My mother's voice sounds stronger now, and I can tell that she has found a little bit of peace.

My husband explained to me that it's all because of the "big news." Apparently, Ann's two best friends each had a conversation with her in a dream. She was younger, healthier, and she could see - - - she was no longer blind. Ann told both of them that she's happier now then she's ever been.

After I heard all of this, I burst into tears. I don't know exactly why...maybe because I don't know how to believe that these experiences are real. Maybe because I am so hopeful, so hopeful, that my sister has finally found happiness. Maybe because I miss her so much and still cannot accept that she is gone.

In my heart of hearts, I pray that it is true.

The Gift.

embrace life necklace

The sacred circle, the universal symbol for unity, wholeness and completeness is also an ancient symbol of the circle of life. We've engraved our hand-finished sterling silver circle with the words "embrace life" on both sides in a simple script as a reminder for her to live every day to the fullest.

www.redenvelope.com

Embrace Life

A package was waiting for me on my doorstep when I got home last night. It was from Red Envelope, one of my favorite catalogs. I was perplexed, because I couldn't remember ordering anything from them...other than a Christmas gift about two months ago.

Inside, I found the necklace. With a notecard that reads:

"Jill, thank you for all the support you have given us. Now it's our turn. From your team at ABC Company."

This is a Gift in the truest sense. Unexpected, meaningful and heartfelt.

I'll cherish it forever.

When I received the call about my sister's death, I was working in my office. It's located at the end of a very large room that houses my entire team, about 30 people. The call center/order entry folks sit right outside my office and can see everything that I do because there are two, huge windows on the front facing wall.

I distinctly remember answering the phone and hearing my brother-in-law tell me the news. I know I shouted, "My sister?!!" and told him that I would have to call him back. Then, I must have blacked out, because my next memory is when the HR director asked me if I was strong enough to get off the floor and into a chair.

Apparently, several other people ran into my office and tried to help me, including Peggy, one of our recruiters. I don't remember seeing her and had no idea that she was even aware of my sister's passing.

Peggy stopped by yesterday to see if I was OK. She was very somber and sincere. After we talked for a couple of minutes, she told me that she wanted to share something very personal with me. A tragic incident that she had told no one else in the office.

Peggy's son was molested by a member of her immediate family two years ago, when he was only 7 years old. She talked about her grief and guilt as a mother, and her anger at everyone around her...including herself. She described her son's anguish and how they are still working through it together. Peggy told me that their lives would never be the same, and I understood.

This terrible, terrible thing has changed me.

I'm not laughing much anymore, though I know that I will again...someday. But that's a trivial issue. The significant change inside of me revolves around trust and security. Suddenly becoming aware of our delicate mortality. Realizing that truth is fleeting. And having to come to terms with the fact that I cannot move mountains, I am not in control, and really really wanting something with all of my heart does not change the course of life.

I haven't written much about a horrible accident I witnessed when a little 2 year old boy ran out into the middle of the street. He was run over and didn't make it. As I stood on the side of the road and watched people try to resuscitate him, I dropped to my knees and tried to bargain with God. "Please," I prayed. "Take my house, take my cats, take everything I own. Please let this little boy live. Let this little boy live, God." My prayers didn't make a hoot of a difference, despite my desperate sincerity. I left the scene feeling powerless, worthless, temporary, and unimportant.

All of those feelings have come back and keep hitting me in waves. There was nothing I could do, nothing that I could bargain with to keep my sister alive. My pain, my tears, and my screaming won't bring her back. My accusations to God that life isn't fair go unheeded. My anger that it's wrong-wrong-wrong to put such a strong sense of justice inside humans when these terrible things happen all of the time....changes absolutely nothing.

And that damn song, "All We Are Is Dust In The Wind," keeps playing over and over in my mind, like when a needle is stuck on a record album. Reminding me. Reminding me. Reminding me.

Tomorrow is promised to no one.

Early this morning, I was in the kitchen pouring two cups of coffee when my husband quietly walked up from behind and enveloped me in a full-length body hug. I turned to face him and we stood there, in each others clutches, for about two minutes. It was a deeply loving and sincere embrace with touchpoints running the length of my arms, my chest, my stomach and my thighs. I felt safe for the first time in a long time. He kissed my forehead, my neck, and the sides of my mouth with unconditional love. And somewhere, deep inside me...I felt a spark of renewal and hope.

