, in whom I see more of their dad all the time. It moves in their connection with each other. I find I can even offer it to myself. It’s a strange kind of physics how our hearts divide and expand and keep going and giving regardless. This year, at this time, I am more interested in growth than grief. I’m sure he’d be happy with that. He’d be proud of us no matter what.
I’m especially grateful to have his two children in my life, these young fellow travelers, my anchors to the present…and I’m also happy to send them back to school tomorrow. 🙂
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PS I also reserve the right to feel totally sad again whenever the grief comes next. I understand it never fully goes away and can sneak up on a person. The waves are rarely as strong as they were in the first year, and much of the fog as lifted. Its good to not feel defined by loss.
by Allison Moore | Aug 13, 2018 | Day by Day |
“As a child of God, I am greater than anything that can happen to me.” —A. P. J. Abdul Kalam
We’ve entered the sacred month of August, round three. The first year, of course, was that wild season of hospice, when we folded our entire beings into saying goodbye over 14 days instead of the anticipated eight. And then last year, at least for me, the whole month of August (and a few weeks in July) took me through a tug-of-war of feeling numb and desperately sad. This summer has been so busy, especially toward the end, that I haven’t been able to stop and make the annual grief review. But I can certainly report that its been much more mellow and pleasant than the previous two Augusts. From what I hear from those who have walked this road before me, this means absolutely nothing. Next year, or the Fifth year, or even the fiftieth year can be the surprise bang that takes you for a tumble under the waves again, gasping for breath, and scathed by the sharp sand below the surface.
Earlier this week, I was reminded that it had been two years to the day that Maki had been sent for early from visiting his New Zealand family. I remember telling the surgeon who first unofficially broke the news that Vernon might not make it (before Palliative Care or the Chaplain came in to tell me later) that I wouldn’t want to take him off dialysis until at least his son came back. I couldn’t live with myself if he died before Maki saw him. He arrived within a couple of days, a doctor’s note convincing the airline not to make new charges. I remember this blog entry that spoke about the sudden shift in the plan.
Here is a photo of the kids when I they first saw each other again that summer. Both had just come home from respective trips: Maki to New Zealand and Justine to visit cousins in Kansas City with my mom. Maki knew by then, Justine was about to be told. Here is a photo of the two of them reunited that day.
And here are a few pictures of later on:
HOWEVER…this isn’t just about memories of the past. It’s also a time to reflect on how things have changed since then. And nothing has changed more than the children. Here is a picture of them together just last week. I’ve never seen them looking so similar, so both like their dad, at the same time.
I’m so grateful for their sweet relationship, admittedly not always smooth with an 8 1/2 year difference, but obviously close—and delightful to witness. They’ve been through a lot together, that’s for sure. I probably should have found more happy, smiling photos to make my point. But they are the sadder, wiser types that are able to see life both full and half-full at once. We are in this together!
Maki, now 16, is starting his Senior Year of High School next week. What a milestone that feels like. He’s doing great, he has a job, great friends, a girlfriend, and he’s starting to plan a path for his potential. He knows so much about so many things. He’s often been called an old soul, and it seems to be true. Shortly, after Vernon died, we discussed what he would throw his energy into, and he chose his music. It’s quite incredible to look at how he has grown that passion and ability since then. Now it’s his plan: he wants to be a sound engineer, and after first learning guitar, he has taught himself how to play piano as well as drums, let alone the music mixing software. I’m so proud of him. I’d go on, but I know privacy is also important to him. 🙂 However, I will say, that as he gets older, he reminds me more and more of how his dad must have been when he was young.
Justine will be going into 3rd grade. She’s my sidekick, and I am so thankful for her affectionate and expressive ways. Because we are so similar (or is that different?) in so many ways, I am digging my heels in for the next decade of growing up together. It’s clearly going to be a fantastic voyage. She is amazing…always keeping me on my toes with the wise, honest things she says and her sharp intuition/questions about life and people. I am happy they are both so smart, but I think that is mostly due to Vernon. I can hardly keep up, to be honest. Both children are wonderful humans, and I’m truly blessed to have them in my life, always helping to move me into the next best me. However weird and unconventional our family at times may seem, we do support one another. (I often tell them that “weird” should be a compliment.)
