Time to Say Good-bye: My Cycle of Sorrow Nears Its End

On Tuesday, April 30, 2013, I will celebrate the first anniversary of my mother’s passing from this world into the next. I have allowed myself a year of “official” grieving, whatever that means; and I am now determined to “move on,” as they say. I know that there is no bright line I will cross next week, nor will my sadness be at an end; not at least until my own transition out of this world. After that, who knows?

I remember thinking last year, as I cared for her in her final weeks, final days and final hours, how cruel it seemed for her to be dying in the springtime when the cycle of life was renewing itself.  I used to love it when the Palo Verde trees showed off their small and mighty, most brilliant yellow-green flowers. They made it impossible to deny spring as they painted the Sonora desert alive in a color that forbade us from ignoring them. As they boasted their announcement of renewal, my mother was dying; deteriorating before my very eyes. And even then, I was grateful; grateful that I was there with her.

Even though recalling those days is very hard for me, I am still grateful for all that she was and all she wasn’t. I know now that my mother will always be one of the bravest people I have ever known. I haven’t always been able to appreciate how afraid and alone she was for so much of her life, and it hurts to remember the times that I felt ashamed and embarrassed because she wasn’t like other mothers. In owning those moments, however, I am able to heal. Because she always loved me anyway. Nobody ever loves you like your mom. For all of us, she was our first human connection. For my mother, I was her last human connection. How right that feels to me now.

And now I know that it really is time to move on. Not just because it’s been a year, but because I cannot honor my mother’s memory if I just curl up and die. She is often in my dreams, happy and surrounded by yellow – the color of healing, the color of the Palo Verde blossoms that I cannot bear to think about this spring for the mockery they make of my sadness.

I no longer have the option of remembering to call her more often, to send notes and cards, anything to let her know that I was thinking of her. Guilt is a wasted emotion now, and can only continue to keep me isolated away from the people I love. So, I won’t go there. I will leave the past in the past; remembering the sweetness when I want to feel happy, and remembering the lessons that I know I don’t want to repeat. And that’s all that I can do.
And it is time to get back to work now. Other than writing every day, work has been all but impossible for too long. I have spent many days just doing what I can do to take care of myself, my husband, our dog and our home – just the basics. I’ve had good days and bad days, and that won’t change. But I have changed.

My mother’s transition was the catalyst for a breakdown, and subsequent breakthrough for me -- mentally, emotionally and spiritually. For it is the breaking that enables the breaking through to a new spring, a new life, a new me.

I love and miss you every day, Mom. Thank you for loving me so much.

Time to say good-bye.

 

Another Bloody American Tragedy: Ain’t that some s#!t?

My husband is as a-political as they come, and he pays little attention to the national news. He has an after-work ritual of getting into his American-made pick-up truck and turning on the sports news radio station, enabling him to endure the daily traffic from his job in El Segundo to our home in Eagle Rock, which as all Angelinos know, is not for sissies. On Monday, April 15, 2013, he was in his truck and ready to get caught up on all the straight skinny concerning the tight squeeze in the middle of the NBA Western Conference, as well as holler at the broadcasters for never giving his beloved Clippers enough credit for anything.

But on this day, his trip home would be filled with news and comments about the bombing at the Boston Marathon. When he got home, he was visibly shaken. My husband is a very large man who works supervising men and machines, loves basketball and karate, in which he is a black belt, and is a real man’s man. He is not easily shaken, or emotionally moved, as he was that day. His first words as he walked in the door were, “Ain’t that some s#!t?”!!

Usually when he comes home, he changes his clothes, sits in his big chair with the LA Times Sports page, and goes into his post-labor NBA man-cave for a while. But instead of a nearly obsessive interest in NBA basketball, he needed to talk, to debrief with me over the day’s tragedy.  These are the days I feel so lucky to be married to him. I realized in that moment, as we were sitting in our living room sharing our sense of shock and disbelief, that the only place I really feel safe is inside this man’s heart, as well as the hearts of everyone that I love: my son, my grandson, family and friends. The people we have to talk to when things like this happen.

I try not to use profanity in my writing, especially not in the title. It suggests to me an inability to find a better word. However, those words from my closest friend and partner just stopped me cold. The emotion and urgency in his voice was such a departure from his usual bold countenance. I was reminded of all those other American traumas; too many of them, and more frequently it seems lately.

I still remember the unbelievable shock and horror of all the violence of the 1960s, with the Civil Rights and anti-war demonstrations, and especially all of the assassinations: Malcolm X and Medgar Evers, followed by President Kennedy; and then the sense of being unable to escape this violence after witnessing the murders of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. I remember waking up to my mother sobbing into a bath towel upon hearing the news of Bobby Kennedy’s shooting. I remember being glued to the TV after the assassinations, after Oklahoma City and 9/11, just as I am today, hungry for news from Boston.

I grew up with a sense that these incidents, while shocking and evil, were rare. But now, the rarity of these events is a distant memory, as we seem to be going through these national traumas nearly every month. Some of them, like Oklahoma City, 9/11, Newtown and Boston, blow a giant hole through our collective American heart. Others garner fewer national headlines, and/or for shorter periods of time than either of those above, but are no less heartbreaking for the community and families of those killed or injured in places like Aurora, Colorado and Oak Creek, Wisconsin.

And it takes its toll on all of us, each time our world stops, in order to process the latest horror being played out on our television sets. Not only does the present moment call for a collective, exhausting grief, it also awakens our memories of national traumas past, as well as making us feel a little less safe as we go about our daily routines. It used be easier to feel safe in this world, especially if you were just working day by day, minding your own business, like most of us do. But now, whether in venues of worship, entertainment, politics, or even shopping, there is no assumption that nothing crazy will happen to us. When did going grocery shopping, or to church, turn into a high-risk activity?

And now, I have to wonder when, and where, it will happen again. Because it will happen again. We all know that it will. Another day will come when we have to stop and look and grieve. Another day will come when our attention is diverted from something we were looking forward to, because it’s been pre-empted by something we could never imagine. It will come again because we have done nothing to prevent it from coming again. We are stuck in a cycle of violence that we think will go away, but it won’t. The cycle not only keeps on going, but speeds up with every complete revolution, in this seemingly endless American trauma ritual.

What’s the answer? I’m sure that I don’t know. Because if we can’t even get our congress to enact legislation that the vast majority of our citizens desire – and not just on guns – then how are we to move forward? If every time something happens, we try to find a way to blame it on “the other side,” how can we have an intelligent, informed and compassionate discussion in which we describe and listen to one another in an attempt to understand and compromise in order to problem-solve? Is trying to convince and convert everybody over to our side more important than actually creating lasting solutions, in which everybody gives up something and gains something in return? This action and inaction will do nothing to arrest, or even slow, this truly vicious cycle of killing and ruining lives.

No one lives forever, and I’m glad that I have learned that we are all eternal in the hearts we touch; but while I’m here I’d like to feel a little safer at the grocery store, as well as at Dodger Stadium.

It’s up to us, America! What’s it gonna be? More of the same? Or something new and different in which we learn to honor all Americans, even those with whom we disagree? Which one makes you feel safer?

 

They Don't Know What They Don't Know: Thank You, Rand Paul, For Proving This Point!

            I appreciate the GOP’s continuing efforts to “reach out” to women and ethnic minorities; not only because it provides an endless source of entertainment for me, but because at least they are actually noticing us now, and trying to “relate.” At least they’re not ignoring us anymore; that is, aside from their efforts at preventing us from voting at all.

            This week Rand Paul paid a visit to Howard University in an effort to “reach out” to African-Americans. Okay, so far, so good. Then he opened his mouth. I find it difficult to find the words to accurately express my utter astonishment at the exchange between him and the students, as he proceeded to quiz a roomful of African-American students at one of the nation’s oldest and finest Black colleges, on the history of the NAACP. Astonishment doesn’t quite cover it, but it will simply have to do.

            The senator seemed surprised that everyone there knew that, at the time the NAACP was established, it was the Republican party that was the progressive party, and so its founders were Republicans. He seemed even impressed, in a condescending sort of way, when he admitted, “You know more than I do.” No kidding, Senator. We already knew that about you.

            It seemed to me that what he was really saying was, “You know more than I thought you knew.” Of course we do. And this is the crux of the problem for Republicans. Most educated ethnic minorities that I know, have a greater knowledge and command of American history than most Caucasians, even those educated at top universities. We know the white, manifest destiny history that we were all taught. Not being satisfied with being shoved to the back of the history pages in a white-dominated society and education system, we sought a deeper understanding of the historical forces that left our kind on the outside looking in for most of our American history.

            So you see, Senator, it is not you and your ilk who need to school us about our own history. Rather, it is you who need to be schooled by us, about all the many, many things of which you are so woefully ignorant. We know it’s not your fault, and we have tremendous compassion for the ignorant white people in power; even though we are often amazed at how white men can meet with such success, knowing as little as they do.

            We are used to these condescending attitudes and the ensuing shock when white people discover our brilliance. We know what you’re thinking; mostly because you have told us many times, in ways great and small, that you naturally assume a lower level of intellect and skill for us. By the time those students got to Howard, they had already been subjected to white assumptions of inferiority countless times. This exchange was not a new experience for them, although this particular one was probably more personally rewarding for them than most; but it was certainly nothing new to be underestimated by a white person in power. That is a common experience, as well as a much too frequent one. We’ve all been there hundreds of times by the time we get to college, and thousands of times by the time we retire.

Those numbers are not an exaggeration. If any white person out there doesn’t believe me, ask your darker-skinned friends, if you actually have any that would be honest with you, if this condescending lowering of expectations is something they have experienced in their lives. Ask them how often. That is, of course, only if you really want to know.

And that is a deeper crux of the same problem. Caucasians, especially conservatives, have indicated over and over, that they just don’t want to know. Even with membership falling and facing possible extinction, organizations like the Republican Party, Rotary International, and other conservative organizations, continue to ignore information and input from people who are vested in, and care about these organizations, and who don’t enjoy watching them die such a slow and painful death.  There is a plethora of information about us, and yet, we continue to be such a mystery to you.

I have served in a leadership capacity in conservative organizations and it is unfathomable to me how very careless they are with their messaging, even after being informed by members of the group that their messaging is sexist, racist and off-putting to people like me. I cannot help but to mention that since 2007, when Barack Obama began running for president, and especially after 2009, when he took office, how much worse this situation became, with insults increasing in vulgarity and number. And this I experienced after years of working with leadership to try to create an environment less hostile to women and people of color. It’s not like nobody told them how they sounded. And yet, their hostility gets worse and worse.

Maybe, instead of trying to school us on subjects that we know more in depth than you do, perhaps you should do some listening. And some reading.

Read “The Devil’s Highway,” by Luis Alberto Urrea, before commenting about immigration.

Read, “Coming of Age in Mississippi,” by Ann Moody, before talking about how Jim Crow was, as Haley Barbour put it, “No big deal.”

            Read before you try to talk to us. Listen before you speak.

Or you can just keep on doing what you're doing, and keep on getting what you're getting, which is mostly chuckled at, by people like me. You certainly won't get our votes, or even our respect, until you have enough respect for us to step outside your comfort zone, and your preconceived ideas of who you think we are, and actually get to know us. We are just as American as you are. And soon, there will be more of us than there are of you; so we might as well create an America that is big enough for all of us.

           

BLINDED BY THE WHITE: THE GOP CONTINUES TO SERVE MOOSE-TURD PIE!



            I continue to be astonished at the Republican party’s insistence on doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Isn’t that how many of us define insanity? They hire pollsters and researchers and analysts, searching in the same old places, for the answers that keep evading them. The problem is that they do not seem to know how to admit that they are blinded by centuries of state and church sponsored white protestant male supremacy in these United States of America. Until they can accurately access their problem, they will not be able to fix it.

            Democrats have a long history of championing those Americans that the moneyed elite have a history of kicking to the curb, those who have been cast out as “the other”:  the poor, the sick, the aged, students, ethnic minorities, the LGBT community, women, and all of those who, until only the last 40 years, have been on the outside looking in. We care about them and make it a point to learn about these lives; as well being able to recognize ourselves in them and share our own stories. That is why those victimized by the “otherization” of conservatives have more routinely voted Democratic in those 40 years. And it is these voting demographics that are claiming a larger share of the electorate with each election cycle; and continue to be a mystery to the Republican leadership. They cannot win national elections without winning over a significant chunk of these voters.

