Mom Yesterday I had coffee with a friend I met at one of my dozen or so jobs I have had in the past decade. We had not seen one another since my long period of sadness, loss and grief. 90 minutes after spending time in Stephanie’s company, I felt like my old self again! The striking similarities between our menopausal experiences and ultimate arrival at the liberating “I do not care anymore” stage of womanhood made me feel more connected to life than I have in months. Literally, Stephanie, you brought me back to life! That’s the wonderful thing about friendship: to find in another person a real sense of comfort and familiarity that lasts over time is the greatest gift.
This morning, still bolstered by the sisterhood of laughing with Stephanie, I am reminded of my special friends in the pediatric rehabilitation program I worked in for a couple of years. “B,” with his sweet and dedicated Occupational Therapist, worked on this drawing depicting the distance between himself and me. The day they gave this to me I knew I would laminate it and keep it forever. Those friendships with children with disabilities and their caregivers/therapists are among the most sacred I have ever known in my life. I think I became delighted with “B” from day one because he looked me soulfully in the eyes and always made it clear he was completely contented just to be near me. No distance between us.
I have realized that I am one of those “Gen X” girls with ADHD who was never diagnosed. I have stumbled through life feeling ashamed of my lack of organizational and time management skills, and have often felt humiliatingly confused by “hidden cues” people give in the social-emotional realm. For example, I had a friend I thought I connected with beautifully, only to discover she had been “growing tired of” me for months and ultimately took to her social media to proudly declare to her followers that she had recently “downgraded someone from friend to acquaintance” without ever speaking to them (ME!). I reeled from confusion, shame, anger and utter disbelief from this experience for more than a year. Because I have ADHD, I do not let go of things as easily as “neurotypicals” so this hurt cut me deeply in ways that surprised me. After practicing a lot of lovingkindness (from the great meditation teacher Sharon Salzberg), I am learning to separate experiences from my feelings about them and thereby release shame I often feel for “not getting the point” as soon as neurotypical people!
Then there is sweet “B” and darling Stephanie who validated every experience we talked about over coffee. I have felt so alone in the middle believing there were no friends who would be willing to meet me there. “B” even graphically depicted his willingness to meet me all the way at my doorstep. And no “complicated cues” or backstabbing social media posts, just presence and contented kinship. “B” could teach a lot of people about friendship, and maybe this is the writing opportunity I have been looking for.
For now, I am grateful for the moments of authentic recognition and respect I share with my friends. As far as my “downgraded acquaintance status,” as stinging as those words were spoken by someone I cared for and trusted, I am happy to report that you can downgrade me, baby, but you will never find me downcast. I am too busy laughing with “B,” Stephanie and the handful of kind souls in my life. Friends are a blessing to enjoy, not a puzzle or conundrum to sort out.
Love, my beautiful little undiagnosed but lovable ADHD heart
Today marks two years since my Mom passed away. I still hear her voice but her singularly calming, practical presence is missing. Her bluntly honest remarks often caught people off guard or made them laugh (if not a little bit uncomfortably). I don’t know too many people who are both blunt and smart. Generally, I just feel disappointed with the world and miss Mom especially because her confidence and clear communication was always one thing I knew I could rely on in this world.
I have become permanently impatient with people who are reluctant to make decisions – or more precisely – accept responsibility for making them, when it seems like such an important time to respond to the urgency in our world. The last 3 jobs I have held all curiously presented the same set of frustrations: people “in charge” who wanted authority but either had no desire, impetus or wisdom to exercise their authority. I would bring important issues to leaders that impacted my day to day (and would result in wasting resources if left spinning indecisively) only to be pushed off for some future date when making a decision would become clearer for them. What? I remember thinking, “Dude, you are literally being PAID to make DECISIONS. Like, that’s your JOB!” as I walked away in frustration. But the universe continued to present this frustrating set of circumstances to me over a period of several years in jobs I grew to strongly dislike – so there must be a good reason, eh?
