(I was rereading some old blogs I had written and wanted to post this one here. )
If I could just hold on to memories....memories going way back.
My first love, my first kiss...the feeling..the thrill...seriously. There is no comparison. It's being alive...totally alive. Smelling his shirt, feeling the breeze in my hair, feeling the moment. Feeling and experiencing the aliveness.
So what the hell has happened? Why is not like that now?
Have I been numbed into comfort? Just saying. That's why I like Dave Matthews. His songs capture that for me again. Life is so precious, all of it. Especially the young part. It's so form-able It was essential in making me who am I am, for better or for worse. No judgement, just is.
"Old Dirt Hill (Bring That Beat Back)"
Bring that beat back to me again Come on take me back, can't catch me can't catch me
ride my bike down the old dirt hill, First time without my training wheels. First time I kissed you I lost my legs, Bring that beat back to me again. I hear scream and shout out loud of innocence And days when all we did would never end.
Bring that beat back to me again Come on take me back, can't catch me can't catch me Bring that beat back to me again Come on take me back, take me there, can't catch me can't catch me
Smoking under the railroad bridge I used to ride my bike down that old dirt hill The first time I kissed you I lost my legs Bring that beat back to me again I hear scream and shout out loud of innocence Days when all we did would never end
She stole __ That's when the days I remember seem so far away
That's just a kid. That's what I miss. Just a kid. That's what I miss
Oh take me back, take me back to that beat again (Dave Matthews)
When I was young, I felt like I was flying at times. Seriously flying.
I remember being 13 and riding the ferris wheel with my boyfriend, holding hands. Nothing was sweeter. Nothing was more innocent.
I mean he really liked me. Bo, his name was Bo. Just a kid ya know.
So, it's late and I just wanted to share. I'm sitting here listening to Dave and reminiscing Until tomorrow.
Tomorrow is "Memorial Day". Mostly people talk about the people who served us in the armed forces. For me, it's more than that. It's about remembering the dead. Remembering the ones whose lives have influenced us the most. Remembering the ones we loved and have lost.
Okay then, where do I begin? I'll begin a long time ago. I don't even know how young I was, but I was pretty darn young. I was out on our patio, it was surely the 50's. My dad came outside and told me someone had died, he said their name actually. It wasn't like he came out and said, "someone died"...he said their name. To this day I can't remember who, I just remember the feeling, my thoughts, and how awkward the moment was.
By my father's countenance I could tell he was sad, therefore, maybe I was supposed to be sad. Death? What was that? Okay I sort of knew...but didn't know it was a "sad" thing, I had heard about death especially in the Catholic Church. We had reminders everywhere; the gory pictures of Jesus hanging on the cross all bloody and injured and in pain. Apparently it didn't phase me though, because I just didn't feel "bad', or "sad" or anything really. But when my own father looked so slumped over and sad, well, that was not something I felt comfortable with at all. I remember thinking, "If he's sad, I guess I should be sad." Yet the thing is, I wasn't sad at all. I was so young I don't think I had experienced "sad" before. In any case, I was sort of experiencing it then, in a round about way.
Fast forward to tonight. I have felt more than sadness with the passing of too many loved ones. The first was Dave, my boyfriend of two years. We had argued two nights before he was killed, and the night before, he tried to call me. I wouldn't take the call. The grief I felt was so intense I cannot begin to describe it. If you have gone through such a thing, you know what I mean. A young guy of 18, gone, dead, no more life. Words are too cheap to try and describe. We had shared so many good times...but yet so many bad as well. He will always be a part of my soul. Even after all these years.
Then the next major loss was my father. He too was too young to leave. Although he had a pretty good life, and was older, still...64 is not a time when someone should die.
Fortunately I was with him five days before he died. We went to see the play that he was in; he loved acting and was living his dream.
We had a deep talk, deep for us anyway. He told me things that I needed to hear, which of course, has stayed with me all of my life. I miss him everyday.
“I had a daddy, didn't I? He wasn't perfect and he certainly wasn't the one I'd dreamed he would have been, but I had one all the same. And I'd love him as much as I'd hated him, hadn't I? All that distance, all that time wasted, but the fact that he'd inspired such passion in me meant something in itself. I can honestly say now that I think that's special. Screwed up and turned inside out, we were special him and me, and I am so thankful that I can say that I had a daddy and that he mattered. All his faults and failures mean nothing to me now.” ― Melodie Ramone, After Forever Ends
When my mother died, she was 72. She had been sick a long time, so I wasn't surprised when I received the call from my sisters. There is no love like a mother's love, and now she was gone. The night before she died I was at the gym and heard the song, "Time After Time" by Cyndi Lauper. I believe it was her speaking to me in a song.
