A birthday and a lesson after death...

Yesterday was my friend Jonathan's birthday. I've known Jonathan since sixth grade. He was kind and funny and seemed immune to negativity, peer pressure, hatred or meanness. He was quite simply the kindest, most positive and upbeat person I knew. Jonathan and I lost touch as many of us Gen X'ers did (we didn't have anything like Facebook when we graduated - life was very different). One day, at some point after I found Facebook, Jonathan did too and we became Facebook friends. He would send me messages now and then (not posts on my wall but actual, personal messages that often just said "Hi Amy, how's life? I hope you're great. I'm very happy that things went well yesterday at the hospital. I'm so proud of my boy! He's going to play soccer soon!"). You see, Jon had all the reason in the world to be down-trodden. His five year old son had cancer. He and his wife did all they could to have a happy, normal life as they fought against the cancer monster and celebrated his son's little milestones in the big battle and eventual victory over cancer.

Jon died a year and a half ago, suddenly, unexpectedly. Jon shouldn't have died. There was no reason for it. He was young, he was proud of his time spent working out at the Y to be healthy, and he had a son who needed him arguably more than any boy possibly could. I attended Jon's funeral at home and reconnected with old friends. We relived the pure beauty that was Jon. We mourned, we became closer to each other and I met his wife Sheryl and his son as they were saying their goodbyes to my childhood friend.

Sheryl and I connected instantly. I wanted to do something to support her. But I felt that there was nothing I could do. I was wrong. And I am telling you this - if you are reading - because you, like me, probably need to believe in a much greater power than what you and I can comprehend. You need to know that God/the universe/an energy greater than us is always at work in our lives - just like I needed to believe.

Jon died in the fall, not long before Christmas. I felt so compelled to do something for his wife and son but I couldn't imagine what - I barely knew them and I had no idea how it would be received if I did something. I wound up shopping for Christmas gifts for them both - surely, I thought, that was acceptable and welcome. While shopping for a woman my age and a five year old boy I was utterly compelled to purchase a pink feather boa that I tried many times not to buy.  I thought it was too silly, too inappropriate, too - something. But I just went with my first instinct and wrapped it up and gave it to Sheryl for Christmas mere weeks after Jon died. When she opened the gift, she was speechless. She smacked my thigh, looked franticaly around the room and then got up, searching for something. When she came back and sat next to me, she stared at me in disbelief. She couldn't speak and I really wasn't sure what was going on. She had a pile of photographs and kept telling me she had to find one. She found it. It was a silly photo of Jon wearing a feather boa. It had become a joke the two of them shared and laughed about often. I knew instantly: I didn't give Sheryl that feather boa, Jon did. But he needed a human to be quiet enough and trusting enough of her instincts to help him give this gift to his wife who missed him so much so he could say to her "I'm here." ...And I was that human who was eventually quiet and compliant enough to take a pink boa off a wall, buy it, wrap it and give it to someone who would, unbenounced to me, know exactly who it was from.

Yesterday we remembered Jon's entrance into this world in a now-Facebook culture. Many of us posted long messages on his wall about how much we miss him, how his positive outlook continues to teach us and what a gift he was to everyone. And while Jon is "gone," he is often present in my heart and mind because he has been my teacher, both in life and in death. He gave me my first tangible experience of connecting directly with the other side, with God. I took an action that came from deep inside of me, one I could not rationalize or figure out, no matter how hard I tried. That deep instinct (Jon's urging me) persisted and I acted according to that instinct. It wasn't mine to judge, just mine to act upon for someone else's benefit. I believe that this is what we are all given every day: A strong urging to do something that we may not understand, that may not benefit us directly but something that we know comes from a place of love so we go ahead and do it anyway. And so tonight, I share this with you all to suggest that we can all hear the guidance of God and our guides if we just listen to that knowing voice inside of us which proves to always be right, even if we never receive the evidence of just how right it is.

Jon, thank you. I celebrate your birth into this world and the gifts you continue to give us. We all love and miss you and I pray that we will all continue to grow in ways we cannot yet imagine because I know you are there helping us whether we listen or not.

Happy birthday, sweet soul.

Farewell wishes to Jonathan... & Finding comfort in cyberspace.

Tonight I learned of the passing of a gentle soul who gave much more than he ever took from this world.

Jonathan	live life to the fullest everyday is a challenge. one day at a time. things do get better.

A friend of mine named Jonathan passed away sometime between his excited post at 9:33am yesterday about the upcoming football game and today when word broke across the great span of Facebook that he was gone.  Learning of Jonathan's passing, and sharing sorrows with so many old high school friends would seem far more inappropriate were it not for this same medium bringing Jonathan's positivity to us on a near daily basis.

Jonathan was kind, humble and full of love and light.  I do not say these words offhandedly or because I lack for words when speaking of someone who has passed away.  This man was truly a gentle soul.  I remember him befriending everyone, reaching out to everyone and smiling at everyone - during a time (high school) and at a school that was, in all fairness, particularly unkind to many.  Jonathan was one of the few who rose above and simply didn't see the painful social boundaries that caused me and so many others so much pain and anxiety.  Jonathan was always unapologetically himself.  Always.

When Jonathan and I reconnected on Facebook, he became the breath of fresh air in my news feed.  Amidst the occasional vulgarity of my high school students, the self-aggrandizing photos and status updates and political declarations, Jonathan's posts were short, simple and hopeful.  He and his family faced much - much more than most of us will ever face ( I honor and respect their privacy by not being direct here) but he never lost hope; he never ceased to be upbeat and full of love.

For Jonathan to pass in his mid-thirties is shocking to those of us in his generation.  For Jonathan to leave behind a loving partner and sweet son is unhearable to think about.  But for Jonathan to be missing as the constant reminder that even a sunny day is something to post about is a moment for us all to stop and see what truly matters in life.

My friend Jonathan...

Loved his son more than words
Supported his loved ones through the greatest challenges people ever face
Spoke simply of simple things that bought him joy
Remained positive through the darkest of dark days
Appreciated all that life gave him no matter how small the deed or seemingly insignificant the moment
... and always reminded me to appreciate what I have and be present in every single moment.

Jonathan, you were and are an angel among men.  You touched my heart and you linger in my soul as a guide and mentor for life.  May we always, always remember to honor your spirit through the kind and simple ways we bring joy into another's life whether it is ever noticed or not.

Rest among the angels, my friend.  We are all celebrating you on Facebook, just as you graced us there.  And as Rob said in his post on your page, "You will be missed more than your humble and giving soul could have ever imagined."

When life shows up....

Sometimes it's subtle.
Sometimes it's overly avert.

Sometimes it's a shock.

Sometimes it's been there all along....

Photo of artwork in a coffee shop, name unknown, message received.

Life brings us so much each day.  Just sit, quiet and look.  Can't see anything?  Close your eyes and look within. It is in the moments when you think God has forgotten to deliver that He is doing his greatest work within you.  Be sure to pay attention to these quiet moments because they are preparing you for the moments that will arrive around the corner when everything you need outside of yourself starts to show up.  Your tools, your relationships, your challenges and your opportunities.  All yours.  All for your work in the world.  It all shows up for you to use in delivering upon your unique, divine mission in life.  

Don't miss it.  Odds are that it won't look like what you expect nor arrive when you're ready, but it all comes.  For you.  And only you.  Are you opening the door?

Knowing it to be true...

Have you ever had a gut instinct that proved to be right?  A feeling about someone or about a situation that was exactly what you thought when the truth came out?  Have you ever felt that you were inexplicably familiar with someone despite only just having met them?

These are all examples of the Spirit being alive in us and actively working with us... and evidence that we are fully present in our lives.  When we are open to our own Spirit (or God), this kind of knowing happens for us.  I've learned that when I feel most alive, most comfortable and most in the flow in my own life with someone or something, it is a sure sign that I am connected to a deeper knowing within myself.

There's a terrible affliction in humankind - one that keeps us trapped, living life in our heads all the time, trying to make sense of things, or worse, trying to make the world fit into our understanding of it. Too often too many of us forget to let go and let life happen.  And more often than not, people don't even realize that this is happening - that they are living life through their thoughts.  We've created our routines, our sense of right and wrong and our ways of seeing the world but they leave little room for seeing the world anew day after day.  There's so much beyond what we thing we know and see each day but it is so easy to miss it.  We forget, in a way, to get out of our own way.

Being open and letting life happen shows us a much more beautiful reality than one we could have written for ourselves in the first place.

I've practiced this openness to life and awareness of my own intuition for years but it's very easy to fall off the wagon.  Fear of loss, worries about the future, shocking information - it all throws us off balance in an instant.  That delicate and hard won balance is worth paying attention to and maintaining because it allows us to experience life in greater dimension.  It's a combination of living in the moment, listening to (and for) our own intuition, and believing that we are each a unique part of a larger story and that our role is critical to that story's success.  No one else can live our lives for us - we are here to live them fully and intentionally in the starring role.

Apathy toward your own life creates disappointment, lost opportunities, sadness, loss, regret - all terribly undesirable things!  So why not be engaged fully in your own story and fully open to all the story lines and walk-on characters that show up?  Only you can experience and share all those wonderful moments in the story of YOU.  And in that story of you, you are the superstar, the director and the producer - fitting indeed since only YOU can know all there is to know... and know it to be true.

Look for the light in one another & open to your own power...

File this one under "Love and learn from one another - especially the ones you can't imagine loving."

As life gets harder and seems to challenge us more, it seems that for many people, a natural reaction is to turn to a very primal response:  To fight.  So many people, it seems, when they are frightened or confused or feel overwhelmed, look for someone to blame.  Some even simply ascribe the pain they are feeling to someone else.  Yes, someone may be involved in a situation that causes you pain, or someone may oppress you in someway.  Yes, there is pain and fear associated with the things in your life that challenge you.  But when you choose to focus your energy on blame, hatred, drama - or if you even just focus all of your energy on trying to figure out another person's motives or reasoning for doing/being/reacting as they have - you lose your own power.  To choose to be fully in your power, despite the involvement of someone who pushes your buttons, allows you to come into your own strength to deal with and learn from the situation.

I strongly believe that the circumstances that happen in our lives are all opportunities for growth.  And a big divine hint for us all is to notice when the same feelings or similar situations seem to happen "to" us over and over. In fact, they aren't happing to us at all.  They are part of the greater intelligence that is guiding us through our own personal growth and learning.  When we consider that all people in our lives serve as teachers for us, and all events and circumstances are part of a divine curriculum of sorts, then we can see that we are simply being guided through the opportunities to learn just who we are and determine for ourselves how we would like to grow and change.  Everything changes.  All the time.  We, too, are part of that universal law of change but too often we fight it or get distracted by the personalities involved in our stories.

So step back.  Quietly thank those individuals for showing you the opportunity to learn and grow and then focus only on yourself.  Those people involved have illuminated a very important part of your path.  Now it's up to you to recognize that light and use your own to head down the path a little further to a place you have not been.  After all, you and only you are here to live the unique lifetime that is and always will be your own.

When God closes a door...

He really does open a window.  Or another door.  Or eight new doors.  Or sometimes, even, an entirely new building.

I realized recently that I had been looking closely for something in one place for quite sometime.  After years of looking, expecting and hoping for it, I finally accepted that it was never going to happen.  So I let go and gave up the desire for it.  Only after I let it go did something else completely unexpected happen in an entirely new place with entirely new people.

Yes, I'm being vague.  It doesn't matter what it was for me, rather, the important thing is that we all begin to learn the lesson that looking for something is far different from allowing yourself to be open to something.  There are many wise spiritual leaders, metaphysical gurus and none-too-few books that talk about how we attract things to us.  And I've learned, after much studying, reading and listening that they all have pretty much the same thing to say:  We are constantly attracting to us all sorts of things but what the universe (or God) has in store for us is always exactly what we need, be it an opportunity to learn, to grow or to experience something important.  The universe contains such incredible power and works in so many ways we can't possibly measure or understand.  The problem is that we get so attached to what we want (or worse, what we think we need) that we often miss those opened windows, additional doors and brand new opportunities that pop up around us all the time.

Have the courage to stop looking for something in particular and open yourself to all of the wonderful things that life is bringing to you.  They are coming all the time whether you notice them or not.  And don't get attached to what you think the outcome should be.  The actual outcome, once it has come to pass, will be far greater than you could have imagined yourself.  I know, I've witnessed what is behind my own newly opened window after I finally stopped trying to get back into that closed door...

A message from the Hopi Elders...

I have loved this passage for years and read it often.  Each time I read it, it becomes more true, more eminent.  I encourage you to write it down, bookmark it, print it, copy it - whatever it takes for you to read this again and again when you are seeking answers and guidance.  

The wisdom is not mine, but the sunset, for a few moments last June, was.  

Both can and should be shared.

A Message from the Hopi Elders 

"You have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour. 
Now you must go back and tell the people that this is The Hour. 
Here are the things that must be considered: 
Where are you living? 
What are you doing? 
What are your relationships? 
Are you in right relation? 
Where is your water? 
Know your garden. 
It is time to speak your Truth. 
Create your community. 
Be good to each other. 
And do not look outside yourself for the leader. 
This could be a good time! 
There is a river flowing now very fast. 
It is so great and swift, that there are those who will be afraid. 
They will try to hold on to the shore. 
They will feel they are being torn apart and will suffer greatly. 
Know the river has its destination. 
The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above the water. 
And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate. 
At this time in history, we are to take nothing personal. 
Least of all, ourselves. 
For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt. 
The time of the lone wolf is over. 
Gather yourselves! 
Banish the word "struggle" from your attitude and your vocabulary. 
All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration. 
We are the ones we have been waiting for!" 


- Oraibi, Arizona, Hopi Nation

Sixteen thousand six hundred lost souls...

Over sixteen thousand individual human beings have perished in Japan since the disaster struck almost exactly one week ago as I write this.  These are lives that have ended violently and unexpectedly.  People like you and me with hopes, dreams, fears, lovers, crushes, pets, jobs, siblings, hobbies, favorite colors, memories, good days and bad days... dead.

...The "Fukushima Fifty".  A group of anonymous engineers on a suicide mission into the radiation to try and slay a monster that can't be seen, nor, seemingly slayed.

...Lybia.  No-fly zones.  Lybians asking for help from the US and even offering to pay for it.  Surface-to-air missiles.  Rebels attacked. Genocide.

There were so many reasons for me to be happy today but I struggled to be my typically cheerful self.  It's St. Patrick's Day today but the collective jubilation of the day seemed to be muted in a subtle way.  I shopped for a dress to wear to a friend's wedding and I found myself irritated by my own vanity in the dressing room.  How can this be important when I live on the same planet with so many people who are suffering right now, on a daily, hourly basis?

Surprising, unsettling, shocking things are happening all over the world.  Natural disasters, man-made disasters, war, famine, disease, depleting resources, abuse, slavery, power struggles, fights for freedom, and humanity's greatest and most realistic fear: nuclear destruction.  It's everywhere.  Even if you turn off your television or choose to ignore it, it's still there.  And we are getting to a point in our collective human story where we are all affected and none of us can ignore the problems any more.  We can distract ourselves, we can drown our sorrows for a night but when a new day dawns, it's all still there.

I wish I had more answers but I only have one.  I hope you trust me on what I do know and I hope you join with me in opening to it as well, especially if you feel as helpless as so many of us do.  We must give love.  It takes nothing from you yet it gives so much.  We all determine what it means to give our love.  None of us are immune to what is happening.  Just as Siddhartha longed to know what existed beyond the walls of his kingdom and then ventured out to learn the ugly realities of life, we will all one day either seek to know the truth or the truth will come find us.  Let us be like the Buddha and seek the kind of enlightenment within ourselves that will, in turn, serve to bring more love to the world.  Because...

Sixteen thousand six hundred people just like you and me had no idea that their lives would end one week ago.

The families of sixteen thousand six hundred people had no idea that they would lose loved ones.

The community of sixteen thousand six hundred citizens had no way of knowing that it would be turned to rubble.

The nation of Japan had no idea that it would be ground zero for the greatest natural disaster in written history and the unwitting host, now, to a man-made nuclear disaster with no foreseeable conclusion.

As far and as wide as we will look for answers, there will be many experts with many answers and no answers just the same.  The one answer that does exist for all of us lies in the hearts of Six billion seven hundred million people.  And it is this:  The choice we make to love and take care of one another for as long as we are on this earth.  It is the one answer we will always have and we can always employ.  It is universal to every situation in every corner of our world.  Love exists in an endless supply.  As long as ONE of us chooses to do Good for another person, then I believe humanity is on the right path.

...The path to love.

Time with Mom... and making her proud.

There is not a blog site with enough of space nor a book with enough pages to allow anyone, ever, to write everything there is to be written about the complex and holographic relationship between a mother and daughter.  I'm not even going to attempt anything of the sort.  Instead, here's what I have to say (starting with a concise list of twenty items)...

In five day's time, my mother has:

1. Celebrated the return of my 26th birthday (again).
2. Reminded me and informed several others that she spent two days of hard labor "bringing me into this world."
3. Watched me speak from the heart to a room full of people.
4. Met people who love me.
5. Met people I love.
6. Met some of my friends who are now her friends on Facebook.
7. Stayed up until 4:00AM, on purpose.
8. Made me cookies.
9. Conspired to marry me off.
10. Burned cupcakes.
11. Bought me $3.00 gourmet cupcakes.
12. Ate sushi for the first time.
13. Decided she doesn't like sushi and has no use for chopsticks.
14. Made a commitment to a monthly donation to my favorite cause.
15. Meditated with a group of women she'd never met ...and me.
16. Did not learn how to upload photos on her new laptop despite hours of my coaching.
17. Spent too much time on Facebook.
18. Made me laugh.
19. Frustrated me.
20. Made me wish she lived closer.

She'd have to make her own list of things I've done since she's been here but I'm pretty sure her list would be just as ridiculous.  And I know that she would add one thing, and it is this:

I've made her proud.  

She tells me that a lot these days.  She would be the first to tell you that she should have told me this a lot more during the first 20 years of my life.  But she and I have learned a lot and come to appreciate the fact that our greatest challenges with each other - in this most sticky relationship - are exactly the challenges we both needed to go through and overcome to become who we are today.

Somewhere along the way in life, I learned that motherly love can come from anyone.  I tell my students that they've made me proud because everyone needs positive reinforcement and the kind of love that comes from hearing these words.  I know I do.  And I think we should all affirm one another often as we can.  We should all say "You've made me proud" more often than we do.  This is not necessarily just a mother's job, of course, but I think many people assume that others get this kind of reinforcement at home and that's enough - but it's not.  And what's worse, we don't think it's necessary to commend one another.  Far too many people do not have mothers, fathers, partners, families, colleagues or bosses in their lives who can give them this kind of gift.  But you can.

There's a great deal of love, gratitude, power and magic in telling someone that they have made you proud.  So go ahead and tell someone that he or she has made you proud.   Today.

Thanks Mom.  You've made me proud.  ;-)

Loving someone you've never met...

No, I'm not talking about online dating.  I'm talking about a contagious Love that has caught me and so many others completely by surprise.  It is the Love for 32 orphaned girls in Mtwapa, Kenya that exists within a community of volunteers for an organization called One Home Many Hopes.  This is a community to which I happily belong.

I've worked with underprivileged children for as long as I can remember.  In many ways, I was one myself, receiving the support of kindhearted church-goers who funded summer camp for me and my sister, and the like. I have been working with, loving, and going out of my way to take care of children who need me since I became an adult and I don't see an end to that but I've found myself in a state of awe for the Love that exists in the One Home Many Hopes (OHMH) community.

When I attended an event in May of 2010 at the request of my friend and OHMH volunteer, Tracy, I was surprised to find well over 200 other people in attendance.  I wondered to myself if I had somehow missed the boat.  How had I not heard about an organization with this kind of following in my own town?  I brought my mom to the event which was a great experience because she was able to witness what turned out to be my Love at First Sight moment with the organization.  We sat in the front row, directly in front of the projection screen where I first saw the faces and voices of a group of girls I will now do anything I can to help.

By the time the time Anthony Mulongo (the Kenyan who rescued and housed each of these girls) was finished speaking, I was in tears and I had been changed for life.  I had fallen in Love.  I hugged the man I'd never before met and promised to do anything I could.  And I am.

I brought home magnets with the girls faces that night and put them on my refrigerator.  I now look at those beautiful girls each time I open the door.  I smile at them, talk to them and tell them I Love them.

To those who know me, this isn't much of a surprise - or very far out of the ordinary for me.  I care.  A LOT.  But there has been something special about the way I feel connected to OHMH and these girls that I can't quite explain.  And then, today happened.

Today I asked another volunteer, Cristina, to tell me her story about what drew her to OHMH.  Cristina sent me the link to her story on the organization's website, and I was amazed to learn that volunteering for OHMH is the reason she decided NOT to move out of the country.  I mean, people move for all sorts of reasons and they are typically not come upon lightly.  Some of us have even left behind relationships, families and best friends for the promise of something greater.  But to STAY for a nonprofit that can't pay you for your dedication?  That's unheard of!  I had a wonderful chat with Cristina who is equally in Love with the 32 girls who live in an orphanage in Kenya that she, too, has not met.  I thought this was a pretty incredible moment in my day.  After all, I'm giving my birthday this year to the girls, Cristina gave up an international relocation...  Really! What is in the OHMH water?

But Cristina's story was not the end of my amazement today.  My sister, Suzie, fell in Love with OHMH today, too.  Now, you should know that my sister is as about as opposite from me as she could be.  I'm a woman of words and emotion, she is a woman of images and thought.  I'm a teacher, a writer, and a motivator to causes.  My sister is a photographer with a dry wit who rarely shows the kind of gushy, mushiness that has long been part of my trademark.  Case in point:  She finally posted a response to her only sister's blog yesterday for the first time.  The entry she commented on was the deeply personal essay I wrote about Setting Boundaries.  What did she write, you might ask?  And I'm quoting her here:  "hey. that stop sign is in my neck of the woods."  Yup, she commented on the photograph I used to illustrate my deeply poignant message about boundaries. Oy.

Suzie and I have come to appreciate our differences and I love that my sister shows the world through her lens what is in her heart - and she's damn good at it!  She photographs the unique love of families, pregnant women in their most joyful moments, and babies who don't give a damn about the camera - and somehow each image manages to capture a moment in time that I'm pretty sure her subjects weren't even aware of.  You would understand, then, that I would never expected to get an email from my sister today with a two-page heart-felt letter written to every single one of her friends explaining her Love for the girls of Mudzini Kwetu. 

My sister told me that her letter, and her Love for OHMH, came to her this morning while she was at church.  The message of that sermon was simply that "faith always has a plan."  I wish I had heard the rest of that sermon but I'm pretty sure her minister was talking about the kind of plan that built OHMH and has brought so many of us to have the kind of faith that allows us to Fall in Love with the girls, the cause and the community it has created.  I'm pretty sure that faith's plan is to show us all this kind of Love - the kind of Love that allows you to devote yourself to someone you've never met - and the kind of Love is changing the world.  


Have a OHMH Love Story of your own to share?  Send it to OHMHLoveStories (at) g m a i l (dot) c o m!

Letting go is opening up...

Let go of your toxic relationships with friends, lovers, beliefs and fears. 

Open yourself to those who embody the same traits you love in yourself. 

Are you a good listener? Seek others who are good listeners. Allow such traits to be barometers of who and what is right for you.  If you are trying too hard to make it work, that is a clear sign to you to let go and open yourself to what is right for you.

My friend Asha is teaching me to see life as a process of deconstructing and constructing.  This is a powerful way to view the journey.  After all, we are here to build something and we cannot bring in something NEW if we do not clear out what is old, no longer needed and taking up precious space.  This is true whether in our home, our closet, our mind, our heart or our soul.

What are you holding on to that must be released?  Don't know how to answer that question?  It's the thing that makes you feel overwhelmed or sad or weighed down when you come across it.  Quite simply, if that thing (friend, lover, belief, fear, pair of jeans or ugly chair) is not nourishing you, it's got to go.  In fact, it's draining you in a precious space that wants desperately to be filled with a job that makes you happy, a caring new lover, or a pair of jeans that make you feel like a million bucks.  So let it go.  And open up to what is around the bend... it's yours anyway, it's just waiting for you to let it in.

...So let go, and open yourself!

Ends and Beginnings

I'm reposting an essay I wrote just over a year ago when my childhood minister passed away.  I experienced pure magic and a connection with spirit on this day.  I share this again in honor and memoriam of a man who significantly impacted my life.  His life has ended and in many ways mine began anew at about the time he went home.  Ron, here's to your end, my beginning, and the constant that is and always will be:  Our souls.

A Rose & A Recliner....
February 21, 2010

The minister of my childhood church, Reverend Ronald Place, died last week at the age of 83. His wife, Margaret, died five years ago, also at the age of 83. Ron touched my life and helped to bring joyful memories and happiness to my childhood and formative years. We even lived in the same home, the parsonage next door to the Church; my family moving in after he had moved out and built a home of his own. I last saw Ron six years ago at Mass General Hospital. He and his wife traveled to Boston for her medical care and even there, in her hospital room, Ron took to counseling me on the personal and delicate topic of the interfaith relationship I was in at the time. I was completely open, my partner was not. I couldn’t understand my partner’s point of view and it was not until I spoke to my own childhood minister – the same one who opened my mind and my heart to all people, all faiths, all creeds – that I was able to understand why my partner struggled so much with our differences. Only Ron would have cared to focus on me and my struggles at a time when his own wife was ill.

When I was a child, Ron made me laugh, made me think and made me feel like I had an ally. While I have countless stories I could share about my memories of Ron, this story is about the memorial service I had for Ron today, on my own. His funeral was held at my childhood church yesterday and it was attended by so many who knew and loved Ron – by those whose lives he touched. Many of us could not attend – and more, I’m sure, don’t even know of his passing. Ron was a mahatma and he brought peace and joy and laughter to all whose lives he blessed. 

As I woke this morning, I felt the need to take a day trip to mark the last day of my February break from school. I thought about some of my tried and true destinations on the North and South shore. None appealed to me very much. Suddenly, out of nowhere while brushing my teeth, I declared to myself that I had to go to Salem, on the North Shore, not too far from where I live. I wasn’t sure why – I’ve only been to Salem a couple of times and I don’t know it all that well. Nonetheless, I gathered my coat and camera and got ready to go.




Before heading out the door, I went to my desk where a beautiful bouquet of roses has sat since it was mistakenly delivered to me one week ago on Valentine’s Day. When I called the florist that day to inform him of his mistake, he said I should keep them because another arrangement had already been sent to the correct address. I graciously placed the red roses on my desk, admiring them day after day. I called them my “Valentine’s Day flowers from the universe”. Not a bad substitute for one who does not officially have any other Valentine from whom to receive flowers. On the fifth day of admiring the roses in their pink glass vase, I took a photo of them, reveling in how they looked as fresh and alive as they did on Valentine’s Day – amazingly so, in fact. I love flowers so normally I freshen the water, trim the stems and feed them floral food – but instead, I just let them be. This morning, thinking of traveling to Salem, I decided I would have a private memorial service for Ron with a rose from the bouquet. I plucked out the flower that hadn’t opened completely and out the door I went.

On the drive to Salem, I started to remember snippets of my time with Ron. My memories came through at first as images and then, the further I drove, more as emotion and I began to cry. I looked to the rose, laying on the dashboard, and carried along on my journey. I didn’t think to bring my map book which typically lives in a pocket on the back of the passenger’s seat in my car (I’m driving a rental while mine is in the shop so it is devoid of all of the paraphernalia I typically tote around with me). I wasn’t concerned, however, I figured I could follow the signs to Salem and I’d make my way to my final destination somehow. Oddly, I still wasn’t sure where that was.




After exiting the highway and following the signs to Salem, I decided to keep driving and find a beach. I wanted to put the rose at the water’s edge as I said my prayers and my final goodbyes to Ron. Instinct led me to the water and I passed two small beaches along the driver’s side of the car as I drove. I knew the first one wasn’t it but the second seemed right. I pulled into a parking spot but decided I wanted more privacy so I backed out and kept driving. Something compelled me to drive back and park in the same spot, forsaking the four cars sitting across from the entrance to the beach. So what if people were watching, I decided. I grabbed the camera, my coat and the rose.

Crossing the road, I was faced with a biting cold wind that made me tear up instantly. My tears began to smatter on the inside of my sunglasses. When I crested the beach, I saw the oddest thing. If I weren’t walking right toward it, I would have done a double take. In fact, I am pretty sure I cocked my head like a curious dog when I saw it. There, ten yards ahead of me, sat a beige recliner on the beach. That’s right, A RECLINER WAS SITTING ON THE BEACH. At first I was irritated, thinking that this place might not be the right one for my memorial to Ron. How could a beach with garbage on it be worthy of this moment? I decided to ignore the interruption of the image ahead of me and walked to the water. When I reached the water, I placed the rose at just out of reach of the first wave. I wanted it to stay at my feet until I told the universe and Ron my thoughts and then it was free to float away, out into the ocean. 




I turned my face away from the wind, now with a combination of the tears that formed from the cold and those that came from my heart and saw something else that stopped me in my tracks: two seagulls danced in the sky above me. Normally these birds aren’t what you would consider to be graceful or even beautiful with one another. Sure, they soar in the wind and as long as they’re not trying to eat your lunch on a summer’s day at the beach, they are a welcome presence. I thought it odd in that moment, that there were two birds. Seagulls always struck me as more solo creatures unless there is food to be swooped up. These two birds wove back and forth around each other, away from me and then back. I knew that they were Ron and Margaret. Together, again. The sweetness of the thought made me smile. A moment later, they were joined by two more birds, seemingly out of nowhere. Again, I knew: these two birds were Ron’s son and daughter, who both passed away before their parents did. 




The experience on the beach with the rose and the birds was enough for me to believe that Ron was there with me. He was communicating with me; acknowledging my presence and my thoughts of him. As I turned to walk back to the car, I saw the recliner again. I laughed. I couldn’t believe it! Ron brought me to the only beach in the world that would have a recliner on it. He had a mischievous sense of humor and this was very like him. This wasn’t trash or a disturbance, this was Ron.




Before I left my house for Salem, and before I even had my Salem-bound-Ron-Place-memorial-Aha-moment while brushing my teeth this morning, I had been searching through old boxes and photo albums for a photograph of Ron. I knew I had a picture somewhere – I could see it in my memory. I was ten or so. We were in the basement of my church. My sister and I were there, along with so many other kids my age – some younger, some older – and we were there for a fundraiser to send money to people less fortunate than us somewhere on the other side of the world – Southeast Asia rang a bell. In all the years that have passed, that’s really all I could remember about the reason WHY we gathered that day and night and rocked in our pajamas downstairs from the church. 

Together with 15 or so other kids, I was participating in Ron’s “Rock-a-thon.” We rocked in rocking chairs for hours and hours at that event to raise money for a cause near and dear to Ron’s heart. While I couldn’t remember the name of the village we were supporting all these years later, I did remember the fact that we kids got to stay up all night (or so it seemed) and all we had to do is just keep rocking in our chairs. There was music, we had blankets and snacks and our parents and other adults came and went but Ron stayed with us, rocking in his RECLINER. We all brought hard wooden rocking chairs for the event but Ron was smart enough to know that he and his bum stood a far better chance of rocking as long as possible in the soft cushion surround of a rocking recliner he brought from home. 

So there on the beach, of course, sat a recliner. Ron would have had it no other way. 

When I got home today and sat at my desk, reflecting on my day and preparing to write this story, I sat in awe of the roses from the universe. They had finally started to die. Their silky crimson petals were now blackened and dried around the edges, their heads sagging down around the vase they had miraculously thrived in, nearly unattended, for seven days. They stayed strong and beautiful and alive long enough for just one of them to take me to Salem, to find that beach with the recliner and say goodbye to Ron.





Ron, I’m doing well (not “good,” of course) and I am so very grateful for every joyful, loving moment you brought to my life. In my childhood, you were pure peace to me and I will never, ever forget what you taught me.





With love and laughter, 

Amy