Days Remembered

October 28th is Ralph's birthday.  Whether he is on this earth or not, this day will always be his.  Birthdays were always one of those things that he didn't care that much about.  Through the years we learned to find a balance between the Allen celebration and the Giannini lack thereof.  It took me a long time to figure it out.  But he grew up working in his mom's restaurant so there were no real holidays or birthdays.  Life revolved around the family work schedule.  And then the same thing happened when he was running the liquor store.  In contrast, the Allens had all kinds of rites and rituals that revolved around your birthday.  In a family of 6, it was the only day of the year that was yours and everyone else had to acknowledge it.  So, for Ralph a birthday dinner was the celebration.  He got to pick the restaurant and more times than I care to remember he would try to pawn that decision off on me or the kids.  As the years went by, he came to enjoy those dinners and they took on more meaning.  He was a pretty simple guy and all he ever really wanted was to have his family around him for his birthday.  So now on this his first "heavenly" birthday, I hope that he is able to feel the love that is still so deeply felt from his family.  These anniversary days are especially hard in the grieving process.  It is the concrete reminder of the finality of death, that he is gone and it's forever.  Nothing in life is ever over or done except for death.  Grieving for me is mostly coming to terms with that.  It is the reminder that all we have is today, this moment.  So make it count.  Say I love you.  Spend time with those you care about.  Live life fully.  But when those you love have passed, remember.  Hold fast to the memories.  Go through old photographs, tell the old stories; it's up to you to make sure that they live on in the hearts of their children and grandchildren.

The Good-byes are SO Hard

It feels like all of my life I have been saying good-bye to people I love.  It's always been hard but not like this.  I left home after college and Florida to California was so far away.  I cried because of the distance and the feeling of helplessness if "anything happened."  The unnamed anything was always lurking about.  And it involved everyone - my parents, my friends, my siblings, even my grandfather.  I cried every time, every time I left.  Then the kids came and the business of them enveloped me and the sad good-byes found their place in the mess.  There was so little time to think about where I was in the world or where everyone else was.  Time marched on.  Once the generational aging began the sadness returned.  I returned to Florida or Iowa and said my good-byes but something new took the place of the sadness.  It was gratitude and what if.  Thank you for this time together.  If it's the last time I see these loved ones, I will hold it in my heart forever.  What if I never see them again?  Life carried on.  The kids grew up.  Grandchildren came.  The grandparents passed on as they are expected to and things seemed right.  I had adjusted to leaving Florida and returning and leaving again.  My parents were healthy and everything seemed fine.  Now I find myself back in Florida which feels right in part of my life but now the California piece of my life is floating about and I can't seem to grasp it.  And that California piece is huge - both wide and deep.  It is friends, it is my children, it is my grandchildren, it is the feeling of home. These are big chunks of my heart - the kinds of chunks that if they were removed, I would die.  I have left California 4 times in the last 2 months and each time got harder.  I can barely speak the day of my departure for fear that I will melt into tears.  And one thing that my family did not need lately is one more person falling apart.  So my feelings are left unsaid.  I leave with a smile so that those left behind will know that I love them and that I'm OK.  But I'm not OK.  I am sad.  I am sad for days.  I am left with an emptiness because all this love is left inside of me instead of inside of my children and grandchildren.  Everyone says, "Oh I know.  The good-byes are hard."  But I don't think they do.  I'm not sure about the value of saying "I know.."  No one can know this pain, this feeling of dis-ease.  What you can know is how deeply I love these people in my life and that maybe, just maybe the sadness will find its place and that it will start to get easier one day.