I have concluded that this lesson repeatedly appeared in my work life because there was something else I needed to be doing. Primarily, listening to my own voice and cultivating the “meaning” that I found so disappointingly missing elsewhere – within myself. As a woman approaching 60, it’s fair to say I have spent two decades devoted to my family. Not just the person who made sure tasks were completed – but real, geniune, from the heart devotion – the kind you feel towards your first love. As an empty nester, I’m still very devoted to children. On this rainy morning of the anniversary of my Mom’s death, I just returned from delivering a birthday package and cake from Birthday Connections to a child in need who currently lives in a domestic violence shelter. I feel really good about having the privilege to be in a place in my life where I can play a small role in uplifting another person and be true to something I feel devoted to in my heart. I think Gen Z’ers would call this “Alignment.”
A new friend of mine surprised me yesterday with a “Yahrzeit” candle – a memorial candle in the Hebrew tradition to light on the date of a loved one’s passing and keep lit for 24 hours of remembering, honoring the deceased, performing acts of charity in their memory, etc. I had already intentionally chosen to volunteer today for Birthday Connections as a way to honor my Mom, who successfully nurtured and raised seven children. But the Universe really wanted me to “get” this lesson, so my friend Shelly, who has experienced much loss, generously opened her heart and gifted me this beautiful and gentle tradition. I am so grateful and deeply comforted by her kind act. In the Christian tradition, lighting a candle is a form of “devotion” – recognizing the sacred in another person and memorializing their goodness through prayer and remembrance. It isn’t even noon yet and already I can say I have fulfilled the mission of this day – and will spend the next several hours in gratitude and restful contemplation.
We are all born to discover our unique gifts. As Ralph Waldo Emerson beautifully writes in an essay:
“Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for me. Therefore the poet brings his poem; the shepherd, his lamb; the farmer, corn; the miner, a stone; the painter, his picture; the girl, a handkerchief of her own sewing.”
The gift of intentionally (decisively) honoring my Mom’s memory today and practicing devotion in her memory by supporting a local child in need brings me to my final thought – my destiny. I honestly am starting to believe that my destiny in life is to be a “feeler of big feelings” and conduit for people who may not recognize or articulate their own. In other words, I’m the uninhibited person in the room who will say something awkward that is maybe cringe but also funny – and potentially touches another person’s heart so that healing can begin. So far, I have been fortunate to be able to recognize mostly good things from the painful experiences I have had in life. And without fail, honest and good-hearted people have met me along the way to help me make sense of recent losses and pain.
I will conclude with a thought about recovery. Lately I have been thinking that I have not been very “emotionally sober,” even though I do not drink alcohol anymore to survive big feelings. There have been a couple of major losses in a short period of time in my life and many days, I find myself “growling” at the world instead of living in gratitude and bowing in reverence towards my good fortune. This is why I am considering going back to a 12-step recovery program and actively working the steps of AA. An old friend has recently reappeared in my life and kindly offered to accompany me as I start this journey over – in search of emotional sobriety. Rolf Gates, a brilliant yoga instructor and recovery writer, writes in his “Daily Reflections on Addiction, Yoga, and Getting Well”:
“Much of early recovery was like finding the bodies trapped in the snow after an avalanche. Frozen in their last moments – new boots, worn parkas, bits of scarf. My sadness was overwhelming. My 12-step sponsor, Henry, knew this about me. He was kind to my sorrow. There were no answers for what broke my heart. There was no getting any of it back….
….Henry would look at some broken part of my life, lift an eyebrow, and drawl, “what is was like.” We would laugh until tears came to our eyes at what it was like and would be no more.
Reflection:
Life has put people in your life who have not been afraid of your sadness. Thank them with your heart. Maybe thank them in person. Who has helped you laugh the laugh of freedom?”
The people who are appearing in my life who are not afraid of my sadness are helping me heal and discover new ways to use parts I have previously discarded and labeled “broken.” To me, this is a destiny worth fighting for and enjoying.
