Five months: He lives in me...

Today marks five months since John ended his earthly journey. And what a journey it was.  I had a rather difficult day but…for some reason, I also felt John was nearer to me than ever.

All day long, music from the show "Lion King" kept running through my head. This was a show that John and I went to, and I think it was probably John's favorite show...and one of mine, too. His particular favorite was Circle of Life. I think it was both the words and the staging for this song, which occurs at the beginning and the end of the stage show. Here’s a clip from it:

Circle of Life

My favorite—and the main one running through my head for the last day or two, is this one—He Lives in You:

He Lives in You (Reprise)

With these two songs running through my head…I was looking through some photos I had of John as a sort of comfort. And this is what I found. It’s from a trip to the local zoo that we took a few years ago…one of those accidents in photography that turns out to be treasured ones.

I’ll leave you with the photo, along with lyrics to the two songs. I’m crying too much to really type more now.

He lives in me. And to paraphrase a quote from "Wings of Desire," a favorite movie that John introduced me to when we were dating, "I can't see him...but I know he's there."

He is.

Lyrics for Circle of Life:

From the day we arrive on this planet

And blinking, step into the sun

There's more to see than can ever be seen

More to do than can ever be done

There is far too much to take in here

More to find than can ever be found

But the sun rolling high

Through the sapphire sky

Keeps great and small on the endless round

It's the circle of life

And it moves us all

Through despair and hope

Through faith and love

Till we find our place

On the path unwinding

In the circle

The circle of life

It's the circle of life

And it moves us all

Through despair and hope

Through faith and love

Till we find our place

On the path unwinding

In the circle

The circle of life.

--Elton John & Tim Rice

Lyrics for He Lives in You:

Night and the spirit of life calling mamela

And a voice just the fear of a child answers mamela

Wait, there's no mountain too great

Hear the words and have faith

Have faith

He lives in you

He lives in me

He watches over

Everything we see

Into the water

Into the truth

In your reflection

He lives in you

He lives in you

He lives in me

He watches over

Everything we see

Into the water

Into the truth

In your reflection

He lives in you

 --Music and Lyrics by Mark Mancina, Jay Rifkin, and Lebo M

True Love makes a family...67 years ago today.

It was a Tuesday. The smell of peonies was in the air. Freshly picked peonies from various friends, relatives, and neighbor's yards are in vases about the room, too; the room was in the home of the minister and his wife. The piano music begins; the pianist is crying tears...of joy. A minister waits as his son escorts his daughter--the bride--toward her groom. The groom wears a simple suit; the bride, a cocktail-length dress. They marry on a Tuesday because that's when the bride received her paycheck. The only attendants are the best man, and the maid of honor. Once married, the couple spend their first night at the groom's family's farm. It wasn't a quiet night at the family farm, as mischief-makers throw the happy couple a shivaree. Lots of banging and clanging and noise outside the window of the newlyweds.

The next day, the couple--both barely 20 years of age--begin their honeymoon with $75 in their pockets and hope in their hearts.

The date was June 18, 1946. The minister was my maternal grandfather. The pianist? My maternal grandmother. The person who gave the bride away was my uncle. The bride and groom? Delight and FD, my parents. That Tuesday, our family began.

I have always loved the story of how they met.

Mom was casually seeing someone. She always told me he was more interested in her than she him. She was 16 years old. There was to be a church picnic in the park in the town that she lived in since age 10. She invited her friend, and he asked if he could bring a couple of his friends. She agreed to this. One of his friends was...my father. Mom said she fell for him almost immediately. "It began with the smell of his leather coat," she once remarked. Sometime during the picnic, the friend asked--somewhat jokingly--"well, which one do you like best?" Mom, without pausing, pointed to Dad, a handsome young man of 16. Any attempts by any man other than my father to get Mom's attention was lost that very day. And from what I've heard, it was the same for Dad; he loved her immediately.

Later, they would carve their initials and a heart in one of the park trees. I always tried to find it when I went there as a little girl. Never did. ;)

Dad was incredibly shy. From what I was told, it took him six months before Mom and Dad kissed. And that first kiss was thanks to Dad's cousin, Leslie, who dared my mom to kiss my dad. Leslie was not only Dad's cousin, he was Dad's best friend; they were only days apart in age. Sadly, Leslie was lost when the SS Leopoldville was sunk in the English Channel on Christmas Eve, 1944. For more on the event, check out Leopoldville. Leslie's body was never recovered, though there is a memorial stone in the cemetery in the countryside near the Hicks family farm. Dad wept every time he was near that marker. I wish I could have met Leslie, as he really did help to bring our family together.