"Time After Time"
Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,
And think of you
Caught up in circles confusion -
Is nothing new
Flashback - warm nights -
Almost left behind
Suitcases of memories,
Time after -
Sometimes you picture me -
I'm walking too far ahead
You're calling to me, I can't hear
What you've said -
Then you say - go slow -
I fall behind -
The second hand unwinds
[Chorus:]
If you're lost you can look - and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you - I'll be waiting
Time after time
After my picture fades and darkness has
Turned to gray
Watching through windows - you're wondering
If I'm OK
Secrets stolen from deep inside
The drum beats out of time -
[Chorus:]
If you're lost...
You said go slow -
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds -
(Cyndi Lauper)
I want to first sort of give a tribute to Dave. He was a young guy who had this hard exterior, but inside was as soft as a feather pillow. He was also a rebel. He went to military school in early high school and would tell me how homesick he would get. He took me to two proms and felt horrible when he admitted to me he couldn't dance.
I wasn't a happy camper with that news. He love his motorcycle...a BSA 650
and he loved the movie "Romeo and Julet" produced by Franco Zeferelli, circa 1968, he had the album which his mother gave me after he died.
He was a huge influence on my life
My father was an amazing, driven person with a will of iron.
His determination always had, and still does, amaze me. He was an actor,
............businessman and did the best he could at fathering even though he himself didn't have a father...at least a father who never really lived with him. Mainly, his father figure was his older brother. I always felt this connection with my father that was like no other. I understood him .....that is the best that I can describe it. I also stood up to him when others sort walked away from his emotional rants. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital after he had been working in his garden, on the pond he always wanted.
He had a major heart attack. He told the ambulance guy something like, "I think this is it for me." I know because I found the guy and called him, and asked him.
My mother...she taught me how to love, how to listen and how to think of others. She was not only physically beautiful, she had a heart of gold for her children. She was always there for me, unlike my father. When Dave died, she was there. she was there when the hair stylist butchered my hair and I went to her house sobbing. She just hugged me and understood. Not many would...I mean it's just hair, right? Not! She was going downhill fast. The night before she died she did a tape of how sick she was. Apparently she was doing this sort of blog through cassettes. Weird thing is, everyone received a card a day or two after she had died of her telling us she loved us.
My mother was incredible and stood by me no matter what. Her love was the closest thing to God's love here on earth. (Love you mom!!!)
I told my husband that I would have to go first. I cannot bear to think of him dying and leaving me to grieve. That may sound selfish but so be it. I couldn't take it. I have been with him for 37 years and he is a huge part of my whole being. I will die first. I do not want to live without him. (He hates it when I talk like this.)
I do think the dead are with us, can see us, still love us. It goes against Christian dogma, and I don't care. I remember when dad died, it was the strangest thing I have ever experienced in my life. My husband was out of town and I was sleeping. I was awakened by my father's audible voice. "PEGGY"....I woke immediately and for a split second was sort of freaked..but then this sort of banner went through my mind, "don't give up your faith, you're on the right track." I heard him say my name with my ears.
I won't tell you how many dreams and other things I have had about young Dave.. .And my mother...wow...dreams, thoughts...I know she is still with me.
There were others I have lost, but those are the most influential. Memorial Day.....I remember well...here's to you my loved ones...we'll meet again in the sweet bye and bye.
I
remember as a young girl being really stubborn...actually, I still
am, but I have mellowed. My childhood is a whole 'nother blog. As a
friend of mine put it when she saw a video of our family, “You have
a very colorful family!” Indeed, she was right! My parents, lik
yours, did their best. Just as I have done with my children, my
parents tried their best to raise me correctly so that I will be
happy, healthy and relatively independent. Perhaps “best” isn't
good enough, but it was and is for me. Mom and Dad were artist in
their own right. In any case, it was interesting because on top of
all that, I was raised in the 1950's when no one talked about
anything; when counselling was taboo and only for the mentally ill,
where white people ruled and where everyone had families like the
family on “Leave it to Beaver.”
My elementary years
were pretty tragic.
I
had to go to Catholic school as my mother was Catholic. (Did I
mention that Dad was a Jew? Yep, great mix right?) There,
starting at the fresh young age of six, I would be sent to the coat
room to sit in the corner for kissing Jimmy Lee. At an early
age, the nuns defined me with the scarlet letter.
To
make matters worse, I had this Jewish father and I was a total
Daddy's girl.
When
I had my first communion, I distinctly remember him sitting in the
pew, shoulders a little slumped, looking dejected and very
uncomfortable. He was there, in that uncomfortable place, just
for me. At six I felt uncomfortable for him too. Maybe
that's why I never felt like I fit in anywhere.