There are a lot more wrinkles on my face and I have a lot less motivation to do anything about it;
The months drift along like a river, offering days to be gentle and moments to be determined and focused, either way, doing nothing and doing something – the river roils about its business;
Truly delighting in the company of another is the closest we come to our best, fully human nature, and spending too much time alone causes our hearts, souls and minds to atrophy;
Choosing what not to worry about is possibly the most important distinction we make between living and dying;
Letting go brings multitudes of joy and illumination, if you can withstand the temporary pain of shedding an attachment to an illusion;
Gentleness is the greatest manifestation of strength, if only the mind would allow our heart to lead;
These photos depict 2 days of my life 25 years apart – delighting in the company of my baby daughter and cuddling with my new kitten, both moments weaving together a life of savoring what might otherwise be forgotten;
I was telling friends our parenting challenges and the many ways institutions devised to “track progress” and label your child’s productivity but the best parenting advice we ever received was simply to strive to remain connected to the humans we cared for;
Staying connected and seeking ways to make the puzzle pieces fit seems a much better framework for moving through pain toward oneness to me;
Back to the wrinkles, the subject of nearly daily dread and obsession – shouldn’t I be more focused on the smile and sparkle of the eyes, those seem to be the same and they are the best measure of a life well lived;
Remembering love is a far richer use of the time I have left on this Earth than counting heartaches and insults – why not begin again today?
Until 5 days ago, I thought my children and a select few friends were the only people I knew with the quality I call “quiet knowing.” It’s the rare and beautiful way of showing up in the world for the people you love simply, modestly and matter-of-factly that says “I see you. I support you. I love you.” It stands out to me because there are so many people in the world with needy and inflated egos these days – desperately searching for affirmation and approval for displaying basic human decency. Or “friends” who are ready with empty words and promises that are really lazy traps to just keep giving the relationship a mild pulse for social appearances or some unforeseen future need. I will admit to failing to recognize “fake friends,” even at my ripe age of 59. They rob you of energy and time you will never recover. They confuse you with words that never quite match their actions. And most importantly, they are always unavailable when you need them the most.
My niece’s quiet and simple gesture while visiting family in Chicago that was so like things my own children have done sent my heart soaring. “This is Quiet Knowing!” my intuition screamed. I love quiet knowing because it comes from someone who is sincere, self-assured and gently well intended. I walked into my nephew’s home for an annual family gathering, greeted warmly by children, dogs, laughter and the anticipation of a fun reunion. As I entered the kitchen, my niece, Rhetta, welcomed me and said, “I have this non-alcoholic rose if you’d like,” as she casually nodded toward a lovely tray with beverages and pretty glasses assembled for the gathering. It wasn’t cheap grape-juice based nonalcoholic wine, either, which tells me she respects my taste and maturity. It was also more than just a regular “warm welcome.” It was love, kindness, support and quiet knowing all wrapped in one genteel effort. That’s not just classy it is downright soul-shatteringly beautiful. It says: “Here you are and here I am meeting you where you are.” My niece told me she loved and respected me all in one brief exchange that I have not stopped thinking about since I returned home. So I decided I had to write about it. We must support the Quiet Knowers in our lives because they deserve to be in our innermost circle of cherished people. Rhetta did not mean to be gushed over in this way, for sure. That’s another reason why this act of quiet knowing must be celebrated, honored and remembered. She has now joined the sacred group of quiet knowers in my family – Isa and Mario.
Isa has always been a quiet everything: observer, friend, helper. When Mario’s dear friend Zech passed away in high school, Quiet Knower Isa got in her car and drove from college to surprise her hurting brother and be by his side to support and love him. There was no bravado, no fancy words were exchanged. Isa just solemnly entered the house and hugged her brother – letting him know she wanted to help ease and absorb his sorrow. Quiet Knowing is extraordinary love and strength. We all felt it but Isa did not need praise or recognition. She gave her brother the gift of her presence and that was that. In her wake of quiet knowing, we all felt a little bit less heavy and sad.