They were lovely together, by all accounts. There are no wedding photos, but there are a lot of photos of them from the early years, and they were gorgeous. Mom took him to her proms, Dad took her to his proms. A girl at one of Mom's proms, upon meeting Dad, said, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure!" And she said, "The pleasure's all MINE!" Atta girl, Mom.

Mom and Dad raised three kids--Curt, Todd, and me. And they were proud of us and encouraging in our endeavors. Though we didn't live in one of the more famous homes in Marshall, Mom was always convinced that the home would later become the place that a Supreme Court Judge, an Opera Star, and a Professional Athlete grew up. They always told us we could be anything we wanted.

One of my favorite later memories of them occurred when both were much older. I was walking behind them as we went into a restaurant or something. They were holding hands...and leaning into each other, holding each other up. Mom's feet by that time were in excruciating pain from the neuropathy, Dad's balance wasn't that good from his Parkinson's. Yet, they managed to hold each other up, just as they had done all their lives together. True love. And three pretty lucky kids borne out of that.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for helping us to become the people we are today. And your two grandchildren will carry that forward--of that, I have no doubt. You would be so proud of the young man and woman they have become.

I've been thinking all day about a song from the World War II days, and so I'll post the lyrics and a link to the song here...it's what my parents felt about each other, it's what I feel about John, too.

Love you.

Frank Sinatra sings "Always," by Irving Berlin

Always

I'll be lovin' you, always


With a love that's true, always


When the things you've planned

Need a helpin' hand


I will understand always, always



Days may not be fair, always


That's when I'll be there, always


Not for just an hour, not for just a day


Not for just a year but always



Days may not be fair, always


That's when I'll be there, always


Not for just an hour,

Not for just a day


Not for just one year
But always.

--Irving Berlin 

Curtis, my big brother.

June is a tough month; you've probably guessed that by now. John's dad on June 11, 2010; then, there's  Father's Day, my parent's anniversary (tomorrow would have been 67 years), and today...the day--fourteen years ago--I said goodbye to my big brother, Curtis. Each year is painful, and with my recent loss, it's become even more so.

This is a photo of my big brother and me; I'm guessing it's around 1962 or so. My first introduction to my brother was when I was just days-old. He held me in his arms as we went home from the hospital. Before you gasp, there were no rules about child seats in those days. I don't even know if there were child seats until quite a bit later.

This photo was probably taken sometime in mid-to-late 1960. Poor Curt. He seems to be merely tolerating me. I know that's not true, though we had our share of squabbles. But the three of us (both my brothers and I) loved/love each other fiercely, too.

Here's a photo taken probably near or on Christmas, 1966. I particularly love Curt's tie. Note the ceramic Christmas tree behind us. And I remember the dress I was wearing in this; it was red with a white Peter Pan collar. Todd would be just over a year old. Curt would have just turned 13. I was somewhere in the middle. 

This is Curt's senior picture. He graduated from Marshall High School in 1971.

I miss him and can't believe it's been so many years--nearly a lifetime--since I last saw and said goodbye to my big brother. I miss our talks. I miss how protective he was, to the point that I'm sure he chased a few potential dates I might have had away from sheer fear. 

He was a good man; he always fought for the underdog. He got me interested in beagles when he adopted his first one, Heidi, who later came to live with us. And you will soon see here that he was yet another superman in my life.

I miss his sense of humor. His teasing. His love of music--all kinds, actually--not just jazz. While he was in college, I went with him to a concert to hear Rudolph Serkin play Beethoven. We both sat in awe. He even later sang in a choir; years before, he had learned piano and clarinet and later regretted giving them up. 

He was an attorney, but not the kind people make jokes about--though he loved to collect the jokes and was greatly amused by them. He would help people--particularly senior citizens and kids--whether they had money or not. 

Someone once--in front of me--got mad at Curtis for teasing me so much. I stepped in and said, "Oh, that's okay. That's how he tells me he loves me."

Later, as the ravages of pancreatic cancer started to take him from us, he told me how proud he was of me and that he loved me. I told him the same thing. But it wasn't the first time--I knew he felt that way about me and words just underlined that knowledge.

About a day before Curt died,  he had some visitors from Indiana from when he lived there right after college, working as a juvenile probation officer (crisis intervention) before coming back to this area to go to law school. I was tired and was sitting on the couch out of Curt's view but in the same room. The morphine was starting to muddy his words a bit, but he still was making sense most of the time. Out of the blue, he said to his friends, "My sister. How I dearly love to tease her."

I know what he really meant. 

Curt, I dearly loved to tease you, too. 

Love, 

Your little sis

Father's Day

Not all heroes wear capes.

First time I saw that quote, it was on a card I found in a store just before Father's Day 2003, the first Father's Day after my dad died.