The Art of Running Away

Fanatical thoughts keep racing through my mind.

I picture myself dressed in black leather. Heavy black boots. A shiny, Dearth Vader helmet. And I'm riding a black motorcycle through a beautiful, sunshine-infused landscape. I'm meandering through small, rolling hills, and I don't stop. I just keep going. Far, far away.

Another thought-stream has me quitting my job, selling this house and moving to Denver. To take a few months off, breathe deeply again, and figure out where to go next in my life. Sure, we would eat-up the profit made from the house, but sometimes, isn't that what the money is for?

I'm trying to determine if I need to make this move "immediate" in order to save my life. I feel as though I'm dying in so many ways. The question is this: Is this a natural process that one goes through to separate from an existing life and launch a new chapter...or am I really dying? Before my sister passed away, I thought I was going through a normal separation process. Now, I'm not so sure. I have a newfound fear deep in my heart that is fueled by the lack of permanence in this lifetime. I am stunned by the uncaring, injustice of life. I am bewildered about why it was my sister Ann who got diabetes, and not Denise or myself.

And I am viscerally and soulfully saddened over the death of my sister.

I want to run away and be overwhelmed by all things new. To ease the pain and fill this gaping hole in my heart.

It's been 13 days since my sister passed away, and I can't stop crying.

Sometimes, it sneaks up on me when I'm in the shower. Or when I'm in the car alone, driving around town. It happened this afternoon as I listened to my sister Denise talk about sending some of Ann's clothing up for my mom. The Christmas present that I gave Ann. She never had a chance to wear it.

It's as if I've lost a piece of myself. Ann was always there, and I thought we would grow old together. OK, maybe not into our eighties, but I thought about this often and believed she would live to be at least sixty. That we would be together until after our parents passed away.

Forty seven is ridiculous.

I can't stop thinking about the last time I saw her. We spent the day in Burlingame, going into the shops and buying Christmas decorations and large bars of French soap. We had such a good time, and I asked her to come back as soon as she could.

And now, she's gone. Forever. And it's only day 13.

I will never, ever, ever accept this.

Quotes of the Week

"Your sister did more for me than any of you girls. If I called her, she'd let me stay with her for a couple of nights. She also had the prettiest face of you three."
Quote by my mother, Jo Mama

"Your sister was inspirational and loved by all who knew her."
Quote by my Aunt Marge

"You're a handsome woman."
Quote by my Husband
(who quickly retracted)

"Have you ever considered doing something with that moustache?"
Quote by an Esthetician
(it's gone now)

So sad...such a thing of strange beauty and rarity. Shattered and broken. It survived 100+ years plus the transport from France. And in the end, one has to wonder...why did we even bother?

Broken Dreams.

My husband and I purchased a clock while we were vacationing in Florida in early December. It was almost two feet in length and was made in the late 1880s. The clock was shipped to us and arrived the morning that I learned my sister passed away. This is what we discovered inside the crate when we were finally able to open it the next day. In many ways, it was poetic. My nerves, my brain, and my heart were shattered by Ann's death. And the utter uselessness of all "things" became crystal clear.

It was a secret that she shared with no one. A diagnosis that was grim and resolute.

But my sister, being strong-willed and eternally tenacious, thought she could beat it. So she spared us the worry. And ultimately, she spared herself from a constant flow of questions and suggestions and attention from the family that would have suffocated her.

When my brother-in-law spoke to Ann's doctor about 3 weeks ago, he learned that she hadn't been in to see him since April. We were shocked and angry, but we didn't say anything because we didn't want her to get upset and stop seeing that doctor. What we didn't know at the time, however, is that Ann had been seeing a different doctor on a regular basis...a cardiologist.

Just over a year ago, Ann was diagnosed with congestive heart failure.

I spoke to my sister on the day she passed away. She talked about her fatigue and how difficult it was to have enough energy to get through the day. In the last six months, Ann survived two abdominal surgeries for uterine cancer and one surgery to place a steel rod in her femur, which she accidentally broke. She'd recently been in a minor car accident and had suffered consistent episodes of going into a diabetic coma.

Just one week before Christmas, she'd been hopsitalized for four days and it hurts to admit that we're not sure what was wrong. Ann didn't tell us the truth, and she never mentioned the CHF. Not to the family, not to her best friends...not even in the emergency room staff when she was admitted to the hospital for the umpteenth time.

2004 was a terrible year for my sister. Incident after incident kept knocking her down, and she just got right back up and kept going with a smile on her face. She wouldn't let anything beat her down. Not the diabetes. Not the blindness. Not the lingering effects from the toxic shock. Not the deaths of two boyfriends and two cats last year. Not the cancer surgeries and not the broken leg. She stayed positive and kind and generous and fearless.

On Sunday, January 9th, Ann went to bed at about 10:30pm. Sometime around 11:00pm, my sister passed away in her sleep. Unknowing, unafraid, unaware.

Life, which had been so harsh and so relentless with her....finally gave her a break.

It's a terrible thing to lose a sister. Especially one like Ann. She was tough, strong, vulnerable, willful, generous, eager, kind, bright...and loving.

Now, with the doctor legally free to tell us everything about her health, we also realize even more about Ann. She was secretive. Selfless. And Noble in her efforts to spare us from being worried sick all of the time.

My older sister, Denise flew into the Bay Area last night to help. My parents and I have been crying and distraught all week. My sister is stronger than I am, tougher and more pragmatic. She talks about honoring Patti Ann by celebrating her goodness, remaining positive and staying healthy. I, on the other hand, can only cry and continue to ask, "Why?" I know that there are so many people in this world who have gone through this and much worse. I am suddenly sad for everyone around me, aware of their pain and astonished at their ability to carry on. One neighbor lost 3 brothers in one year, and she suffered a miscarriage just 2 weeks ago. Yet she has the generosity of spirit to bring food and flowers to my family.

There is much more to write and document for the memory of my sister...but I'm hurting and sad and still in shock.
 

In Memorandum, 1957 - 2005

We miss you, Patricia Ann.

my sister passed away yesterday. the grief is overwhelming. she was just 47 years old.

One Little Rant, and then I'll Move On.

I can't seem to shake that last meeting before she walked out.

My sales supervisor had given notice, and her final two weeks had been strained and klugy. She didn't get any projects completed. She didn't work more than 5 hours a day. She didn't show up for scheduled meetings.

So this final meeting of ours, as supervisor and manager, found me feeling detached and ready to move forward without her. I don't respect people who feel entitled to full pay when they don't do the work. And I tend to guard my thoughts and my personal investment in people who I don't respect.

But Entitled she felt, and this was her opportunity to tell me why.

I suppose the fact that she had never shared any of these thoughts with me before her exit interview is why I'm left feeling so jaded. Successful development of personnel is a dual responsibility. I can make opportunities available, I can provide guidance and vision, and I can supply training and support when desired or needed. But the other person needs to provide feedback and be a willing partner in her development.

I can't do the job for an employee, and despite my attempts to help my sales supervisor become self-directed, she failed. I knew it. The director knew it. The vice president knew it. And eventually, she knew it. The problem is that she blamed...Me.

I've done a whole lot of soul searching on this one. And I can truly say that I gave her my best as a manager. When I told her her this, she replied, "Oh, I'm sure you gave your best, Jill."

(Stinging comment number one...with about a dozen or more to follow.)

I refrained from mirroring her criticism, knowing that I could put the company at risk if I spoke my mind. So instead, I provided examples of performance issues that illustrated the fact that this job was not the right fit for her. Again, she said that this was my fault.

Throughout my years as a manager, I've seen person after person blame others for their failings. Sales reps that don't have "enough materials" to make the sale. Supervisors who didn't get "enough support" to hit the numbers. And in this case, "micro-management that squelched her effervescence," and "always making her feel like a failure."

This was one part of this conversation that I can't seem to shake. Because I have always prided myself on subscribing to the Pygmalion Effect in Management. I asked her how I made her feel like a failure. "By having to to tell you about what I was doing. By having you correct things that I had done. By having me get marketing's approval before I could print a flyer." I explained that this was an integral part of management, and that I too had to report on my progress and seek approvals before I had anything printed. This concept was lost on her.

The other disconcerting comment that she made was, "You've been this big-whig here for 3 years, you were director of that other company, you've run all these big departments..."

I don't remember much of what she said after that, because I don't consider myself to be a big-whig, director level, successful anything. I'm a manager, for crissakes, so yes, I lead a team to hit corporate objectives. But it's the team that does it and they are the ones that get the credit. Not me. Almost to a fault, I don't self promote. If anything, I second guess myself and consider myself to be mediocre at best. (Hence, the Chains on this-here Woman.)

Big sigh. This situation is so similar to another that I had six years ago. That other supervisor was also a passive aggressive, and she too launched programs with her team by saying, "I don't agree with this but it's what Jill wants so we have to do it." That's about as passive aggressive as it gets.

So...to my recently departed sales supervisor I say this:

"You lack managerial courage, and your methodology of blaming me for the new programs and guidelines eroded your credibility with your team. When you position yourself as powerless, people tend to believe it. When you fail to manage your projects, people tend to see it. When you blame others for your failure, people tend to understand the real source of the problem, and recognize the patterns in that person's life. I wish you Good Riddance, sales supervisor. I regret that there was very little that I could do to help you overcome your own worst enemy."

Cute and Ugly.

My cat Tiger was pawing wildly at the window last night, howling quietly. I turned to see what was causing the commotion, and I came eye to eye with this.

I've spent years trying to hate these little buggers. Though sometimes their cuteness overcomes me.

About ten years ago, just days before we moved out of the townhouse, we heard an awful fight ensue between a raccoon and a mother squirrel protecting her nest of babies. I don't have to tell you who won. Or how traumatized I was for years over hearing that encounter. I had named the squirrel Hogaboom and her babies could do nothing but cry out in fear after the death of their mother. And slowly, one by one, they died too. It was awful. And there was nothing that I could do to stop it.

So now, I see a raccoon in my backyard and my blood freezes when I remember. I give a silent prayer that my black squirrels will be safe. That the Twins, a couple of grey squirrels that appear in tandem, will get away if approached. That I will never, ever have to witness the carnage ever again.

I understand this is the Cycle of Life but it doesn't lessen the horror of knowing my little critters are stalked.

It helps that I no longer give them names, or even expect to see them in the morning when I toss peanuts into the bushes. Guarded attachment. Sadly, it works.

I am mired in fear.

Fear of telling my director that I am applying for an internal transfer to Denver. Fear that I am throwing away a fantastic life. Fear that I will be easily replaced in my position. Fear that I'm a lousy manager. Fear that I am going to destroy the only shred of happiness that my parents have experienced in years.

Conversely, I feel convicted to move. To raise children in a city that is affordable. To transition out of sales and into training, my passion. To get away from San Francisco and all of its traffic congestion and $800,000 fixer-uppers. To slow down, work normal hours and commute no more than 20 minutes each way. To own a home that has a backyard. To get dogs...at least two of them...from the humane society. To learn how to breathe deeply again and feel calm enough to lose weight.

I'm up, I'm down. And through it all, I'm afraid.

A Lesson in Patients

I worked from home today so I could take my Dad to his 2:30pm doctor's appointment. We arrived early, as requested, so we could complete the new patient paperwork.

After 30 minutes, we were escorted into the exam room. Dad was asked to stand on the scale and it took a considerable amount of effort to get him on it and balanced upright. He was teetering like a weeble. Finally, he weighed in at 214lbs.

Dad sat on the exam table and I sat in a small chair. We made small talk to pass the time. When 3:30pm rolled around, I thought it would be wise to remind the office staff that we were still waiting.

The receptionist was surrounded by stacks of patient files, and she didn't return my smile when I approached.

"Hi, excuse me. Just wondering what the eta might look like for when we see the doctor?"

"I really can't tell you how long he is going to be."

"OK, it's just that we've been waiting for an hour."

"The doctor spends a significant amount of time with each patient."

"Okay, so no real idea on how long it might be..."

"No."

So back I went, into the avocado green exam room with the 1960's Formica counter tops and dirty cabinets. My mind started to drift and I began to wonder when someone last cleaned that room. Suddenly, I began to focus in on all of the dust bunnies, dirt smudges, grime and furniture pocks. I was growing wheezy by the minute.

My dad and I waited another excrutiating hour. Staring at the walls. Listening to other people come and go outside our closed door. Watching the dust bunnies multiply. At exactly 4:30pm, I became Huffy.

"Dad. This is not respectful. Would you like me to find you another doctor?"

Dad quickly perked-up and replied, "Let's bust this joint."

