Wednesday, December 24, 2008 11:17 pm CST
Thinking of all who may visit this site over these next few days…looking for something.
Sending you love and healing energy.
I love these words from Gary Zukav’s book The Seat of the Soul:
“You must pray…
It is impossible to have prayer without power. It is impossible to have a thought that is a secret for all energy is heard. When you pray, you draw to you and invoke grace. Grace is uncontaminated conscious Light. It is Divinity. Prayer brings grace and grace calms you. That is the cycle. Grace is the tranquilizer of the soul. With grace comes a knowing that what you are experiencing is necessary. It calms you with a sense of knowing."
Hope, peace…and grace,
Tom
Monday, December 22, 2008 9:00 am CST
It’s a complicated time of year for me…as I know it is for so many.
New Year’s Day will mark the 10th anniversary of my wife Trici’s death.
And had our daughter Erin lived … we’d be celebrating her 20th birthday on January 2nd.
It was four years ago that we lived through our last Christmas with Rory … hoping he would somehow be the exception and live but fully aware that the odds were stacked “against us” and that it would most probably be our last Christmas together – in our physical bodies.
As I said, it’s complicated.
We’ve just marked the Winter Solstice. The shortest day of the year. In ancient times, people wondered if the sun (the source of life) would return. Their fear was that their days would get darker and darker and darker. I know that is the same fear for many of us who are learning to live with death.
This spring, while on retreat, I painted this.
As I reflect back on the piece – it seems to depict one of the running themes of my life. A “lesson” if you will.
Life seems to be about the light and the darkness.
One can simply not exist without the other. Where there is light – there is also darkness. They balance each other. They make each other possible. One gives weight to the other.
The light seems lighter when up against the dark. And the dark appears darker when up against the light.
We tell ourselves that the darkness is to be avoided at all cost. And that belief causes us much pain.
Hard as it is to believe…following the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year…the light begins to return. The days begin to lengthen.
Hard as it is to believe, at times... the light returns. Always.
Sometimes the best we can do is breathe, breathe, breathe. Sometimes the very best we can do is take life moment-by-moment.
Try to believe – if you can – that the light will return. In truth, it already is.
Hope and peace in this moment,
Tom
Friday, December 12, 2008 12:07 pm CST
Worldwide Candle Lighting
The Compassionate Friends Worldwide Candle Lighting®, held annually the second Sunday in December, this year December 14, unites family and friends around the globe as they light candles for one hour to honor and remember children who have died at any age from any cause. As candles are lit at 7 p.m. local time, creating a virtual wave of light, hundreds of thousands of persons commemorate and honor the memories of children in a way that transcends all ethnic, cultural, religious, and political boundaries.
Now believed to be the largest mass candle lighting on the globe, the Worldwide Candle Lighting, a gift from TCF to the bereavement community, creates a virtual 24-hour wave of light as it moves from time zone to time zone. Hundreds of formal candle lighting events are held and thousands of informal candle lightings are conducted in homes as families gather in quiet remembrance of children who have died, but will never be forgotten.
The Worldwide Candle Lighting started in the United States in 1997 as a small Internet observance but has since swelled in numbers as word has spread throughout the world of the remembrance.
The 2007 Worldwide Candle Lighting saw information on services received from 21 countries outside the United States. Joining TCF last year were chapters of several bereavement organizations including MISS, Twinless Twins, MADD, Parents of Murdered Children, and BPUSA and services were held in all 50 states plus Washington D.C. and Puerto Rico.
A Remembrance Book is available during the event at TCF`s USA national website. In that short one day span, thousands of messages are received and posted each year from every U.S. state and Washington D.C., every territory, as well as dozens of other countries. Some are in foreign languages.
Here in the United States, publicity about the event is widespread, being featured over the years in Dear Abby, Parade Magazine, Ann Landers column, Guideposts magazine, Annie’s Mailbox, and literally hundreds of U.S. newspapers, dozens of television stations, and numerous websites and personal blogs.
Please help spread the word about this tremendous event and invite anyone who is unable to attend a service to light a candle at 7 p.m. for one hour wherever they may be.