Mario showed me his Quiet Knowing earlier this year when we tragically lost our dear friend Caryl. When he learned that Caryl’s friend Kris, both Moms of great friends of his, was struggling to find the strength to speak at the celebration of life, Mario volunteered to speak on her behalf. Quiet Knowing at a time of deep sorrow and helplessness – the child showed us he was now a man. He actually stood at the podium in front of a couple hundred people on a freezing January day with me and opened with, “Hey everybody, I’m Mario” and in that moment of quiet knowing, Mario’s beautiful display of strength and tenderness made us all feel a little bit better.
I know I am extremely lucky to only look as far as my immediate family for this strength and love. Quiet Knowing cannot be taught and somehow these family members with amazing hearts simply share them without being asked or needing praise. Look for the Quiet Knowers in your midst and try to appreciate the enormous strength they have shared with you today. I know I will be spiritually weightless for quite some time.
In 2 weeks, I will celebrate TEN YEARS SOBER!! Getting sober was the single most impactful (and difficult) thing I have done in my life. I have 10 years of supporting evidence that I will not bore you with, you will just have to trust me. TRUST is the operative word because before I got sober, I had forgotten how to trust myself. Walking through life distrusting one’s own impressions, intuitions, thoughts and feelings can lead to long-term nervous system dysregulation and persistent and extreme feelings of anxiety, burnout and depression. This was my life off and on, even during periods when I was not binge drinking, for 40 years.
Shackled to my own perceptions of existential threats, I once experienced life as a daily pop quiz for which I was unprepared. Why didn’t I trust myself and my own unique strengths and capabilities? How could a person ever learn to hang their self image on the validations of others? I think you have to begin teaching children in early childhood ways to reassure themselves that they are safe and supported. Allowing self-expression of “big emotions” instead of punishing disruptions in the day helps children learn that, even though they are not “big people,” their fears, needs and feelings are valid, important and worth pausing with a safe adult to co-regulate. This was unheard of in the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s when I was growing up. So dysregulated people often reached for ways to numb those big feelings they never learned to trust and process. Hi, my name is Joan, and I’m an alcoholic.
10 years ago I did not have this clarity about how I had developed such a dysfunctional relationship with alcohol. I only knew that if I did not find sustainable recovery, my family was doomed and I would forever regret it. Self-blame came second nature to me, so I just assumed I was a weak and flawed human, incapable of “controlling” my alcohol intake, so I first stepped into recovery full of guilt, self-loathing and shame. Not very pleasant or motivating emotions to sustain recovery, to say the least.
If I have learned anything these past ten years it is this: you absolutely cannot hate yourself into changing. Long term, sustainable recovery from addiction requires lovingkindness towards oneself – it’s like building a real foundation of stone instead of pretty rainbows that can vaporize the moment the atmosphere changes.
To create a loving space for myself to understand and change the ways I have sought safety from my own fears and anxieties through alcohol and in unhealthy relationships, the best tool I have discovered is practicing mindfulness. Buddhist meditation and mindfulness/lovingkindness teacher Sharon Salzberg talks about “add ons” – all the mental and emotional fears, biases, beliefs that we overlay onto our present experience, in a talk she gave to to the Mindfulness Association called “Look for the Add Ons”:
“One classical meaning of mindfulness is a quality of awareness where our perception of what’s happening in the present moment is not distorted by bias. So old fears, old habits, projections into the future – whatever it may be – may well arise – but they don’t take over. A very common one would be something like feeling a physical pain or heartache and immediately thinking, “What’s it going to feel like in ten minutes? What’s it going to feel like in a week? What’s it going to feel like in a month?” So we are not only experiencing the actual distress of now – but we are now adding all that anticipation to it, often feeling just overcome and defeated. And giving up. So it’s not that the pain feels glorious. And it’s not that the impulse to add on will rise, but it need not take over. ” She goes on to tell a story of a time she was teaching with Joseph Goldstein when a person described tension they felt in their jaw and concluded that they would “I am an incredibly uptight person and always have been and always will be. And I have never been able to get close to people and it will never change.” Joseph responded, “You mean you felt a lot of tension in your jaw. Why are you adding a miserable self-image to a painful experience? ” In this exchange, Joseph Goldstein kept reminding the man of his experience in this moment, only to be met by ever more elaborate stories (add-ons) by him. He concludes, “It is geniuinely painful to feel the tension in your jaw. But on top of that, you are now going to be alone for the rest of your life.”
“In mindfulness meditation, we look for the add-ons. We look for what might be added on to the direct experience and see if we can relinquish the hold of those add-ons. It’s not that they won’t arise, they won’t be tempting – but they needn’t take over.”
I was 49 years old when I decided to get sober and my children were 14 and 16. It was a very busy time in our household. My husband was working hard re-building his law practice after an 8-year hiatus. My daughter was exploring her independence as a new driver with friends I did not know very well. And my son was struggling with his own anxiety and depression and desperately needed a healthy, attentive, responsive caregiver. I told my AA sponsor more than once, “How can I take care of myself right now when my family needs ALL of me?” It seemed insurmountable to do both. “Take care of yourself first and the rest will fall into place,” she repeated to me hundreds of times. This was counterintuitive to me and required a leap of faith. I felt enormous guilt for “being flawed” and “inadequate.” Those feelings, I discovered many years later became huge add-ons. Just because in the moment I was feeling flawed and inadequate, I made the hugely illogical conclusion that I was permanently incapable of changing. That’s not a great mindset for quitting alcohol, let me tell you!
Like this beautiful lilac bush that was once a tiny sapling from the Wal-Mart garden center I had forgotten I had even planted in the home we left behind in 2010, little by little, and with lots of practice and support, I started to grow and feel better. When I look at this photo my friend Lorna recently shared to show me its progress (current resident of the country home we build and lived in when the children were very young), it strikes me that is is a metaphor for my life emerging from addiction into sobriety. Looking at it I see a hint of the whimsy I so enjoy about life. And it brings me back to my purpose in life: to enjoy the beauty of each moment and attempt to capture some of that whimsy for those I love.
You can’t experience whimsy if you are stuck in the weeds of add-ons, afraid to feel your feelings in the moment, knowing that they will always rise and fall and throughout, you will be okay. I see today how narrowly I escaped never feeling whimsy again had I not listened to my inner voice urging me to find a better way to live 10 years ago. Whimsy is essential to living a full life.
“People who are full of whimsy are odd, but often fanciful and lovely,” (according to Google!). I like home best with my dog, cat and family, nestled in by the fire with pretty lights and books. Simple joys bring lasting comfort and don’t require wine.
How did things turn out for my family, ten years after the turbulence that led to my decision to get sober? Beautifully. Somehow, with lots of support, I was able to simultaneously take care of myself and my family and give them what they needed. We are close and loving and enjoy laughing together. Whenever one person is hurting, we all feel it and find ways to support one another. My lifelong dream of building a happy family is fulfilled. As I approach my 60’s as a sober person, I plan to make whimsy more of a priority. This could show up as homemade jam I gift friends and family or a day trip to visit Clydesdale horses “just because.” I don’t take it for granted – this whimsy has been hard earned!
The work and the whimsy will continue. I am hoping they yield entertaining stories to share with the world.
My son is about to graduate from college and he just texted me to say he has his first official job offer that happens to be 18 hours away from home. He has the most enormous heart and my Momma heart aches when I think about sending him out into the world. This is fiction, of course, since he will be turning 25 later this year and has long been tending to his gentle heart in the cold world. He will be fine and he will always lead with love.
Our dear Caryl is missing from the picture right now and I want to howl over the unfairness and anger I feel for the immense hole her absence has left for so many of us. She loved Mario and celebrated all of our wins as though we were her family. She and her family became our chosen family, as well as the extended tribe of friends she always included in her circle of care. She would be so genuinely happy and proud right now to see Mario pursue his passion and fly on his own. I miss her so much it is painful. Instead of looking for “the bigger lesson” as to why she had to leave so cruelly young, I will try to take a cue from her playbook of love and be happy, loving and supportive of those in my life who are here now.
At her celebration of life, a woman I have never met approached me after I read my thoughts (see previous post, “Caryl with a Y”) and said, “How wonderful for you to have been lucky enough to belong to her tribe. It makes me wish I had been part of her tribe!” Right before I read my tribute to Caryl, Mario read her dear friend Kris’s words about experiencing early motherhood together and walking one another through the parenthood journey with humor. Mario volunteered to read Kris’s words when she shared she just did not think she could get through it with such a heavy heart. I don’t know many young men who would offer to step in at such a tender time, but that was the moment I realized my son had become a wonderful man. It hurts very much to have gotten to this moment and not have Caryl to hug and celebrate with.
Many years ago, we gave Mario a health club membership before he could drive to give him someplace to go shoot hoops and hang out during the summer months. One day I came to pick him up and saw him walking alongside a very elderly woman and deep in conversation with her. When he got in the car I asked how shooting hoops had gone and he replied, “I never got around to it. I was in the hot tub with that old lady talking the whole time.” Listening to this, I had a hard time not losing it over the sweetness of his big heart. I just said it was as important to invest time and energy into people as it was to get exercise and I was proud of him for using his time that day in a way that his heart had led him. When I shared this story with Caryl, her eyes brimmed with tears and she let me know that Mario would always be okay because of his character. The same is true for her sweet boys, and in her memory, I plan to keep the door open with them so they will know they have a special place to go where they are loved.
These past few months have taught me you can arrive at milestones in your life and not have the people you thought would be traveling all roads with you at your side. I’m sad my son’s happy story is tainted with grief but immeasurably grateful that Caryl was a true witness to our family for many years. We hurt, we grow, we move on. Our hearts have little stitches that bear witness to the love we continue to hold. Soon, we will celebrate Mario’s graduation from the University of Kansas and feel grateful he knows not only how to make a living but also how to make a beautiful, soulful, big-hearted life.
You know that experience of meeting someone for the first time and they are so extraordinarily “something” you are sure your life has just changed for the better? This is what happened to me almost 15 years ago when beautiful Caryl showed up on my doorstep with 8-year-old Conley. The sweetness of her smile and gentleness of her demeanor were so comforting to me, a Mom who had been struggling for months to help her son adjust to a new city and school with no friends. They showed up one early Fall Saturday to take Mario on an adventure – a Fall festival at the nearby Indian Mission. Mario and I were both thrilled.
A couple of weeks earlier, Mario came home from school a little less grumpy than usual. He told me he had met someone he was pretty sure was going to be a good friend. Mario was excited to get to know him better because they both enjoyed cussing and, better yet, Mario shared that the new friend’s kindergarten brother was “very cool” and cussed also! Perfection – Universe, I think we have found a match. And thus, Conley Niedens entered our world (and it has never been the same). After that day at the fall festival, Mario and Conley were pretty much inseparable – for better or for worse!
When I noticed that Caryl’s name was spelled with a “y” and she had a career in the design world, I started to really love and appreciate her artistic flair. Her ability to create a beautiful and warm atmosphere – both physically and interpersonally – was unparalleled. Warmth was something our household needed desperately after uprooting our kids from their dream home in the country 200 miles away and suddenly planting them in suburban Kansas City. I learned that Caryl and Lyle were from Great Bend, Kansas, which really increased their likeability with our family after having just lived in Winfield, Kansas for 8 years. Very quickly, the Niedens family just felt comfortable and familiar to us. It wasn’t long at all until the Tamburinis were included in many weekend KU basketball or Chiefs football watch events. We looked forward to being at Caryl and Lyle’s house because we knew it would be warm and filled with laughter (maybe a little yelling at the tv or the boys!). She was always trying new recipes and buying me cookbooks. One time I took a centerpiece to her house instead of a dish- when I told her the florist had named it “low and lush” she quipped, “Like ME!”
I mentioned Mario and Conley were a “for better or worse” duo – and this could have gone either way in my friendship with Caryl. When your kid is known for getting a little rambunctious with someone else’s kid – sometimes that doesn’t lead to warm and fuzzy vibes between the parents. I so loved and appreciated Caryl’s realistic and consistently calm approach to raising boys! I never felt judged by her or obligated to make excuses for “boy behavior.” Caryl’s friendship was genuine and the more time we spent together, I understood our family had been adopted into her “tribe.” How lucky we have been.
Caryl was not easily shocked, which really worked for me because sometimes shocking things came out of my mouth or my kid’s mouth and sometimes borderline shocking things happened. She proved to be an “all weather” type of friend over and over.
Mario and Conley were roommates at a 3-day basketball camp at KU after 4th grade. It turned out to be too much togetherness and talking for Mario. When I arrived at KU to pick the boys up, Conley was still very wired and excited and Mario looked like he had not slept the entire time. He was ready for major down time but that did not happen in the car ride back to Kansas City with Conley. At one point, Mario threw a blanket over his head, telling Conley “the air does not need to be filled with your voice every second”! Conley thought that was very funny but I could tell Mario was getting close to losing it. We ended up solving the problem with a quick side trip to McDonald’s (my number one parenting go-to). Caryl was very entertained by the story when I dropped Conley off and often brought it up when we were meeting new people together.
Caryl had an amazing sense of humor. Our friendship may not have survived our boys without laughter! Once when he was going through our cupboards for something good to eat, Conley declared, “Tell your Mom she needs to go to the store!” Not long after that, Conley and Mario were sent to the hallway for being disruptive during the “Just Around the Corner” puberty video at school. Never horrified, Caryl just took it all in stride as another day in the life of being a parent. I so appreciated that and found comfort in her friendship and support.
Caryl supported me through my various job changes (at least 6) – and was always the first to congratulate me and stop by the house with a little special gift to recognize the new beginning. I was even a DREADED SILPADA REP for about 10 minutes and Sweet Caryl was the first (and only!) person to step up and offer to host a jewelry party! She was also a huge supporter of my sobriety. In early sobriety, you learn that not all friendships are necessarily “good” for you and that change is to be expected. Caryl showed up at my house not long after I stopped drinking with a hand picked mocktail bar. It was one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever done for me yet she walked in with this beautiful gift and quietly got to work mixing me a mocktail as though it was something ordinary. But in fact it was extraordinary and so was she.
I had not known Caryl very long when my Dad passed away. She was the first friend to stop by the house with a pork tenderloin for our family. Just “Good People” through and through. When my Mom passed away last year, Caryl was already not feeling well but not really sure what was going on. She took the time to look up a recipe for a braided apple bread and brought it to me warm on a Sunday evening wrapped in a lovely fall ribbon. Completely Caryl with a “Y”! The things she did for the people she loved were always works of art made with the utmost care. She was really proud of the spaces she worked on for Pierce and Conley as they entered young adulthood.
Our pets always loved Caryl, another sign she was a very special person. On the day I went behind my husband’s back and adopted a cocker spaniel, the first place I went to was Caryl’s house with little Pudgey in the back seat! She was delighted with the little creature and sure he would be the perfect addition to our household. Caryl was also the first to express condolences at the loss of a pet.
Caryl made the most of every situation, including the last year of her life. She accepted that life isn’t fair and had many conversations with her loved ones about it. She told me last summer she was very proud of her boys and the life she had lived. In every conversation I have had with her over the past 12 months, she mentioned Pierce and Conley and things they were doing that made her very proud. Conley’s graduation from KU made her enormously happy.
Recently, I visited Caryl just before lunchtime at the nursing home. She invited me to join her in the dining room and told me a little something special about each of the women with whom she shared a table. Little did these women know, they had become part of a very special tribe led by Caryl with a “Y” – the one and only.
Caryl told our friend Kris she wanted all her friends to have a packet of wildflowers to remember her by. She so enjoyed her back garden and basking in the sun. One of my most cherished memories of Caryl will be this memory of her in her garden, peaceful. An endearing goodbye of hers with me was always, “See ya later, darlin”. So for now, precious friend, I will see ya later, Darlin’.
Cheeky Street 