As we walked out, I asked the receptionist to return Dad's $10 co-pay. She hesitated for a moment.

There were no apologies. No explanations. No, "Please wait just a few more minutes. We've been backlogged but the doctor is on his way."

All we received was an unfriendly stare that followed us as we walked out and shut the door behind us.

He sneaks up from behind on unsuspecting television viewers. Swiftly and quietly, he attacks. Upon impact, I hear the sweet sound of his Squeek. It's as if he's saying, "Pay attention and lay a little lovin' on me." One little headbutt, and suddenly he's the center of my universe...getting kisses and scratches and brown sugar on the belly.

Hmmm. Which gets me thinking.

About my husband. Who's upstairs. All alone. Reading in bed.

Gotta go hit him with a Headbutt of My Own.

And to all, a good night.

Dad has rested in bed for over a week now. He's so weak, it takes extreme effort to walk over to the couch that sits just ten feet away. I started talking about renting a wheelchair for him a couple of days ago. Dad's been served every meal in his room. It's lonely for him, and I know that he'd like to get back down to the dining room to spend time with his eating buddies.

Today, Dad asked me to go ahead and purchase a wheelchair rather than rent.

My heart broke into pieces.

A Momentary Lapse into the Political Arena

I rarely pontificate on political issues, mostly because it's a real struggle for me to put words to my feelings. Yet this morning, I have somehow found Inspiration.

Two Cents is a daily column that appears in The San Francisco Chronicle. Basically, it's a pool of Bay Area residents who comment on the question of the day. "Should we delete 2004 and do it over?" was today's query.

This perfectly benign question turned into a political platform for all 8 respondents. Seven individuals were derogatory toward President Bush and the war in Iraq. One person felt that Kerry would reintroduce the "lingering Clinton-era recession again." No one had anything to say about their family, their work, or their health.

I don't recall ever seeing so many people state their political opinions so frequently or vehemently. And what put me over the edge this morning is that this Ongoing Anger doesn't stop there:

• In a holiday letter from a good friend, an entire paragraph was devoted to bashing the president.
• One very dear friend has stopped talking to us because Kerry didn't win. She suspects my husband voted for Bush, and she has no idea how I voted. None-the-less, we have been written off. Completely. After fifteen years of friendship.
• I say hello to people and ask how they are doing? They respond, "Terrible...with Bush still in office." Whatever happened to just saying, "I'm doing fine. How are you?"

I don't consider myself to be either a Republican or a Democrat. I share certain opinions with both parties. Overall, I think family decisions should be private. Gays should live free from discrimination and government intervention. What happens in my bedroom is my business and not yours. I believe in social programs that help people live independently. Health care is a right and not a priviledge. Teachers are grossly underpaid and under-appreciated. I support stem cell research because it can be harvested from healthy-born babies...and it could potentially relieve so much suffering. And illegal aliens should not qualify for a driver's license.

I don't believe we went to war with Iraq as a "payback" for Bush senior, because Saddam had weapons of mass destruction or to control the world's oil. I think Bush is intent on establishing democracy in an area of the world that has become increasingly volatile and unpredictable. And I have often felt that he was acting on some sort of knowledge that I didn't have. Perhaps the pending likelihood of more countries or terrorist groups growing in strength and obtaining nuclear weapons. I don't like war and I'm extremely saddened by the loss of any life. But I remain open to possibility that stabilizing Iraq with some form of democratic foothold could ultimately save thousands of lives in the years to come.

My heart breaks for the survivors and victims in South Asia. The tsunami brought total destruction to these Muslim countries. And who is there to help? Australia, France, the US. I think about terrorists and how they do nothing to build and assist their fellow Muslims. They just murder innocent people who don't conform to their philosophies, like a bunch of self-righteous bullies with too much money.

Well, that's the extent of my political leanings. That is as abrasive and aggressive that I am going to become over these issues. I don't discuss any of this with friends or family. I guess I'm an isolationist of sorts.

I'm tired of the Red State vs Blue State debate. I'm tired of people saying the 2004 election wasn't "legitimate." I'm tired of people planting their flags so firmly in the ground that we become even more polarized and antagonistic with one another.

The election is over, for better or for worse. Can't we just say, "Enough is Enough!" No more pot-shots. No more squabbling. No more sizzling anger directed at neighbors and friends.

Can't we all just Get Along?