If you are holding a formal service open to the public (whether in the United States or anywhere around the world), please provide the information on the submission link below so that we can post details for those who visit our website and are seeking a Worldwide Candle Lighting event in your area. This also allows us to post a comprehensive listing of known services, here and abroad and to track the growth of this inspiring event.
While we encourage informal services held in homes and other locations, we are sorry but we cannot include these in our listings. Nor can we include any in memory of a specific child or any that are not open to the general public.
Please do not type your event with all capital letters as this will delay the posting! We reserve the right to edit all submissions.
Only services held on December 14 will be posted on this website!
Hope and peace,
Tom
Wednesday, December 10, 2008 1:09 pmST
One of the things we spoke of last evening was forgiveness.
How important it is to forgive.
How difficult it can be to forgive.
Ourselves.
And everybody else.
I love this quote of Eckhart Tolle’s:
If her past were your past, her pain your pain, her level of consciousness your level of consciousness, you would think and act exactly as she does. With this realization comes forgiveness, compassion, peace.
Fill in the blank. Replace the word “her” with the name of the person you are trying to forgive. Say it out load. Say it again.
Insert your own name and say it.
Insert the name of the person that died and say it.
Forgiveness is freedom from the past. Being stuck in the past is painful.
Healing occurs in the present.
_____________________________________
I will be speaking next Wednesday, December 17, 2008 at Swedish American Hospital in Rockford. My presentation is called:
Grief and the Holidays
and is open to all employees. The presentation will take place in the Chapel from noon to 1:00 pm. If you, or someone you know, works at the hospital…please join me.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Tuesday, December 9, 2008 3:58 pm CST
I’m getting ready for the first night of my 5-part series “Permission to Mourn this Holiday Season” --- not sure how many will be able to attend due to the snow that’s been falling all day.
Looking through some of my folders, I found this. Love it. It rings true.
It’s written by Stephen and Ondrea Levine in their book “Embracing the Beloved.”
“When death breaks the shared heart, the world bursts into flames. There seems nowhere to turn. And all we can do is sit down where we are and let images and absences burn. Until our tears extinguish the flame and leave the world smoldering. When, eventually the smoke begins to clear, in months or years, a few blades of new grass may be seen emerging from the spent embers. The broken heart slowly reuniting in profound appreciation for all that has been. The shared heart mending into oneness. Absolute absence dissolving into ultimate inseparability as the mind of grief sinks into the heart of healing. Melting into a sinlge-heartedness, the relationship continues, in or out of the body.”
Beautiful!
Hope and peace,
Tom
Sunday, December 7, 2008 4:42 pm CST
If you are visiting my site today, and you live in the Rockford area, and you’re wondering how you are going to make it through these days…as the holiday season unfolds…and the loss you are living with weighs heavy…I hope you will consider joining my upcoming 5-part series called:
Permission to Mourn This Holiday Season
We will meet for 5 consecutive Tuesdays beginning this Tuesday, December 9th from 6:30-8:00 pm in my home. If you are interested, please call me at 815.395.1337 or email me at tom@tomzuba.com.
If you are living with any kind of loss you are welcome to join us. The loss can be a recent death, or a death that occurred many years ago. The loss can be a divorce, a break-up, a job loss, a financial setback, old age, a disability, an empty house…whatever, in your life, has shattered the dream for your life that you have been holding and assumed you would live.
We have forgotten how to mourn. And as a result, it is harder and harder to heal. My intention is to create a safe place where people can rest for a while and reconnect with their feelings and emotions. In the presence of others, that we trust, we can slowly release those feelings and emotions. It’s something people used to do on the front porch late at night, or sitting around the kitchen table sharing a cup of tea, or washing the dishes together. But, anymore, the places where we can honestly and openly express our feelings and emotions, our fears and dreams are few and far between. It’s the space I try to create.
If you – or someone you know – is ready to take the next step in the healing process, you are welcome to join us.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Saturday, December 6, 2008 8:49 am CST
It’s no secret that I love Alan Wolfelt’s approach to grief and mourning. I would highly recommend any of his many books. His website is www.centerforloss.com.
In his book, Understanding Your Grief – Ten Essential Touchstones for Finding Hope and Healing in Your Heart he talks about “dosing your pain.”
These words resonate deeply with me. For me, they are true. They honor the incredible loss that has occurred.
“…I want to make sure that you understand that you cannot embrace the pain of your grief all at once. If you were to feel it all at once, you could not survive. Instead, you must allow yourself to “dose” the pain – feel it in small waves then allow it to retreat until you are ready for the next wave.”
If you are learning to live with a great loss…read those words again.
If you are learning to support someone this holiday season that is living with great loss…read those words again.
“If you were to feel it all at once, you would not survive. Instead you must allow yourself to “dose” the pain…”
The trauma is that intense. The magnitude of what has happened is so great, so all-encompassing, so mind-blowingly-huge…that if you were to feel it all at once, you would not survive.
Literally. You would not survive.
Unless you are living it. Or have lived it…I don’t know that you can fully understand what those words mean. But trust me – they are true.
I think that’s why the process of healing takes so very long.
We are able to allow a small amount (although in truth, it rarely feels like a small amount) of the pain to arise. We sit with it. We feel it. We try to wrap our arms around it. We surrender to it. And then somehow it releases us.
And then we retreat. And rest. And build up our strength again.
And in doing so…we’ve created a space for additional pain to bubble up. And the process repeats itself. Again and again and again.
And when we are able to observe the process…after we have lived through it again and again and again…we realize that we will survive.
And slowly, over time, the pain of it all becomes slightly less intense.
Slightly at first.
And we realize we will, indeed, survive.
Hope…and peace,
Tom
If you, or someone you know, is resisting the upcoming holidays, please consider participating in my upcoming 5-part series workshop, “Permission to Mourn This Holiday Season” which begins Tuesday, December 9th. For more information click: You’re Invited.
Friday, December 5, 2008 7:18 am CST
Within a 24-hour period this week I learned of a 9-year-old girl who drowned after slipping through the ice of a retention pool at the back of her home while her 15-year-old brother stood by and watched the rescue attempts.
I also learned that in mid-October, a 19-year-old boy was killed in a car accident as he and three of his friends were heading back to college. He was the only one killed in the accident, leaving behind his 16-year-old brother and 9-year-old twin sisters.
What do you say to these people?
What would you say?
To those of you who are learning to live a new life with the death of someone you love…what would you say?
Looking back…what do you wish had been said to you?
Of course I would say I’m sorry. I’m sorry that your child died.
This quote from Eckhart Tolle’s book The Power of Now resonates with me now … not certain if it would have immediately after the death of my daughter or my wife:
“Don’t look for peace. Don’t look for any other state than the one you are in now; otherwise, you will set up inner conflict and unconscious resistance. Forgive yourself for not being at peace. The moment you completely accept non-peace, your non-peace becomes transmuted into peace. Anything you accept fully will get you there, will take you into peace. This is the miracle of surrender.”
As I said…these words resonate now – I’m not certain if they would have then.
In layman’s words, I think Tolle is saying that peace will be ours when we surrender to all of it. When we take our hands off the steering wheel and allow it all to wash over and through us. The surrendering changes me…not what’s happening or has happened. Me.
In those early hours and days and weeks and even months following death, for me at least, there were so many emotions and feelings swirling around inside of me. A tsunami of feelings and emotions…and thoughts. At times it felt like too much to bear, too much to contain.
I think the “natural” (programmed) response – because we want to “get back to normal” is to use all of our energy to stuff, repress, deny and pretend our way out of all of our feelings and emotions and thoughts.
At the time in our life when the trauma of a sudden, swift death is so intense…I think the thing to do might be to sit still. In a comfortable chair. For as long as we want. As often as we want. And allow. Allow the feelings and emotions and thoughts to crash into each other…to do battle with each other…as they so often do. And if possible – observe.
Observe what is happening inside of you…and try to surrender.
Allow.
Observe.
Surrender.
This is a time to slow it all down. There is no rush. To take baby, baby steps when possible. To stay still when necessary.
This is a time to be so very gentle.
This is a time to allow yourself to be held. By life itself. When and if you can.
These moments. These minutes. These hours. These days. These weeks. These months… may be some of the hardest you will live through.
Survival is possible.
Hope and peace,
Tom
If you, or someone you know, is resisting the upcoming holidays, please consider participating in my upcoming 5-part series workshop, “Permission to Mourn This Holiday Season” which begins Tuesday, December 9th. For more information click: You’re Invited.
Friday, November 28, 2008 8:03 am CST
When Trici was alive, she shopped this day, the glorious day after Thanksgiving. Actually, she’d meet her sisters downtown Chicago and they’d lunch or have tea at The Drake…all in the name of shopping. Their tradition.
I’d stay home with the kids. A win-win.
My brother Mike and his wife Anne had a different tradition. They’d pack up their things and head for a nearby state park for a day or two. It was actually a celebration of Anne’s mom’s birthday. Gay got to be with her grandkids Jack and Laura … and she got to be outdoors. The center of attention. A win-win-win for her.
When the kids and I moved back to Illinois, we wormed our way into Gay’s celebration. White Pines State Park. Starved Rock. Hiking. Campfires. Board games. Huge breakfasts. Incredible buffets.
Four years ago, days after we brought Rory home from the Rehab Institute, we headed for White Pines. We all marveled at Rory’s ability to hike up and down the many, many, many wooden steps along the hiking paths…without missing a beat or loosing his balance. He was less then 4 weeks out from major brain surgery. We all felt we were in the presence of a miracle.
And last year we headed to Starved Rock. It was a bigger group. Rooms had been reserved two years earlier because the parks fill up fast. My folks went. And my sister Ann Marie and her family. And Anne’s brother Jeff and his wife Sarah and their daughter Annie – in from Thailand. And Mike and Anne’s friends Brian and Michelle and their two kids. And of course, Anne’s mom Gay. Gay was the center of attention.
Not so much because it was her birthday…but because a few short weeks earlier she had been diagnosed with cancer. And it seemed to be progressing quickly. And the treatment options were uncertain. Gay was in a wheelchair – but so determined to squeeze every ounce out of the weekend.
And she died just a short time after we returned home. Quicker then any of us thought possible.
And at her Memorial Service, her kids prepared this Tribute:
Our Mother, Gay Rutherford
"To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man."
Wm. Shakespeare
This story is about our mother’s passing. The story of her life is, for now, beyond the powers of telling.
Gay Rutherford died as she lived: hopeful and helpful and happy and, yes, even sort of hip. She didn’t die in a big house full of expensive belongings. She died in a small house full of her family. She wasn’t one for long goodbyes, and her passing was no exception. (Even just going for a hike or out to the dog park, once she was on the move, she was always impatient to get out the door.) When the doctors offered her a stay, at a heavy cost, she declined. She made her peace and readied herself for the next adventure.
She left us too soon, no question. We many of us had plans in which she was an integral part. We didn’t have time to imagine a world without her. Some of us did not get a chance to say our farewells and that is painful. We want you to know that you were in her heart. And we want you to know that she died well – with dignity, with little suffering, in her happy home, in the company of her loved ones. She did have many visitors toward the end. Not everyone that would have liked to visit had the chance, but perhaps that is for the best. The cozy, sturdy, little post-war bungalow she loved and called home would have collapsed on its foundation if everyone who loved her would have arrived all at once.
She will be missed by all of us. Her influence was enormous, in an individual and very personal way, and many of us will struggle with her absence. She labored steadily, mostly quietly, certainly gracefully, to make the world around her a better place. Not the big chaotic impersonal world at-large, but the human world around her: the people she touched, helped, listened to, and cried over… the real world of people beyond the TV screen and Fox News and the rest. When she touched people, many people, they stayed touched. And there was enough time for many of them to tell her that in her last days. We are all fortunate that this was true.
Gay was born during the Great Depression. She was entering her teens at the close of World War II. She remembered the victory gardens, her father raising chickens in the back yard, the meaning of words like “sacrifice” and “struggle.” Words like that had more than Hollywood-saccharine importance to her. She lived words like that. Even though her life had its share of misfortunes, she would always say how lucky she was. Even thought her health suffered from many ailments and mishaps, she would still say at the end, “But you know, my health is really very good.” Even though she was far from a wealthy woman, she considered herself rich, not in gold and baubles, but in family, friends, experiences and the presence of God. Even though she was the antithesis of the image-mad modern, she still wanted to look good. She knew she hadn’t much more then a month to go, but there was still time for a trip to the hair stylist.
Most importantly for all our peace of mind, Gay died without ambivalence or doubt. She departed from us with a confidence in her God and His heaven, an assurance that she was welcome there, that she had lived a full and true life.
I love this sentence:
She made her peace and readied herself for the next adventure.
And I love this quote:
Love is a state of Being. Your love is not outside: it is deep within you. You can never lose it, and it cannot leave you. Is it not dependent on some other body, some other external form.
Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now
Hope and peace,
Tom
Wednesday, November 26, 2008 8:50 am CST
The most common question people ask me…usually in hushed tones…is “Do you think I’m going crazy?” Because we rarely talk about it – few us of know what “normal’ grief is. For the most part, in my opinion, it’s all normal. If you are learning to live with the death of someone you love this Thanksgiving – and caught a little off guard by the way you are feeling…click here: Helping Others Help Us This Holiday Season. This is what normal looks like.
Four years ago this morning (well, it probably wasn’t this exact same date but it was the day before Thanksgiving 2004) Rory and I woke up in our corner room of the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago (RIC) – ready to go home. His brain surgery was a few weeks behind us. His 5-6 week stay at RIC for therapy to help undo what the stroke-during-surgery had done was shortened to a little more than one week…because his progress was so remarkable. His speech was coming back with a vengeance, as was his ability to walk and move the right side of his body. They assured me his memory would come back as his brain healed. We had memory-games to play in order to quicken that healing. He would receive outpatient therapy when we were home in Rockford.
It was a cold, windy, rainy, sleeting, frozen day. One of those days you stay inside – especially on the lakefront – unless you absolutely had to be outside. But we were on a mission. We had to get home and my older sister Mary was coming to get us. She was bringing us home.
The “award-winning” radiologist at Northwestern Memorial with no common sense, grace or people skills had already slammed me hard when she pulled me into the hall a few days earlier and told me in no uncertain terms that there was no cure for Rory … and the “its-not-rocket-science-anyone-can-do-it-whole-brain-radiation” was simply a measure to buy a little more time, not save his life.
But she was contrasted by the doctor at RIC who told me that when he looked at Rory he saw my 13-year-old son at 17 and at 21. That news startled me. I asked him if he was aware of Rory’s diagnosis. He assured me he was … but he said there were exceptions. And he saw Rory into the future. As the exception. Happy. Healthy. Cancer-free.
He gave me hope.
And I clung to that hope with a grateful heart.
Blessed is the person who offers hope.
When I saw the Dalai Lama in spring of ‘07 he said that Americans had lost hope. He suggested that was why the rate of suicide was rising in our country. He urged us to reclaim hope.
It feels like there is a resurgence of hope in the air we breathe. And it seems to be borne of the darkest of times.
I think that’s what the darkness is about. It’s a necessary step in the evolutionary process. It may feel barren and stagnant and wasteful. But I don’t think it is. It’s actually a time of germination. Reflecting back…I know it has been for me.
So…as we come upon Thanksgiving 2008…I wish for you HOPE.
Transformation.
Rebirth.
Peace.
Life.
All rooted in hope.
Hope, hope, hope…where there is none,
Tom
Sunday, November 23, 2008 5:52 pm CST
“…be transformed by the renewing of your minds.”
~Romans 12:2
We are disturbed not by what happens to us, but by our thoughts about what happens.
Epictetus, Greek philosopher
Those of us learning to live with the death of someone we love this Thanksgiving can’t change what happened - try as we may to turn back the hands of time.
But we can – with conscious effort – renew our minds. We can – with conscious effort and intent - change our thoughts about what has happened.
One way to do that is to commit to creating a Gratitude Journal.
Find a small notebook. It needn’t be anything fancy. Just something to write in. Take a few minutes each day. Right before you go to sleep. As soon as you wake up. Lunch time. Whatever time works best for you. Commit to writing every day. Every day. Even when you don’t feel like writing. Especially then. When you’re feeling rushed. Or sad. Or lonely. Or that there’s nothing to be thankful for.
Begin today. Write every day… all the way through Christmas.
Think about it. What are you thankful for? Today.
Write five things. It can be as simple as:
- That the day is over,
- For this soft bed.
- That I have money to pay my heating bill.
- That the sun was shining today.
- For my dog.
Or the list can be longer. With more details. Some days you may feel like writing a lot. Other days, not so much.
The purpose is to shift your focus. As you go through your day…start thinking about what you are thankful for.
Try it. What do you have to loose?
Try it. What might you gain?
“…be transformed by the renewing of your minds.”
~Romans 12:2
We are disturbed not by what happens to us, but by our thoughts about what happens.
Epictetus, Greek philosopher
Hope and peace,
Tom
Tuesday, November 18, 2008 7:22 am CST
I’ve been invited to be a Contributing Author for the Open to Hope Foundation’s web site. The mission of the Open to Hope Foundation (www.opentohope.com) is to help those who have suffered a loss to cope with their pain and find hope in the future. Of course, I said yes. I will be submitting timely pieces on a monthly basis.
I strongly encourage you to visit this incredible site and place it among your favorites so you can go back and visit often. You will find a wealth of information from a fascinating mix of authors and sources.
Suggestions from my “Managing the Holidays” article were featured in yesterday’s Editorial in our local newspaper, the Rockford Register Star. To read the article click:
I just watched the first cut of the video of my October 19th presentation at Temple Beth El called:
Tom Zuba – A Blessed Life
Birth, Death and Rebirth x 3: Sharing Tools for the Journey.
I’m hoping to have it available to you – free of charge – very soon. I think you’ll like it. Please come back to this site to see if it is available.
In addition to the video, you will be able to print:
- All the quotes I referenced in my presentation
- A list of definitions
- A list of the Expressions of Grief
I hope you will find the video informative and helpful.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Saturday, November 15, 2008 7:34 am CST
I’m facilitating two upcoming workshop series…specifically scheduled to take us through the holidays. They are series I wish had been available to me following the death of my daughter Erin in 1990 and my wife Trici almost 10 years ago. I think they would have helped me navigate the complicated journey called “Living Through the Holidays.”
If either of these workshops resonates with you, I hope you will lean into your healing and participate.
If you know someone who is struggling with the approach (assault) of the holidays…I hope you will pass this information on. Perhaps the two of you can attend?
Honoring Life: Ours and Theirs
During this holiday season, reexamine the relationship you have with someone who has died. Whether the death occurred 30 year ago, three years ago, or six months ago, we often innocently rush to “close” those relationships. Join a small group of kindred spirits to create a safe, sacred space where you can excavate grief, mourn safely, and gently lean into POSSIBILITY by remembering and reconnecting with our loved ones who have died. Our openhearted intention will be to honor our own inner voice that we might step into the power of transformation and experience joy.
Tuesdays, November 18, 25 and December 2
6:30 pm – 8:30 pm
Womanspace, 3333 Maria Linden Drive in Rockford
CALL TODAY to register: 815.877.0118
$65.00
Permission to Mourn
Give yourself (or someone you know) the gift of connection and healing this holiday season. I wish this 5-part series had been available to me in 1989 - that first holiday season following my daughter’s death … or the holiday season following my wife Trici’s death. It’s hard to “travel” alone; especially during the holidays. Join me as we create a safe, sacred space where we can “go public” with our grief in the presence of kindred souls, week-by-week. I call that mourning. It’s a path to healing.
Tuesdays, December 9, 16, 23, 30, January 6,
6:30-8:00 pm
We will meet in the comfort of my Rockford home at
3303 Brookview Road.
$95.00 for the 5-part series
Limited to 10 people.
More comments from folks who attended my recent workshop in Naperville:
“Being in the midst of an unconditionally accepting group of others that became more "we" as we tried to just express ourselves was very comforting… you encouraged us to try to explore our beliefs and our meanings about our griefs and losses.”
“One thing that resonates with me, Tom, is that going through losses of such magnitude doesn`t have to define who we are. You set that example for us with your strength…Another thing that resonates is knowing we are not alone.”
“One of the most powerful lessons I learned (and continues to resonate) was that it is a loving act to sit with someone and just let them cry.”
“So, to answer your question of what has stayed with me, it is the feeling of consciously turning the care, compassion, gentleness and kindness that I seem to so naturally focus on others back on myself. It feels good. Your presence and your words are still resonating.”
“Thank you for the wonderful shared experience that you helped facilitate with our group. I found the whole experience to be very helpful and healing.”
Hope and peace,
Tom
P.S. I just watched the first cut of the video of my October 19th presentation at Temple Beth El called:
Tom Zuba – A Blessed Life
Birth, Death and Rebirth x 3: Sharing Tools for the Journey.
I’m hoping to have it available to you – free of charge – very soon. I think you’ll like it. Please come back to this site to see if it is available.
Monday, November 10, 2008 7:04 am CST
I’m leafing through a popular “help” magazine and there’s a list called “From `Too Late` to `Too Kind`.” One of the categories is “Sending a Condolence Note.” In other words…when is it too late to send a condolence card?
This is the response…in a national magazine.
“Get it there within a few days of the funeral. ‘You don’t want to drag it out for the family,’ says Crane’s Stationery spokesperson (and correspondence guru) Peter Hopkins. ‘People need to start recovering.’”
Oh my.
“Drag it out?”
“People need to start recovering?”
You can usually tell who has or hasn’t experienced an intimate death.
At my Temple presentation a few weeks ago I talked about the phenomenon of “unconsciously stepping onto the grief train” as soon as the death of someone we love occurs.
Because we rarely (if ever) talk about what it’s like to die, or to live while someone we love is dying, or what happens to the “survivors” once the person we love does die…we are caught off guard, ill-prepared and ill-equipped.
Stunned and startled. Shocked.
There’s a whole group of people standing by to help us step onto the grief train…and once we do…watch out. Its destination is not a healthy place – in my opinion.
Those people – the well-intentioned folks who help us step onto the grief train – get the wheels rolling and before you know it we’re doing what we think we “should” do, and before too long we’re repressing, denying, pretending, sucking it up, stuffing it, and before too long…we’re “movin’ on.”
Until, of course, it all crashed in on us.
The other day, I wrote about consciously deciding NOT to jump aboard the grief train this time. This third time around.
The decision I’ve tried to make is to be a conscious participant in the transformation that occurs after the death of someone we love. And by being more conscious, I’ve tried to take better care of myself. To listen to how my body is responding.
And one of the things my body has been saying – up until very recently – was that I wasn’t ready to go through Rory’s room. To finger through all of his stuff and make decisions about what to do with my 13-year-old son’s prized possessions.
Too painful.
I’m ready now.
And, I’m finding gifts.
I’ve forever talked about my desire to see new photos of Rory. Pictures of him that I haven’t seen before. To remind me. My pictures are finite. Unlike most parents…there will be no more new photos being taken of Rory. So when I see a new one…I’m overjoyed. The circle of memories widens. It’s a real gift.
- Search through your photos and videotape. Find a picture of the deceased and mail it - or better yet deliver it in person.
Well, the other day, I found this photo among all the papers stashed in Rory’s room.
It’s a picture I had seen before…but not in a long time. It’s taken at one of the Scholastic Bowl competitions…. the regional or sectional, I think. The scrappy new team from West Middle School was on a role. They had been winning game after game after game … and it was all very exciting. Rory was not an athlete…so I was thrilled he was able to have the experience of being on a team. And to be on a winning team. All the better.
I love the photo because of his outrageous one-of-a-kind hair. His hair became his trademark.
Some time after he died, his Scholastic Bowl coach, Mrs. Deacon said, she often wondered what it was like for me to let Rory leave the house with that wild, wild hair.
I explained to her that I wanted to pick my battles. His hair was his statement. It worked for him. I would just stare and work hard to keep my mouth shut.
And make sure I bought more hair gel when the bottle was low.
