Family

Family reunion at our parents' home 1982

Taken almost thirty years ago, this picture shows our family and many of its offspring. The top row starting on the left, Pete and Norma Jean, and then Bob and my sister Markee standing next to them. My sister PJ's then-husband Ken and her two sons Joey and Jason surround Allison and my sister Fia in the next tier. Finally, the bottom five are my brother Buz holding his daughter Trish, me, and those two gorgeous hunks in the front are Peter, Norma Jean's son, and my long-gone son Chris.

At this moment in the early morning hours, I sit typing with my trusty laptop in the home of Buz and my sister-in-law Phyllis. Sleeping in the next room are Norma Jean, Allison and her daughter Lexie. Buz and Phyllis are asleep in their bed with their two little dogs Pixie and Bella. Counting me, we are eight souls starting our Sunday in Texas, on our way to a huge gathering on Tuesday of the siblings and our clan. This is all happening because Norma Jean has come to Texas to see her family after Pete's passing last month.

It is also the third trip I've taken in four months, with the longest hiatus in Florida with Norma Jean just a few weeks ago. I'm almost getting used to waking in a strange bed at all hours. I had barely gotten accustomed to being home when it was time to leave again. Hopefully when I return home on Wednesday, I won't need to be going anywhere for a while.

I arrived on Friday and had a chance to be with Buz and Phyllis for a day before Norma Jean, Allison and Lexie arrived yesterday afternoon. I went to bed early last night as usual and woke before everyone else, although I hear little Lexie beginning to make her morning sounds, so my Sunday will soon be consumed with family. Until then, however, I am thinking about the meaning of family.

The camera captured a moment in time that looks solid and real, but none of the people in that picture exists as they were then. Markee and Bob are parents to three teenagers now, and beautiful blond Fia is a grandmother, as is Norma Jean, and Allison (red and white shirt) is in her forties and the mother of a beautiful daughter. My son Chris died in 2002 of a heart attack. Peter is in Florida at Norma Jean's house dog-sitting and making home repairs. It's interesting that the person in the extreme upper left and extreme lower right are no longer alive, and I will always miss them both. It can't be helped, that's the way life is.

Family is important to me, I guess to most of us. Not many these days have as many siblings as I do, which makes for an incredibly large extended family. Years ago before the advent of email and the digital age, we sent around a family letter, with pictures and a hand-written or typed letter from each of us. When it came in the mail, you took your old letter out, read everyone's contribution and added a new one. Mama was still alive then and she also contributed a letter. This went on for a few years, before Pete decided to put together an electronic newsletter with everyone's contribution. We enjoyed that until Buz made us a private family blog on Wordpress, which he cleverly called "Sixlings," and everyone kept in touch there until the entire family joined Facebook. I now keep track of my extended family in that environment, complete with pictures and marveling at the exploits of my grand-nieces and -nephews.

At 68, I feel very fortunate to have the love and support of my five siblings and their families. We are all well and healthy enough to be able to gather here in Texas to celebrate and appreciate this moment in time, which is just that, a moment in time. I will capture it in pictures and will look at it in years to come, remembering this time and place, which will have moved on. My heart is full to overflowing with gratitude for this opportunity.

Reunion on the horizon

I'm not exactly sure when this picture of me with my five siblings was taken, but I know Norma Jean had just rescued Radar, the dog in her arms, a month or so before. That should help to date the picture. It might be the last time we were all together, or not. It was a while ago. It might be in 2002 when we got together at Thanksgiving after my son Chris had died, but then again, maybe not. This time next Sunday, I will be in Texas and we will all be in close proximity once again. On the 29th, we will have a reunion at a restaurant in the area. Of course there will be plenty of cameras around, mine included.

In December of 2008, we were all in Texas except for Norma Jean. She and Pete stayed in Florida, and the rest of us gathered to walk a half marathon together. My sister Markee instigated that trip, and it was a good one in many respects. It sparked my desire to find a way here in Bellingham to find some sort of exercise that would require concerted effort over several hours. I found the Senior Trailblazers, which now provide a high point in my life, with every Thursday reserved for our hikes. In the winter we stay close to Bellingham, but in the summer months we carpool up to the Mt. Baker wilderness. We start at 8:00 in the morning and are sometimes not home before 4:00 pm or even later. I'm always tired and renewed at the same time. I treasure the friends I've made, as well as the familiarity with the beautiful mountains so close by. And it all started because of the need to train for a half marathon.