As
time passed the nuns continued to show no sort of compassion or love
for any child that I knew of. They did, however, love the kiss
ups....the perfect ones whose parents were totally involved in the
church....Okay, enough blame. I'll just say when I
hit ninth grade, I was so relieved to leave that school.
Public School was a wide open field to freedom and
non judgments.
Boys
loved me. I was this exotic girl with breasts the size of a
playboy bunny and I wasn't even 16 yet.
When I turned 15, I
found my true love. He was there for me and he was everything I
ever wanted.
What
did I want for my future? To be a rich, country club mom. I
felt like I would marry him by the time I was 18 and my life would be
set. We dated for almost two years and things were not all
coming up roses by the time of his tragedy. He was driving
around in his friend's jeep when they hit a corner too fast and his
friend lost control. There was not a seat belt law then, so
they were both thrown from the jeep and killed instantly.
Death
made me rethink life!
Thus
began my hippy days.
My
whole life changed from that moment on. I didn't want to just
get married. As a matter of fact I didn't want to get married
at all.
I
figured God was cruel and took lives at random and could care less
about our feelings or our losses. I decided to literally take
the money my father had saved for my wedding, and use it to go
discover the meaning of life.
I packed up all of my
belongings and headed for Colorado, one of the few places of hippy
heaven. I sat by the beautiful stream in Boulder and
contemplated life, love, and the purpose of living,............ while
inhaling.
To
make a long, long story short, I gave up western religion as it was a
huge disappointment for me and actually failed to help me
during my huge time of grief and crisis.
So
many things happened in those few years. Then, in
August of 1972, my friend turned Jesus Freak and told me she had
found something that she had been looking for, something she had
wanted all her life and didn't know what it was until "now".
I went to church with her and wow..it was nothing like the
Catholic Church, that's for sure! People seemed happy, the
music was great, and there were all sorts of people there that were
just like me.
Something
happened to me that night. It is so difficult to explain, but I had
this experience that has stayed with me all these years.
People
kept telling me to "let Jesus in my heart"......Even in my
pious, seriously intense Catholic upbringing, I had heard all about
Jesus, and his life and his said purpose in this life. So I
knew about him, but just didn't think much about him as a real
person. To me, he had always been a gory statue of blood and pain, or
a tiny baby in the arms of a woman who seemed a little prettier and
better dressed than the nuns ...Anyway, I knew about him. But
that night, I had this crazy experience which I won't go into, and I
have never, ever been the same since.
A
lot of years have passed between then and now. As I was
thinking about my life this morning, and about how it took a
totally different turn from country club mom (Who probably
would have been a pitiful divorcee by now.) to who I am today,
it never ceases to amaze me. I truly believe that if it weren't
for my choice of making a leap of faith, my life would have been a
total waste.
My
faith is somewhat unorthodox . One of them is that the dead, if
God allows, can communicate to us. Usually what they say is
a consistent message of "I'm okay" or "I'm
sorry". There were people who the dead spoke to in the
bible...Jesus spoke to the dead and showed Peter guys who had died
hundreds of years before.
A
lot of Christians may not want to claim me for my 'wanderings' ;
drinking alcoholic beverages, and sometimes, my unsavory vocabulary.
But there are many who relate and see that my love for my God,
and of course, his love for me, is real, is genuine. Although
my love for him is terribly imperfect.
There
are so many people in life whom I have loved, lost and remember.
They all are an intricate part of the person who I am now. I
will always remember them and love them. And the ones who are
not in this world anymore, I believe they see me, and are cheering me
on in my life, in my faith.
Well,
it's a Saturday and I love this blog, where I can write, reminisce,
and vent. I know my life could have been so different. I'm
not exactly sure how, but I do know that I wanted truth all those
years ago. God in his mercy, compassion, and crazy expanse of
never ending love, rescued me from myself and proved to me he does,
indeed, exist. Even more so, he is personal. Yep, this is
and was and will continue to be a leap of faith. This is what
I choose to believe.
Robert
Frost writes so eloquently about choice....and this is how I feel
about my decision to believe in a God called Jesus:
I remember as a young girl being really stubborn...actually, I still am, but I have mellowed. My childhood is a whole 'nother blog. As a friend of mine put it when she saw a video of our family, "You have a very colorful family!" Indeed! She was right! My parents, like yours, did their best. Just as I have did with my children, my parents did their best. Perhaps 'best' isn't good enough, but it was and is for me. Mom and Dad had a passionate, fiery relationship. Most artists are like that, and both of my parents were artists in their own right. In any case, it was interesting because on top of all that, I was raised in the 1950's when no one talked about anything, when counselling was taboo and only for the severely mentally ill, where white people ruled and everyone had families just like the one on "Leave it to Beaver".