There was a photo on the card. A young boy was walking down the road holding hands with his daddy.

I've known plenty of heroes in my life. In yesterday's post, I talked about John as superman. My dad was another superman.

This was Dad before I knew him. I'm guessing he was about 18 in this photo. So much of his life ahead of him. He was a hero for being in the Army Air Corps, Air Force, Air Reserves, and Air National Guard.

But he was also a hero in other ways. Never an unkind word for anyone. He always gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. He loved his family: the family he grew up with on a farm north of the Lansing area, which included 6 siblings that grew to adulthood, and their children; his wife; his three children. I am proud to say that I was one of those children. We learned so much from him in the little things he'd do, whether it was putting the blankets over us at night, comforting us during thunderstorms, teaching all of us various sports, taking us on trips...or walks down to the fountain in town, with ice cream in hand.

And even the way he fought his illness--Parkinson's--with such dignity. Much like the battle my husband had.

I was so glad that--despite the disease taking its toll on him--Dad walked me down the aisle on September 3, 1994. I still remember how both of us cried--especially him--as we walked toward John. Both loving that this day had arrived, and yet being scared, too. Dad's first glance at me before we went down the aisle caused him to tearfully say, "You make a beautiful bride!"

His love of his family was strong. And he was a proud father. My brother says he could see Dad in his sights in Spartan Stadium as he played his horn...how Dad knew just knew where to stand was a mystery we have never solved. He went to all of our activities...he took me to Chicago to get my violin.  He cried when on his way home from dropping me off at college for the first time. "She's just a baby," he said through tears.

And I just remembered another thing my mom told me years ago. They were sitting in the waiting room of the doctor's office, waiting for one of my checkups when I was about a toddler, I think. Dad looked around the room and bragged to Mom, "No one has a daughter as beautiful as mine."

So, I have known a lot of heroes in my life. My husband. My brothers. Many many people. But my first hero? That was my father.

I love you, Daddy.

Tam

My Superman...

Man of Steel, the newest movie in the Superman genre, opened yesterday. And all day, I kept thinking about this photo.

And the ache continues. I love this photo, taken sometime last fall. I love any photos where he's looking at me with that look...because I know he IS looking at me, and maybe he's looking at me, still.

For those of you that think Clark Kent was really Superman, I hate to break the news to you...he wasn't. But people like Christopher Reeve...and my husband...were.

My ache comes in waves. I think--as usual--it's worst at night. Things that used to comfort me do not do the trick nearly as well anymore. I love the sound, for instance, of the rain on my roof. And even the thunderstorms were great, as long as I was inside and tucked safely in at night. Now, it just makes me feel lonelier. Having Elvis at my side (or more often, at my feet at night) helps a little, but it's just not the same. Elvis is a good little comforter, though, and listens to me as I talk to him at night--he may not come when I call a good share of the time, but he does listen when it's most important. Good boy.

The little area in the back is starting to be my favorite place to relax with Elvis and with perhaps a good book and a beverage. But sometimes, I just sit and listen to nature, if I don't have my Ipod playing. Today, I found an excellent deal on a little gazebo canopy. The backyard is pretty sheltered most of the time, but the sun tends to beat down on me a little too much for my light northern European skin in the afternoons, so this will be nice. I initially was going to get an umbrella, but will try this, instead. In the near future, I'll move my barbecue grill toward the back--either to the garage for easy pull-out or just in the backyard. Neighbors have been grilling and it smells so good, I just have to try it. It hasn't been used in about 2-3 years, so I'll have to do some cleaning before I use it, but that shouldn't be a problem.

I love listening to music during the day and into the evening, and my iPod is hardly out of reach. Today's soundtrack is the Atlanta Sacred Chorale, a group I just discovered accidentally while cruising the Internet. A really nice sound in just about everything they do, which ranges from spirituals, to early music, to 20th and 21st century composers. Earlier it was Beethoven...then it was Whitacre.

Today, I got my hair cut and highlighted, and that always relaxes me and makes me feel better. John always liked the way my stylist cut my hair. She does do a lovely job. And she's a good friend.

Tomorrow, my church has its annual outdoor service and picnic at a nearby park. A friend of mine and I are providing the music--my friend on guitar, me on my violin. Hoping my rusty fingers are up to it. I am feeling better and better about playing. We'll be playing some lovely and old chestnuts we've done before--the highlight for me will be Ashoken Farewell. If you are in this neck of the woods, you are more than welcome. It's at Patriarche Park in East Lansing and begins at 10 AM.

Afterward, a friend of mine from church and I will see the new movie on the big BIG screen (2D; I don't particularly care for 3D with only a few exceptions). Glad I won't be alone. But no matter what, that man on the screen won't be Superman. Not really. Having said that, I think I'll have a good time.

Tam

Crying music.

Well, it's June already. And almost halfway through it. Last Thursday marked 35 years since I graduated from high school; today, it's 30 years since I graduated from Michigan State University.

I've been doing okay...most times, managing. Most of the time, tired...sometimes to the point of exhaustion. I cannot seem to get enough sleep. Last night I was having some problems with my seasonal allergies, so I took a Zyrtec, and that seemed to have the added bonus of giving me a good night's sleep. Yet...I was so tired this morning at work!

So here's where I tell you that I went out to my car during my morning break, set my phone alarm, and took a 15 minute nap. And I slept pretty hard in that time, because when the alarm went off, I wasn't sure where I was for a moment. But it seemed to do the trick, because the rest of the day went well.

I've been managing to get yard work accomplished...still some things I'd like to do, but between the reel mower and the weed trimmer, the lawn's starting to look better. Today, I decided it'd be nice to sit in the backyard while Elvis plays. That's something I haven't done much of, before, and it occurred to me lately that it's nice out there and has the added benefit that I don't have to have Elvis tied to me like I do on the front porch. So, I hosed off a couple of old chairs (accidentally--not!--getting Elvis a little wet and refreshed..he wasn't too crazy about that) that I think first belonged to Curt; they'll dry quickly in this heat and any time I want to read a book or relax, these chairs are there...plus a little glass table that I moved from the front porch. In the mornings, it'll be shady...in the afternoons, sunny. And, as long as I wear my little repellant clip (they really work, and I like it because I don't have to spray myself with repellant--that stuff has the potential of setting my asthma off), I should be fine to sit out there and read while Elvis explores the backyard.

After the many many times he's escaped, I still don't trust him out there alone. He never tries to climb when I'm there, and seems content to check every inch of the yard to make sure we're safe.

I've felt a little sentimental and sad this evening. Music always touches me, of course...but two things hit me pretty hard this evening...yet in their loveliness, I highly recommend them as a way to give yourself a good cry.

First, I recommend the Dvorak Symphony #9, also known as the New World Symphony. A recording of this symphony was playing on the local public radio station this evening--it was from a concert played by the Lansing Symphony this past season. Truly lovely. The English horn solo in the second movement always brings me to tears, and this was no exception. Find yourself a good recording (I have the Vienna Symphony) and give it a listen. I've played it many times, as well...enough to remember the bowing and fingering, so I know it's a lot.

Here's a recording of the second movement to get you started--I think this is the Dublin Symphony. I do recommend that you listen to the entire symphony, though, when you get a chance.

Dvorak New World Symphony; movement 1, Largo

Now, to really get the tears going, listen to this movement as sung by the group Libera, a boys choir out of England.

Going Home, Libera

Here are the words:

Going home, going home

I am going home

Quiet like, some still day... I am going home


It’s not far, just close by

Through an open door


Work all done, care laid by

Never fear no more


Mother’s there expecting me

Father’s waiting, too

Lots of faces gathered there

All the friends I knew

I’m just going home


No more fear

No more pain

No more stumbling by the way

No more longing for the day

Going to run no more


Morning star lights the way

Restless dreams all gone

Shadows gone, break of day

Real life has begun


There’s no break, there’s no end

Just living on


Wide awake, with a smile

Going on and on


Going home, going home

I am going home

Shadows gone, break of day

Real life has begun


I am going home.

Very powerful, yes? I looked up some history on this song, and found this on Wikipedia:

The theme from the Largo was adapted into the spiritual-like song "Goin' Home", often mistakenly considered a folk song or traditional spiritual, by Dvořák's pupil, William Arms Fisher, who wrote the lyrics in 1922. Dvořák himself may have modeled the tune on the spirituals written by composer Harry Burleigh, whom he met during his sojourn in America.

The cool thing about this is that I love to sing Burleigh spirituals. So...there's a tie between Goin' Home and the spirituals!

Here's another clip of Libera, singing another text that brings healing tears:

Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep--Libera

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

--Mary Elizabeth Frye. 

Note that when Libera sings it, I think they change the last line to be the same as the second line. Isn't this sublime? I've always loved this poem, but now, I feel like it's a call from beyond. But sorry, John, if I still cry. Quite a bit, actually.

I have lots of goings-on these days; I keep myself busy...but not nearly as busy as I was before John's illness. I have a lot more time to reflect on things...and hopefully soon, to do a lot more writing. 

That's it for now...I'll leave you with a photo of one of John's peonies that he planted. Just for me. 

Blessings,
Tam