The three weeks I spent in Florida have now settled into their place in my memory, although Norma Jean and I spend a fair amount of time with the video chat feature we have on our iMacs. Now that I've been there, when we visit on line, I know exactly where she is and can easily slip myself into the room with her. I usually wait until I know she's got a glass of wine (it's three hours later there) and I can enjoy being with her at the beginning of her evening. Technology has changed things so much. It's almost as if I were sitting in the room with her, and even though our hugs are virtual, our tears are not. We can laugh and cry together for as long as we want.

My heart aches for her losses. Yesterday she cleaned up the motorcycle on which the three of them spent all those many hours and days together, in preparation for selling it. They covered somewhere around 70,000 miles on that motorcycle in just a few short years, and now Norma Jean is the only one left behind. She is struggling to find her way and figure out what she wants, for the first time in more than four decades. Or even more, really, since I remember telling her what she wanted as her big sister. And I felt I knew the answer, better than she knew herself.

I was a bossy person back then, always thinking I knew the answers to everything. My world was colored in bright certainty, with no shades of subtlety. I didn't even know the meaning of nuance. I can't help but cringe a little as I look back at the confident and imperious person I was then. I've grown, no doubt about it, and a lot of that growth has been accompanied by the pain of self-knowledge. Slowly, over the years and decades, I have come to realize there is truly no way one person can know what is good and right for another.

Norma Jean gradually morphed from being a shy and reticent teenager into the assertive, competent and powerful person she is today. She did that without my influence, too. She raised two wonderful kids and dealt with a creative and (in some ways) difficult husband. I know Pete would agree with that statement. And now she stands on the threshold of a new life. Next week's reunion is the last obligation she has to make to her family, as we gather next week to honor Pete's influence in our lives and open our hearts to our sister. I love you, Norma Jean.

Reentry and change

Thich Nhat Hanh

My life is beginning to return to normal, after a fashion. There are permanent changes but they are not yet fully integrated into my mind and heart.

While I was in Florida, I was reading Thich Nhat Hanh's book, Peace Is Every Step: the Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life. It is a deceptively simple book, but it calmed me and I spent some time thinking about the interconnectedness of all life. I am still reading the book, curiously unwilling to be done with it. He talks about "bells of mindfulness," seeing a red light when you are driving as a bell to remind you to return to the present moment, or any sound or light as a reminder to become peaceful. He is an 84-year old Vietnamese monk who has fascinated me for years. So nonviolent that he would not even strike a bell, he says he invites the sound of the bell to come out. You can see that in the picture. Whatever he is doing, he does it with his entire being.

I miss my sister much more than I thought I would, but it surprises me that I am so surprised. We started our lives together, and whenever we are in close proximity, our thoughts and lives begin to merge. It was so wrenching to be in the airport and start the process of moving away from her, away from our life of the past three weeks. The first few nights I woke in confusion, wondering where I was, but that has faded as I've gotten back into my usual routine and reconnected with my partner. I have also had the chance to video chat with Norma Jean and find it very much more comforting, now that I've spent so much time with her, it allows me to feel really connected.

As I wrote on my other blog, I had the thyroid biopsy on Friday and, although it wasn't exactly pleasant, it is done and behind me now. Next week I will hear what they found and am hoping for good news. The practice of mindfulness and coming to terms with my fear has also been helping me integrate the experience. Today I think I'll go to the Y and swim laps in the pool, hoping that I will be able to add that exercise to my current practice of aerobic classes, hiking, and walking. It will also allow me to feel connected to Norma Jean in yet another way.

In less then two weeks I will travel to Texas to be with my family for five days, and I'll see Norma Jean, Allison and Lexie again. It will be the first time that all six of us siblings will be together since 2002, when they all came at Thanksgiving after my son Chris had died. We will be having a family reunion of sorts, with such an extended group there will be some who won't be present, but the "sixlings" will all be there. My sister Markee is flying in from Alberta without her family, just to see Norma Jean again and allow us all to be together. As the oldest, me, is nearing seventy, I hope that it won't be the last time. It's amazing that although both of our parents died in their sixties, we are all still here. I am grateful.

I can hear rain outside, just a light patter, nothing like the huge rains I saw in Florida. Yesterday, however, when I thought about going on the Saturday walk, it was a downpour with a howling wind. I decided to skip it, since I was also still feeling quite sore from Thursday's long hike with the Trailblazers. Today, after a good night's sleep, I finally feel rested and raring to go. After this Sunday morning meditation, my world feels bright with possibility.

Creatures of habit

It's amazing to me that I got up this morning and talked with Norma Jean over coffee for an hour or so, read my usual blogs through Google Reader, went to the pool and swam 36 lengths, came home and took the dogs for a walk, all without even the slightest recollection of the fact that it's Sunday morning and I hadn't written my usual post here on the Eye! Here's why:

Norma Jean with Babe and Chester

We not only have adopted a dog for Norma Jean (Babe), but she has taken in a dog as a foster mom, Chester, a "junk yard" chihuahua (meaning mostly chihuahua but with something else mixed in). Babe is just under ten pounds, and Chester is just over. They fill the house with love, and wait in the window when we go outside and howl with delight when Norma Jean drives up after going out for errands.

Although you can't see it in this picture, both tails are wagging with anticipation of her return. It makes both her and me happy to see the life added to this house. When Allison and Lexie left last Monday, we decided on Tuesday to head to the pound to rescue a dog and returned with Babe. I wrote about it here.

We grew up with dogs and cats all around us, and although I have owned cats in the past, Smart Guy never had any pets during his childhood. When I started skydiving, I spent so much time away from home that it never occurred to me to become a pet owner. But Norma Jean has always had a dog, and although she really grieves over the loss of each one, she gains a huge amount of enjoyment from their unconditional love. When I return home Tuesday, I realize that the feeling of pet ownership I feel now will fade away as the plane takes off and I turn my thoughts toward home. Maybe one day I will own a cat again, but not while I'm feeding the wild birds!

The real benefit I've received here, other than connecting with Norma Jean again during this terribly hard period, is learning to use swimming as a form of exercise. As I swam in the pool this morning,  I realized the true meditative aspect as I breathed out my nose into the water and in through my mouth as I took a breath every other stroke. Even counting laps is meditative. I was able to swim 36 lengths, a true half mile, before stopping and getting into the hot tub. I wrote about my breakthrough in swimming laps here.

My visit has been beneficial in other ways, too. Learning to be with my sister as an adult, I flashed a few times on the two of us walking the dogs this morning. I saw a possible future of us together as little old ladies with our swimming and our doggies living in a retirement community like so many seniors do. But of course I still have Smart Guy around, and if genetics has anything to say about it, he will outlive me by many decades.

Which makes me think of the thyroid biopsy I will have when I return home. Before I write in here next, I will have it behind me. The appointment is on Friday the 11th. Although they didn't consider a biopsy before, once they did a second ultrasound, I received a call from the doctor's office suggesting it. Fortunately I have the ability to see the results of the ultrasound on line, and once I read it and noticed the word "hypoechoic" describing the nodule, I of course looked it up online. It means that the largest nodule sends a different sort of echo in the ultrasound and so they will follow up with a biopsy. This means I will know without any doubt what is going on with my thyroid. So I should be happy but I am a bit apprehensive.

I think it will be a little lonely here once I leave, but the doggies will help immeasurably, and in less than a month we will all be together again in Texas for a few days to have a family reunion. This was promised when the family decided not to descend on Florida after Pete died. I will leave Washington again on March 25 for five days to attend, and then I will probably not travel anywhere too far away for a while. I need to rediscover my own beautiful part of the country, as well as reconnect with a certain missing element in my life, my partner.

Skydiving, swimming, and sunshine

Yesterday I had a really full day in the Florida sunshine. It started with swimming 20 laps in the community pool here at Betmar Acres with my sister Norma Jean. She swims anywhere from 42 to 54 laps and I feel quite intimidated trying to keep up. I haven't swum laps in a pool for thirty years, but I found that once I had good goggles and ear plugs, I could manage to swim several laps before I had to stop to catch my breath. I don't remember how to pace myself quite yet. Today I'll try to swim ten before having to stop. Going slow and steady is the trick.

Then my friend Jennifer, who jumps at Skydive Snohomish with me and Smart Guy and hasn't jumped for two months, is in Florida to attend a conference and joined me at Skydive City here in Zephyrhills for two skydives yesterday. The sun was almost too intense, the weather being more than five degrees warmer than normal and more humid. We were both sweating as we walked to the plane and went up into the cool, clear air at altitude. It was a wonderful day, and we made two fun skydives together. That's her on the right, me on the left in the above picture, coming back after our first jump.

The funny thing is, I was more apprehensive about the swimming activity, since it is not a very comfortable and well known pursuit, and skydiving tends to be much more familiar, with me having accumulated more than 65 hours of freefall time. I know it might seem odd to those who don't skydive (the vast majority of people), but I look forward to learning and remembering how to breathe, stroke, and exercise while in water as a new and exciting skill. It's so fascinating for me to watch Norma Jean and her morning companion, 80-year-old Midge, swim constantly for almost an hour without stopping. And I can continue this activity once I return home, since the YMCA has an Olympic sized pool.

If I had the wherewithal to maintain two residences, one in Bellingham and one in Zephyrhills, I might consider it to be close to Norma Jean and Skydive City during the winter months. But frankly, I'd miss the snowshoe trips with the Senior Trailblazers and my gym companions very much. Not to mention Smart Guy, because in no scenario in my mind do I see this being a place where he would be comfortable. So, perhaps I will come to visit Norma Jean for a couple weeks in the dark of winter and spend time swimming with her, sharing together, and making a few skydives, just to keep my knees in the breeze. That makes sense, doesn't it?

I've been here in Florida for ten days now, and it is amazing to me how my life in Bellingham has slipped into the background. While the sun shines here and I sit in air-conditioned comfort in Zephyrhills,  the wind blows and sub-freezing temperatures in Bellingham keep Smart Guy inside and the birds eating us out of house and home. I have another ten days here. I plan to enjoy it all to the max, and once I head back to Washington state and we circle Seattle's Space Needle in the airplane, this place with all its warmth and sun will recede and become a cherished memory.

Norma Jean has not yet found a new dog, although she has been looking. She wants to rescue a chihuahua or two on her way to wholeness. We will have accomplished that before I leave, I hope. Then I will be joining her and the rest of my family in Texas for a week at the end of March so that the rest of the family can reach closure about Pete's passing and mark the shift in the family dynamics. Little Lexie will also meet her Texas relatives, too. It's a full time in my life and in the life of all the Stewarts.

Florida Stewarts

Although the reason for me being here in Florida is difficult, the family visiting is wonderful. Here's Allison reading to Lexie, who is now eight months old. She's a delight to behold, to play with, to help in healing all the loss this family is feeling right now. For those who don't already know, a quick rundown of why I came to Zephyrhills, Florida: my brother-in-law Pete who has been sick with emphysema for almost a decade went downhill quickly in a few weeks and died on February 10, a week after his 67th birthday. Then last Tuesday my sister's little long-haired chihuahua was hit by a car in her front yard and killed. The three of them were inseparable. Now Norma Jean is the one left behind, and when I heard about Moose (their dog), well that was it, I had to get on a plane and come to join Norma Jean with her daughter Allison and son Peter.

Today is the celebration of Pete's life, a two-hour reception for the friends and family to reminisce and share Pete's passing with some of those who love him. Most of the Stewart family lives in Texas, and Norma Jean will be going there in the near future for a week or so to be with our brother and sisters who live in that area. They love Pete too and are honoring her wish not to be inundated with family during this time. We are close in age and were, as I wrote in my post last week, constant companions as we were growing up. I was given the go-ahead by Norma Jean to come and be with them.

I'm so glad to be here, but I would give anything for the circumstances to be different. Much different. While Pete's passing was expected, Moose's was not. She is unable to sleep because every time she wakes up she relives the scene of the car taking another part of her life away. She is more than devastated and it breaks my heart several times a day to see the intense grief she is experiencing, both her life partner gone, and her little six-pound bundle of unconditional love... gone, too.

Her son Peter decided to fence in the back yard with a dog run in anticipation of Norma Jean's next dog, which we all hope will be sooner rather than later. When she decides to go to Texas, Peter will come back here to Florida and do some much-needed work around the house as well as dog-sit for his mother. She has already been on the local dog rescue websites looking to find the right one.

Here Norma Jean and Peter are working on the fence, doing what is necessary to keep the mind occupied with tasks in order to wear out the body so sleep will finally come. (Norma Jean is preparing the poles, those are not crutches.) Yesterday, Norma Jean woke in the middle of the night and was unable to get back to sleep. I got up at 4:00 am and saw she was awake, so I joined her and we talked until the sun brightened the early morning sky. I will post some pictures on my other blog after today's gathering so that my family members will be able to be there in spirit.

I know that the grief is normal. I've waded through whole pools of it myself (to paraphrase Emily Dickinson) and know that the only way forward is on the sharp jagged shoals of pain. But the family is strong, and Norma Jean is going to make it through to the other side. She won't be the same, none of us ever are after the loss of loved ones, but I'm so blessed to be here and experiencing it along with her, Allison, and Peter. I'll be here until the 8th of March, so I've got time to spend in the glorious Florida sunshine and soak up the healing rays with Norma Jean.

Constant companions

When we were growing up, Norma Jean and I were together most of the time. She's here on the left and I'm on the right. I was the older sister and tended to torment her now and then. I thought that was what older sisters were supposed to do. We are a little more than two years apart in age, the first- and second-born in what would eventually grow to be a large family. But our next sibling didn't arrive until I was seven, so for five long child years, we were our parents' only children.

From the beginning, we were very different. I was extroverted and adventurous, and Norma Jean was introverted and shy. They say that birth order is important in the development of personality, but I know that from the very beginning, we approached life from very dissimilar vantage points. It made our interactions predictable, though: she was my little sister and as we explored our world, I would often imperiously make decisions for both of us, and she would look up to me as her big sister.

One thing that grew out of our interaction is that I learned to enjoy an audience, finding her introverted personality easy to manage... that is, until Norma Jean figured out how to torment me back! She knew what I loved and when she was given something that I coveted, she would quietly withhold it until she had extracted concessions from me. I think in growing up, we both learned to appreciate the other's differences and how to use them to our advantage.

Almost every one of the most important people in my life have been introverts, as we fall into a comfortable and known dynamic that started with Norma Jean. Smart Guy is as far on the introvert scale as one can go, while Norma Jean married an extroverted guy, Pete. They started their life together in what must have been a similar dynamic for them. We grew apart in the years that followed our marriages, moving to different parts of the country, but whenever we would see each other, the time apart would fall away and we would be together again as though the years apart had never happened. They changed nothing.

Norma Jean was the first family member I called when Chris died. I still remember her voice on the other end of the phone, and she was there for me one hundred percent. I had to hear my sister's voice to share my grief, to make it real to me. That was in 2002 and, although we didn't see each other at that time, I needed to be reminded of her presence in the world to find any comfort. We saw each other during the following Thanksgiving in a family gathering in Texas, where most of our siblings reside.

Now Norma Jean is a widow, Pete having died this last Thursday of pulmonary emphysema. It was expected, he was able to make peace with and say goodbye to all of us who loved him, but Norma Jean is now bereft. She is a strong person, nobody knows that better than me. She has her son Peter and daughter Allison with her, surrounding her and buoying her up.

I talked with her yesterday, uncertain as to how I might best help her during this time and wishing I could simply hold her hand and allow our tears to mingle. She said she would think about what she wants me to do and is considering a trip to Texas where we would all reunite in the most gentle way possible. At first all of us Stewarts wanted to descend on her at once, but now that our family consists of six siblings with all the concomitant family members, it just didn't make any sense. I think we as a family have come to an awareness that the right thing to do is to let her decide when, where, and how.

Norma Jean is a natural caregiver, and during the last decade or so, she was Pete's rock. His illness dictated many aspects of her life. She traveled a great deal during the last few years of her working life, while he stayed home and kept in touch with her using Apple's iChat feature, and she spent many a night in a hotel room by herself. I think in many ways that forced separation showed her what it would be like when Pete was gone, and her strength of character will carry her to a new place in her life. I have no doubt that it will be a good place.

When we were both small enough to fit into the kitchen sink together, we shared everything. We still do, really, because our lives are intertwined right at the soul level, and nothing that happens to one of us fails to impact the other. I am so grateful to have my sister's love and she knows without a doubt that she has mine.