My elementary years were pretty tragic. I had to go to Catholic school as my mother was Catholic. (Did I mention that Dad was a Jew? Yep, great mix right?) There, starting at the fresh young age of six, I would be sent to the coat room to sit in the corner for kissing Jimmy Lee. At an early age, the nuns defined me with the scarlet letter. To make matters worse, I had this Jewish father and I was a total Daddy's girl. When I had my first communion, I distinctly remember him sitting in the pew, shoulders a little slumped, looking dejected and very uncomfortable. He was there, in that uncomfortable place, just for me. At six I felt uncomfortable for him too. Maybe that's why I never felt like I fit in anywhere. As time passed the nuns continued to show no sort of compassion or love for any child that I knew of. They did, however, love the kiss ups....the perfect ones whose parents were totally involved in the church....Okay, enough blame. I'll just say when I hit ninth grade, I was so relieved to leave that school. Public School was a wide open field to freedom and non judgments. Boys loved me. I was this exotic girl with breasts the size of a playboy bunny and I wasn't even 16 yet. When I turned 15, I found my true love. He was there for me and he was everything I ever wanted.
What did I want for my future? To be a rich, country club mom. I felt like I would marry him by the time I was 18 and my life would be set. We dated for almost two years and things were not all coming up roses by the time of his tragedy. He was driving around in his friend's jeep when they hit a corner too fast and his friend lost control. There was not a seat belt law then, so they were both thrown from the jeep and killed instantly. Death made me rethink life! Thus began my hippy days. My whole life changed from that moment on. I didn't want to just get married. As a matter of fact I didn't want to get married at all. I figured God was cruel and took lives at random and could care less about our feelings or our losses. I decided to literally take the money my father had saved for my wedding, and use it to go discover the meaning of life. I packed up all of my belongings and headed for Colorado, one of the few places of hippy heaven. I sat by the beautiful stream in Boulder and contemplated life, love, and the purpose of living,............ while inhaling. To make a long, long story short, I gave up western religion as it was a huge disappointment for me and actually failed to help me during my huge time of grief and crisis.
So many things happened in those few years. Then, in August of 1972, my friend turned Jesus Freak and told me she had found something that she had been looking for, something she had wanted all her life and didn't know what it was until "now". I went to church with her and wow..it was nothing like the Catholic Church, that's for sure! People seemed happy, the music was great, and there were all sorts of people there that were just like me. Something happened to me that night. It is so difficult to explain, but I had this experience that has stayed with me all these years. People kept telling me to "let Jesus in my heart"......Even in my pious, seriously intense Catholic upbringing, I had heard all about Jesus, and his life and his said purpose in this life. So I knew about him, but just didn't think much about him as a real person. To me, he had always been a gory statue of blood and pain, or a tiny baby in the arms of a woman who seemed a little prettier and better dressed than the nuns ...Anyway, I knew about him. But that night, I had this crazy experience which I won't go into, and I have never, ever been the same since.
A lot of years have passed between then and now. As I was thinking about my life this morning, and about how it took a totally different turn from country club mom (Who probably would have been a pitiful divorcee by now.) to who I am today, it never ceases to amaze me. I truly believe that if it weren't for my choice of making a leap of faith, my life would have been a total waste.
My faith is somewhat unorthodox . One of them is that the dead, if God allows, can communicate to us. Usually what they say is a consistent message of "I'm okay" or "I'm sorry". There were people who the dead spoke to in the bible...Jesus spoke to the dead and showed Peter guys who had died hundreds of years before. A lot of Christians may not want to claim me for my 'wanderings' ; drinking alcoholic beverages, and sometimes, my unsavory vocabulary. But there are many who relate and see that my love for my God, and of course, his love for me, is real, is genuine. Although my love for him is terribly imperfect. There are so many people in life whom I have loved, lost and remember. They all are an intricate part of the person who I am now. I will always remember them and love them. And the ones who are not in this world anymore, I believe they see me, and are cheering me on in my life, in my faith. Well, it's a Saturday and I love this blog, where I can write, reminisce, and vent. I know my life could have been so different. I'm not exactly sure how, but I do know that I wanted truth all those years ago. God in his mercy, compassion, and crazy expanse of never ending love, rescued me from myself and proved to me he does, indeed, exist. Even more so, he is personal. Yep, this is and was and will continue to be a leap of faith. This is what I choose to believe. Robert Frost writes so eloquently about choice....and this is how I feel about my decision to believe in a God called Jesus:
