The Miracle of Love

My dear sweet friend,

It’s been way too long!  oh goodness!  I have so much to tell you.  I’ve missed you.

Last week my mother was rushed to the hospital.  Her heart rate was 167 and she was experiencing a very irregular heart beat.  The doctor thought her Parkinson’s was shutting down her autonomic system, which operates the heart and lung.  Her system was no longer able to do its job properly.  They hooked her up to tubes, machines and meds, and soon she was breathing well and her heart rate began to return to below 100.

She was under a lot of pain with her heart having trouble delivering oxygenated blood to her extremities – her feet and legs especially.  She was put on morphine to relieve the pain.  By the second day,  I could tell she was beginning to drift away.  Her moments of recognition were diminishing and I began asking her questions as she became more and more agitated and anxious and in greater and greater pain.  I could tell she didn’t want to be living this way any longer.

Unable to talk, I told her to squeeze my hand for ‘yes’.

“Do you want to go home?”  – yes

“Do you want to have your feeding tube put back in?” – no response

“Do you want to go home without a feeding tube?” – yes

And so began my conversation with my father, the man who is afraid of losing her, and believes he can’t live without her.

He finally agreed to comfort care, which is another word for hospice.  It’s when the doctors all agree that there’s nothing more they can do to help, and we as a family agree to bring our mom home to live the rest of her life in comfort, away from the tubes and wires of the hospital.  Papers were signed, and exchanged.  My mom had already signed a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) years before, and even though my dad refused to honor it, in his moment of distress, we managed to convince him that these were my mom’s wishes.

He kept focussing on getting her home, and away from the hospital, not fully understanding that we were all in acceptance of the possibility of death.  (He remains in denial that she will eventually die, and I’ve realized as much as I try to explain to him that humans weren’t created to live forever, he refuses to believe it.)

“I’m not going to let her die without me.”

The doctors unplugged her and rushed her home by ambulance.  She arrived safely. My brother and I had transformed his office into a bedroom, with photos of all the family on all the walls, floor to ceiling, and some of her favorite paintings.  We had her favorite flowers, red roses and white orchids sitting next to her bed.  Over the bed we hung a mobile with all the photos of her grandchildren for her to see. She opened her eyes, and you could see the look of wonder and peace, and joy of feeling the love.

She settled into a deep sleep, and the next day, the hospice nurse took me aside to tell me I needed to call the mortuaries and to begin preparing for the inevitable.  My father was crying by her bedside, holding her and squeezing her, begging her not to leave.  Her lips were purple, and hands swollen.

The very next day was the miracle.  After my sister sat with my dad all night listening to him beg us to put her tube back in, I sat with him and asked that he just try and remember all the stories and memories he’s had with her, and to try and share them with her by her side in a loving way – not focused on his fear, begging her to stay, but focusing on the love they share and have shared.

He held her hand, and stroked her head, and began to tell their story.  Before long her eyes opened, and she looked like a little girl listening to her first bedtime story. It was a moment I will always cherish.  She was awake, alert and happy.

“Mommy are you hungry?”  – yes, she squeezed.

She slowly ate her soup, which I had to deliberately and intentionally spoon in tiny amounts since she lost her ability to swallow without danger last year and resulted in the feeding tube that my father insisted she have.  With no feeding tube, and a defective epiglottal flap, food could easily go down into her lungs, and she could aspirate, we were warned.  The nurses could not feed her knowing the danger and risks involved, but we as a family knew how much my mom loves her food, and had decided that that was a risk we were willing to take, rather than deny her food.

By the end of this miraculous day of love, hospice had moved this tiny woman who was non responsive, from critical continuous care 24/7, to stable, twice a week visits. We were all witness to the miracle of love, the power of faith, and the courage and will of a tiny woman who wants to enjoy her last days surrounded by family in the quiet of her home.

As she fell asleep for the night, I read her a note that Riki had written to her, thanking her for the lessons she had taught her.  She had told Riki (my second daughter) to not be ‘frugal’ – to not be afraid to spend your money on experiences and life.  You can save your money for things, but it’s the wealth of the experiences with the people you love that will be with you forever.  I could see my mom smile as she drifted off to sleep.

 

 

The Love that Grows from Being Broken

My dear sweet friend,

It’s been awhile.  I’ve been traveling and writing, and being in a state of constant bliss and gratitude.  I spent five glorious days with Odin, refreshing and refilling my Odin tank of pure love.  He’s at that age where he is just absorbing every possible movement and expression that he observes.  He has me laughing and crying all the time!  I closed the trip, spending time with my closest brother from another mother and his sweet family.  It was unbelievable as I experienced so much pure love and laughter, so healing for my soul.

In between my days with Odin, I was on a magical farm along the Hudson River in New York.  I stayed at a Bed and Breakfast with friends from college, sharing memories from our past, and stories from our changing selves and sometimes challenging lives.  It was wonderful and amazing.

Life is truly a journey about learning the meaning of love.  Watching my best friend, Diane, from college with her husband, his lover, and her new boyfriend, dance all at the same time, all on the same dance floor, while surrounded by all her friends, and children, her newly wed son and his new wife, and her family, it was just all about the magic of love and forgiveness.  It hasn’t been an easy journey learning that her husband is gay, but it’s one that has left her dancing, free from the burden of resentment or anger, experiencing the grace of compassion and understanding.

We never know the timing of the journey of learning love.  Each person’s journey is different.  I guess you could say that this journey of love begins the moment you exit your momma’s womb.  But the love that you learn from the most challenging of times – the time when your world is falling apart – is the part of the journey where you find the meaning of life.  For Diane and me, it began just a over a decade ago, our stories so different, and yet the same.

 

Experiencing Something New Reminds Me of the Awe and Wonder in Every Moment of Everyday

My dear sweet friend,

Will Rogers state park — 300 acres of bliss.  It is a hidden gem!  You must check it out.

I really didn’t know much about Will Rogers before this visit. What a guy! He was such an important person in US history with his sense of humor and diplomacy.  We could use someone like him now.  He had a weekly radio hour and a newspaper column that would run nationwide, where he’d share his perspective on politics for the most part, always with a sense of humor.  President Roosevelt would schedule his talk with the nation right after Will’s show since he knew he’d have an audience.

I love the idea of sitting around the radio with family and listening to a humorist’s perspective on the current state of affairs.  Something we could use today.

Will loved horses and had built a giant Polo field back in the 20’s. He lived in Beverly Hills and this now park in the Pacific Palisades was his weekend retreat – having grown up on a horse ranch in Texas there are horses everywhere!  Every Sunday there’s a polo match – with horses, not water….hehe.

My parents and I were in awe watching our first polo match.  More than anything, it was the sound that brought me to a new place and time. The clomp of their forceful hoofs on the hard ground and the announcer… wow.   I love experiencing something fresh and different! – a place of awe and wonder…so cool.

They have a bluegrass concert every third sunday of the month and my parents are excited about returning for the one in August.

Our bodies may Age, But inside it’s All about Love

Dear sweet friend,

My parents are officially in my brother’s house!  We’ve been moving all the boxes and furniture over the past month, but we physically moved them out of their apartment this past Sunday.  I’m exhausted!  It was nice to have family pitching in and to see how happy my father was in his new home.

Today we returned to the Village where I teach a meditation class.  My parents wanted to say ‘hi’ to their friends.  Everyone with their walkers and scooters slowly entered the room happy to see my parents, “We miss you!  Do you like your new place?”

As part of the class we’ve been moving through the alphabet, sharing about words that begin with a specific letter of the week.  This week was the letter “S”.

Betty, who is 96, started us off.  She leaned over to me and whispered, “SEX”.  Usually the person who comes up with a word, shares a story using that word to initiate a memory.  But today, Betty told the group she didn’t have a story, but that she wanted to hear what others had to say about “SEX”.  We all laughed.  My mom is the youngest in the group at 87.  Everyone else is well into their 90’s and here we were talking about “SEX”.  How awesome is that?

Gerry was the first to talk, ” I’m happy to report that there is definitely sex in old age.”

I must admit, I was very happy to hear that, and to see how comfortable everyone was in sharing their stories about sex.  They all reported that ‘in those days we got married quickly because we just couldn’t wait to have sex, and in ‘those days’ you didn’t have sex until you were married.’  We went around the circle sharing wedding anniversaries and honeymoons and how long it took for the first baby to arrive.  It was amazing how many firsts arrived close to 9 months after their wedding day!  and how we all giggled with the memories!

The truth is, these 90 some year old folks are just as precious as can be.  They’re just like me – our spirits frozen in time.  In many ways we’re just kids inside.

Flo closed the session, “I have a stranger living with me in my tiny apartment.  Every morning I look in the mirror and there she is.  I ask her ‘where did you come from?’

We all laughed, and every single one of them said, ‘It’s not easy getting old.”

The Uncertainty and Miracles of Life on my one Little Street

My dear sweet friend,

My apologies for not writing for weeks.  My site was having technical difficulties that we were finally able to resolve!

Did I tell you how much I’m enjoying my new neighborhood?  I live on a tiny dead end street where the people in the ten homes know each other well.  It’s what I used to imagine as the ideal old fashioned place where you could knock on your neighbor’s door and ask to borrow a cup sugar and there’s no hesitation nor expectation that anything would have to be returned or owed.

Angelica across the way gives me lemons from her prolific lemon tree and I give her green snacks that I bake when I have time. Matthew and I trade books that we know the other would appreciate.  My next door neighbor, Sandy, gives me clippings from her succulents and I give her sugarless, gluten free home-baked goodies to share with her husband who is battling congestive heart failure.

At the end of the cul de sac, I befriended Carlos and Ophelia.  Their daughter, Ophelita, grew up playing with the little girl, Brandi, who used to live in the house across from mine.  The two girls would ride bikes, play ball and push their baby dolls in carriages.  Brandi and Ophelita grew up and Brandi moved to Denver.  But Ophelita began to have problems with her kidney and had to be put on dialysis.

The week I was moving in, Pam, was in the process of moving to Denver to be closer to her 38 year old daughter, Brandi.  As I emptied boxes from my move, I would walk the boxes over to her house so she could re-use them to pack up for her trip to Denver.  We quickly became friends.  Sadly, a few weeks ago I learned that Brandi had suffered a brain aneurysm and was in a coma – they were having to make the difficult decision to pull the plug.

As Pam was making the sad decision to pull Brandi’s plug, she remembered Ophelita’s situation.  Within a day of her reaching out to Ophelita’s parents with news of Brandi’s healthy kidney, they had run all the blood tests and found that the two girls were a perfect match.  They flew the kidney to LA, and performed the surgery.  Ophelita now has Brandi’s working kidney.

I share this story with you, because it is the beautiful reminder of the preciousness of life, the ends and beginnings, the sadnesses and happinesses, the uncertainties and synchronicities.  As I sit hear knowing how happy Carlos and Ophelia are for their daughter who is now out of the hospital, no longer dependent on dialysis, I also know the sadness Pam and her husband must share with the loss of Brandi.

Everyday I think about these two sweet families living miles apart, sharing in the knowledge that they are truly connected now, and I feel the joy they must live every moment with the reminder that life is unpredictable, and at the same time sacred, divine and filled with blessings.

 

 

 

 

Listening to the Miracles

My dear sweet friend,

I have so much to tell you.  As I listen to the universe, I become aware of the many lessons I am to learn.  When I focus on my problems, the world’s problems and how I wish I could solve it all,  I miss what is right before me, unfolding in the moment.

Yesterday I was at the chiropractor’s office waiting to receive my light therapy (which by the way is working!!! It’s only been 4 sessions of low light therapy and the pain in my thumb is nearly 100% gone!)  when the woman next to me started up a conversation about arthritis.

I had been diagnosed with early stages of arthritis, or often referred to as pre-arthritis. I had been asked if arthritis runs in the family.  Yes, my mom has severe arthritis in her hands, my father in his knees.  I was told by the medical doctor that this pre-arthritis was to be expected, as it runs in my family and it comes with age, and that I would have arthritis soon.

The more time I spend with old folks, I’ve noticed that nearly every one of them struggles with arthritis.  They all complain of being in pain, as if pain is what grows as a result of getting old.  But yesterday was different.

I was sitting next to a 91 year old woman who was telling me that she doesn’t have arthritis, that she is getting treatment for a fall.  She was very proud of the fact that she was arthritis free, and beamed as she shared with me her secret,

“It’s all in the stomach.  Keep your stomach clean, and you won’t get arthritis.”

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing, and listened.  The lady on the other side of her, implored, “Tell me what I have to do.  What do you mean?”  This other woman had hands like my mom’s – fingers that were crooked, and nodules on the joints.

“I eat ladyfingers every morning,”  said the arthritis-free woman.

“You mean the ladyfinger cookies?

“Noooooo.  I don’t know what they are called in America.  People from my country, India, call them ladyfingers.”

She tried her best to describe the vegetable to us.  The whole room was guessing,

“Broccoli?”  “Leeks?”  “Lemongrass?”  “Fennel?”  “Scallions?”  “Zucchini?”  “Cucumbers?”

“No, no, no…”

I could see she was getting frustrated as she tried to describe the secret vegetable.  I pulled out my phone and asked siri, “what is the vegetable some people call ladyfingers?”

Photos of okra appeared on my screen, and the woman from India, smiled and laughed, “Yes, yes, that is it!!!”

It was time for my therapy and as I was stepping away, I thanked the woman for sharing her secret, and asked her name.

“Inez” she smiled.  The woman next to her laughed, “That’s my name too!”

And so it is.  The two Inez’s sat there holding hands, talking about okra.

 

Color this World with Joy

Dear Sweet Friend,

Did I tell you that I’ve started to see a chiropractor?  It’s the strangest thing.  I took my parents to a seminar on peripheral neuropathy because both of them struggle with walking and circulation.  As I sat there listening to the doctor’s presentation, I realized that I had some of the symptoms of peripheral neuropathy! Every once in a while I have tingling in the soles of my feet and the palms of my hands, which often results in severe itching.  So I decided to get myself tested since I’m all about early detection and holistic preventative care.

Fast forward, it turns out I have the earliest stages of peripheral neuropathy.  At this stage, my nerves are still healthy, but my circulation surrounding them are not the best.  My goal is to keep them healthy and to increase blood flow to the blood vessels surrounding the nerves to ensure their optimal health.

I’ve only had two treatment sessions so far, and clearly I’m the youngest patient they have.  Most of the people there are over 80 and walking with great difficulty.  I don’t ever want to reach that point.  I want to continue a lifestyle of vigorous walking and activity for the rest of my life.

I sat there chatting with Mary, a sweet 90 year old with the kindest eyes, when another woman dressed in pink came bounding into the room.  She had on a bright pink broad brimmed hat, a matching pink scarf, shirt, pants and sandals.  Even her smile was pink!  I could tell the cheerful staff loved her, “Hi Tammy! Wow, you look beautiful!”

She looked at me across the room, with her bright smile,

“Why live if you can’t bring color to this world?!”

I quickly joined Tammy’s fan club, as she proceeded to tell me how she couldn’t walk without pain before she started doing the treatment.  She woke up one day and realized that she was tired of living in pain, relying on pain meds to function; she wanted to try something different.

She found this chiropractor who could help her start enjoying life without drugs or surgery.  When she started to feel the pain disappear, she realized that it’s never too late start living in color.

Finding Flight in Falling

Dear sweet friend,

I remember when I first met you.  

You were small and frail, 

a tiny bird sitting on a branch,

shaking.  

 

Gripped in fear.

You sat there holding on,

consumed with worry.

The branch might break, 

and you could fall.

 

Now transformed and confident.

beautiful and bold, 

you coo to the world, 

“I love you.”

 

A lovebird.

Your faith, unwavering,

desperate grip, no longer.

So gentle, graceful, and kind.

You float above the bowing twig.

Break it may,

But you trust,

Happy to embrace the possibility.

 

Secure in the knowledge and courage

that you will soar,

should things come tumbling down.

 

I watch you from afar.

The bough wavers and snaps.

You spread your wings and take off

seeking adventure

taking the risk

sharing your truth

connecting with others

giving hope and inspiration

now able to discover

the unknown.

 

Great heights never touched,

calm and serene,

the meaning of life with every

wave of uncertain breath.

Opening our Hearts to Heal, We Hear the Music

Dear sweet friend,

Did I tell you that my parents love when I read aloud to them.  I try and read an assortment of genres – memoir, biography, fiction.  Their favorite by far is memoir, and when it’s about someone from China, it has even more power and attraction.  Awww how the connection of someone from their place of origin creates this immediate sense of family.  We just finished reading about Lang Lang, the Chinese concert pianist, for the third time.

Growing up, we were the only Chinese in our neighborhood and school, so anyone who remotely looked Chinese, living in the whole county of St. Louis, become my substitute relative.  My real relatives all lived in China.  My parents were separated from them when the Communists took over the government, took all their families’ belongings, and sent my maternal grandfather, a successful businessman, to work in the coal mines for years as part of his reform.  He nearly died from the experience.  My paternal grandfather, governor of the province of Tienan at the time, was outright shot and killed when the Communist learned that he owned lots of land.

I often think about how fortunate I am to have my parents, and am saddened when I think of how they never really got to know theirs.  You see, they were raised for the most part by nursemaids and servants.  The times with their parents were infrequent, and perhaps that’s why their memories with their parents are so precious and strong.  I think of the many memorable moments that I, as an adult, have shared with my parents; my parents never had those opportunities with their parents.  It is during these years as an adult, that I’ve been able to heal the past hurts, and to appreciate all the good.

And so I read a lot of memoir to my parents, and they love me to read them stories that I’ve written about them, which links them to their many childhood and young adult memories, and strengthens my connection to them.

We share lots of stories about their past.  The sharing of stories and memories is very much what spills out of our open hearts and allows us to heal and begin to experience life with gratitude and love, instead of resentment or anger.

And when we can let go of those negative memories and emotions, we can hear the music that surrounds us daily.

 

 

Cultivating Happiness – Share the Love

Dear sweet friend,

I’m happy to report that my father has been going through some serious transformation of sorts.  Maybe as my mom’s health improves with the CBD oil, my dad is in less fear of losing her.  I’m not sure what’s been happening, but I thought I’d share the latest event.

After meditation class, we walked down the hall.  As my father pushed my mom’s wheelchair, there was a little hop in his step.  He stopped to say ‘hi’ to the people we passed in the hall, and then he walked over to the piano in the living room.  He sat down and started to play.  Before long there was a whole crowd of people sitting around the piano, singing along.

My father has no formal training in music, but he loves to play the piano and his harmonica.  He does everything by ear.  Everyone began asking him to play his harmonica too, and soon he had a room full of happy people singing and tapping their toes and clapping their hands.  I was crying tears of joy.  My father’s higher self came to visit.  Oh wouldn’t it be nice if he decided to stay.

When it was time to leave, everyone shouted “thank you, chih!” and one of the women shouted, “you should get a month’s rent free for your performance!  You’re better than any performer they hire!”

My father was beaming.