            However, in order to be able to see and accurately evaluate the big disconnect with these voters, Republicans will have to look inside themselves and inside our American history, to discover, and learn to appreciate, some of the low points in our past; and the low level of compassion and respect for these groups that their party has repeatedly shown to us for decades.

            Just a few days ago, conservative Republican Congressman Young from Alaska used the term “wetback” to describe the labor force on his father’s ranch in the 1950s and 60s. While this is quite typical language coming from conservative speakers, what is different is that, this time, the GOP chairman actually demanded, and got, an eventual apology from this Alaskan representative. His first apology, essentially a lame excuse for an instilled and taught white supremacy, was not enough to satisfy anyone; another departure from Republican norms when insulting others. Usually we don’t even get an apology, or even an acknowledgement of how their choices of terms are offensive and obsolete. So, I think it is important to give credit for even the slightest speck of enlightenment in the Republican camp.

            This tiny ray of light, however, seems to be fueled not by a desire to understand the other, but rather to, somehow, figure out a way to get our votes, that is, if they are unable to suppress them. What Republicans don’t seem to understand is that we know, we can see for ourselves, that there has been no substantive change of heart. Their mathematical and demographic panic is a poor substitute for true concern and compassion. Knowing that you can’t make it without us is very different from actually wanting us around. The three largest growing demographics that will be coming into leadership in the next 10 years are Latinos, women and the millennials. All of these groups are smart enough to see through the thinly veiled attempts to attract our attention only out of desperation and confusion.

            It is their product that is no longer selling like hotcakes to a large white majority, largely ignorant of the lives and travails of “the other.” It is the product. It is the policies. It is their ingrained fear of, as well as constant underestimation of and condescension to, the other – ethnic minorities, students, the elderly, the poor, gays and lesbians and women who want to control their own destinies. It is what you say, as well as how you say it. It is that they do not know us, and what they think they do know about us is just wrong and degrading most of the time.

            We can tell that white conservatives see themselves as superior to us, morally and intellectually. Why else would they say such things? That they themselves cannot see this is obvious, and the fact that they refuse to face this truth is what very well may continue to decimate their party for years to come.

            It is obvious that Congressman Young honestly felt that it was okay to use the term “wetback.” We know what racial slander John Sununu was pedaling when he described President Obama as “lazy.” There are images conjured-up when these words are spoken. We know that Haley Barbour couldn’t possibly have known what he was talking about when he described growing up in segregated schools as “no big deal.” No big deal for him, I’m sure. We know what kind of image Newt Gringrich was inviting when he said that poor black children don’t know what work is because they have no experience of seeing people go to work all day. We know that these images are what white conservatives see when they see dark-skinned people; and that it is nearly impossible for them to see someone like me, someone like President Obama, for who we truly are – members of groups traditionally discriminated against who had to work 10 times harder than Young, Sununu, Barbour and Gingrich combined just to be able to get into good schools, and much more so into the Ivy League.

            In saying this, I do not suggest that white conservatives, who continue to use racial slurs and sexist jokes as if it was 1959, are all evil or stupid or unpatriotic. In fact, my experience in large conservative groups, like Rotary, has proven quite the contrary. For the most part, they are good and decent people who want to do the right thing. I heard many similar comments at my Rotary meetings, which is largely the reason that I am no longer a member. And yet, having come to know them more personally, I knew that the people saying these things were not mean people; just ignorant. And it is this same ignorance and pride that prevents the current GOP from moving forward with the new demographics. For me, these kinds of comments and antics arouse my curiosity more than any sense of slight. For how can this fear of “the other” trump even the survival instinct? Would they really rather die off than love us? Wow! How Christian is that? Why is it so hard for them to admit that they don’t know what they don’t know about us?

            I recall a cut from a Utah Phillips album called, “Moose-turd Pie,” in which he baked a beautiful pie made of moose dung. It’s really a funny routine. But when Republicans try over and over again to serve us moose-turd pie, it’s not so funny. You see, it really doesn’t matter if you serve this pie on the finest china, or garnish it with parsley, or try to make it look or smell like something else, we can still tell that it’s moose-turd pie, and it is not to our liking. We’re still not gonna eat it. Ever!