The moment after Vernon died, I remember my specific thought: “I need to get back home to the kids. I need to make sure they are ok.” It felt as if I hadn’t really been there for them as they deserved those years I’d been caring for Vernon. That thought ruled my mind for the next two years…it still does, but I’m beginning to relax and understand that they are far better than ok. They are truly magnificent children who will become even better adults in time.
I used to think I was taking care of them. But now I understand that they were saving me. I used to think I could parent them into their best selves. Now I understand they are turning me into the parent I am. They are childrening me. And so we continue to grow into our next selves together.
by Allison Moore | Jul 16, 2018 | Day by Day |
Maki has very special visitors at the moment. 11 of them to be exact…his mum and stepdad and his little brother and sister from New Zealand and aunts, uncles, cousins, and his grandmother from Norway—every single person he is related to on his mother’s side. It seems that southern California is as convenient as it gets for a half-way point family reunion. I think we are all a little dazed in the experience, but its been great!
This year, Maki told his mum that this year he wanted to stay in California, especially as it was the last summer before his senior year in high school. He’s never spent a summer here in the six years since we moved to California. Instead, he asked if she would visit him in his world. Not only did she agree, but the whole family decided to come and check out his town. It’s really quite amazing.
They’ve been staying at an Airbnb in Oceanside, about a half hour south of us. It’s a great house, a perfect base for all of them in as they choose their own adventures. Maki has been with them there, and Justine and I have gone down several times to join them. Synnove, Maki’s mother, recognizes that having a new place to base their California vacation memories is I met most of them last summer, when I visited Norway with Maki. But it was still a poignant moment for me the first evening we all ate together after taking the children to the beach:Just as the sun was setting, I looked up from the end of the long table on the restaurant’s rooftop space, counting 13 other people, all coming together to show their support at making an internationally blended family work. It IS work, there is a lot of loss and too much distance involved on both sides. But who cares anymore? The point is, we are all deeply connected by the love of a young man that we want to see thriving and strong as he goes into his future. We know him in different ways, and all of them are valuable and valid.
Even Justine and Jennifer, Maki’s little sisters, both eight years old, understand that their family has grown. Now they call each other sisters. Justine says she has two brothers now, Maki and Daniel and one sister, Jennifer. Some of them just happen to live somewhere else. She loves adding cousins and aunts and uncles to her expanded family too. Jennifer asked me yesterday if I was her step-mother. After some explaining to a confused little face, I decided to agree with her: “If that makes the most sense, then yes, I guess I’m your step-mother.” So I guess I inherited a bunch of new kids too!
So for those who can’t get over the differences and the distances in their own families, I offer this page from our book. It’s possible. LOVE is the most powerful force of all, if you remember to let it come to the surface where it can do its best work.
Here are the kids yesterday at the Laguna Art Festival, where my mother is exhibiting her work. They are are all focused on making ink prints. Magnus: Norway, Jennifer: Norway/New Zealand, Maki: England/Norway (with USA Green Card), Maria: Norway, Justine: England/USA, Daniel: Norway/New Zealand. If anyone asks me why I don’t believe in borders, I can show them this photo, I suppose. I love all these little citizens of the world. What a delight it is to have them come together.
by Allison Moore | Jun 21, 2018 | Day by Day |
While I was visiting England in late April, I was invited to interview with a friend at BBC Radio 5. (This is a different BBC interview than the one I shared last year…which is still online here, by the way!) I’m grateful to have had so many chances to talk about him in his home country. This particular interview focused on the story of his fonts and how I still see them everywhere, and it also touches on our early years together as well as the after-effects of Vernon’s accident. Suzanne, the interviewer, had known us when we all lived in the same English town of Reading, and she followed the story up to now. . Take a listen if you have the time, it’s about a half hour long, Here is the link. My part of the program starts at the 2.34.00 mark, so forward to that point to hear me. (Otherwise you’ll be listening to 2 and a half hours of last week’s news first.)
Here is a short little video they made as well…it explains how I feel about the legacy of creativity after we go. Feel free to share the link so we can pass the story on! A gift that keeps giving.
If you’d like to use the free Amatic font made by Vernon: just click HERE.
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