Karen's Journey

I found out yesterday that my long estranged brother-in-law passed away about a month ago. Services were private -- so private that his own children were excluded. As our family has coped recently -- and continues to do so -- with death and dying, this one seemed like it should be a simple one.  He was an alcoholic. And he was a mean drunk. He was a verbal and emotional batterer. He didn't pay child support, forcing my sister to raise two children on one salary, a difficult task for a teacher. My sister suffered and the kids suffered.  He would promise the kids the moon and deliver nothing. Nephew had to learn at a very young age that not only would Daddy not get him the fantastic toys he promised for Christmas, he wouldn't even show up. The second part was harder on the crying little boy than the first.  Eventually Niece One and Nephew wanted nothing to do with him until he sobered up. They were tired of the emotional abuse and verbal tirades; they were t...

I found this picture while looking for photos of Hubs's sister who has ALS. We are up against it this year, there is no doubt about it. I'm raising my fist to the heavens saying, "I'm strong enough. I don't need any more of 'that which doesn't kill you' nonsense." But even so, I was grateful to find this beautiful photo of just the two of us. "'Tis an ill wind that blows no good." I am here to find a poem about grief to read at Hubs's mother's funeral service tomorrow. But I've been meaning to post this for oh eight or ten weeks now. As I write this, I lost my mom almost ten weeks ago. You might as well have ripped my heart out of my chest. To feel grief in every cell of your body -- to actually feel it in your cells -- the pain is indescribable. I had 58 years with her. But it is never enough.  And now...my other mom. My son has lost both his grandmothers in the space of nine weeks. To the day. Almost to the ...

Objectionable language alert. This post contains objectionable language. Because it has to. "Nigga." All but the most ignorant among us, more and more of whom are slithering out from under rocks these days, know that "nigger" is a word that needs to be erased from the English language. Its use has always been to dehumanize people of African descent so that horrendous things can be done to them. Things like slavery and all the evils that brought: living life as a possession, to be bought and sold; dying by the thousands on voyages across the Atlantic, bound together by chains, never to see their homes or their families again; whippings and beatings and all forms of torture; families torn apart -- mothers ripped from their children, husbands ripped from their wives, siblings ripped from each other; malnourishment and starvation; and hangings -- just to touch on the tip of everything that was wrong with slavery. And rape. What female slave was never raped by a ...

Eighteen years ago today, I woke up fatherless. My dad, age 64, had passed away the night before while I sat with him in the hospice room at the hospital, after a year-and-a-half battle with Merkle cell cancer. I don't know what drives this universe. I understand the physical forces, but there is more to it than that. I don't believe in an all-knowing and all-caring God. But there is something . There are so many unexplained events around his last week that I can't believe there isn't a force -- a something more than stardust and dark energy from a big bang a long, long time ago. I had planned my first vacation in more than a decade several months before he began the final decline -- a four day trek through the wilderness in New Hampshire with no access to the outside world once we started in. I was torn about going or canceling, but decided he would want me to go and enjoy being free in the mountains after spending so many years under the controlling fist of my e...

I see two kids and a RED boat. What else do you notice about this photo? 1. It Was the Milkman I am one of four siblings. Three girls with blonde hair and one red-headed boy. Not strawberry-red hair, not carrot-red hair, but fire engine red hair. When we were out and about as a family, we were constantly stopped by complete strangers. "Where did you get that RED HAIR?" people would exclaim. My mother would use the old, "It was the milkman" line, which was funny, because we really did have a milkman -- wow I'm old -- and he really did have red hair. One time a girl about my brother's age, then five or six, pointed to him and said, "I like him. He has red hair." And then she blushed and hid behind her mother. We had never seen them before and we never saw them again. I am tired of hearing, "I don't see color." If people can pick out red hair from a mile away, they sure as heck see skin color. If one of the first thing...

Elaine and I shared a workplace, albeit several decades apart. She started her public broadcasting career at the station where mine ended. She went on to work for New Hampshire Public Television, becoming, at maybe five feet tall on a good day, a powerhouse of the industry. When we met, she'd retired for the first time and taken a position for one of the vendors that my station used for direct mail. She always had a soft spot for us, the place that gave her her start, and was always eager to come back to help -- with pledge, with fundraising strategy -- if we needed help, Elaine was there. But in addition to having a fund raising savvy that allowed her to serve as a mentor to many, she had a deeply felt kindness. Our calls about the business of raising money often turned to talks about how I was doing. Her concern was genuine. I had what physicians would consider minor surgery a year after I started there and struggled for weeks beyond weeks to recover any semblance of energy. ...

Yes, my butt is in this photo that was in published on the newspaper's website.  Oh yay. It's possible that T is one of the yellow/gold shirts near the top of the hill. Like so many other small towns in America, ours has an annual Memorial Day parade, with the usual assortment of local dignitaries,  Scout troops, firetrucks, youth sports teams, old cars, piping corps, and candy being tossed to the youngsters lining the parade route, and of course, veterans marching -- or being driven -- grouped by war in which they fought. The loudest cheers are reserved for those who served. The Gold Star parents float is a sober reminder of those who made the ultimate sacrifice and the loved ones they left behind. Bringing up the rear of the parade is the top high school marching band in the country, the perfect grand finale. There is never a year that they are anything less than awesome. And the years the alumni band marches -- even better. They still have chops --...