The circle of memories widens. A real gift.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Sunday, November 9, 2008 10:04 am CST
Clarence Page’s column, in Wednesday’s Chicago Tribune opened:
“It is a special brand of tragic timing that took Studs Terkel and Barack Obama’s grandmother away as the whole world tuned in to America’s Big Election.”
One of the blessings of learning to live with the deaths of my daughter, my wife and my son is that I don’t believe in “tragic timing.”
I only have room for “perfect timing.”
And no one or no thing “took” Studs Terkel or Barack’s grandmother "away.".
They each died at the perfect time and in the perfect way.
And I thought Christians believed unequivocally in an afterlife? That the essence of who we are is eternal.
I don’t get it.
Yes, one could say they were “physically” taken away … but to suggest and to believe that their deaths cut them off from our collective experience of witnessing Barack’s election last Tuesday. Absurd.
Who would we be if we believed that both of these incredible people died at the perfect time?
And who would we be if we believed that perhaps their deaths were necessary in order for history to unfold as it did. That perhaps (most certainly?) both of these people are actually more powerful, more in touch, more attuned, more accessible, more involved…after the deaths of their physical bodies, than they were while they still inhabited their physical bodies?
And if we believed that to be true about Studs Terkel and Barack Obama’s grandmother…perhaps we could begin to believe it about the people we love who have died.
Who would we be?
Who could we be?
Hope and peace,
Tom
Saturday, November 8, 2008 7:24 am CST
When it comes to grief…and mourning…and gathering the enormous strength, energy and courage that is required to rebuild a dream, a life … what is normal?
What is normal?
I am certain – because I have experienced it first hand – that there are many, many, many well-meaning family members, friends, and oh-so-many “professionally trained and certified” therapists, counselors, pastors and ministers who truly believe they know what normal is in the areas of grief, mourning, and rebuilding dreams and lives.
I’m not so sure…
This is normal for me.
You may be surprised.
This third time around, I gave myself the freedom (or at least I’ve tried to) to take great care of myself throughout this ongoing journey. And one of the ways of doing that – of taking care of myself – was not to rush the process, not to do anything because I thought I “should,” not to force myself.
So for the past almost-four-years, Rory’s room has been a mess. A complete mess. His bed is gone. We took it out of his room and replaced it (very, very reluctantly on my part) with a hospital bed. When he died, the hospital bed was removed, but I never put his bed back. Instead, I started to fill his room with all the stuff that had been accumulating. Cards, letters, posters, gifts. I stuffed all of that in his room.
Over the past few years, I have tried to straighten … to give some order to… to make some sense of … even to simply move things around. But I never got far. It was exhausting. It was overwhelming. It felt rushed. I wasn’t ready.
So – the way I took care of myself was to stop.
I’ll worry about that another day. Not today.
I tried to stay true to myself.
These last few days (it’s been almost four years), I’ve felt ready.
To go through the accumulated stuff.
To touch it. Feel it. To feel the feelings that touching it awakens. And I’m discovering…
As I wrote, we moved Rory’s bed out and brought the hospital bed in. For me… that was a step in the wrong direction. One of those steps that only confirmed how sick he was. As long as he was sleeping on the two twin mattresses that his mom had paid-a-fortune-for (because the kids deserve the best) oh so many years ago --- the twin mattresses from Sean and Rory’s bunk beds that he placed directly on the bedroom floor with no bed frame necessary because it was so very cool in a pre-teen way --- as long as he was still sleeping on that familiar bed, then it wasn’t as bad as it really was.
But the day came when we simply couldn’t lift him anymore. He no longer had the strength to get out of the bed by himself and the task of helping him get to the bathroom was too huge for one person to perform.
So…we decided to order the hospital bed. It would be temporary. Until he built his strength back up
“It’s just temporary.”
Because I don’t live with another adult who lived through the journey with me, I didn’t have the experience in the days, and weeks, and months, and now years, following Rory’s death of going over the details. Of rehashing. Of remembering. Of reviewing over and over and over.
Trying to make sense. Trying to put the pieces of the broken puzzle back together. Trying to figure out what the heck happened.
It’s what we do. It’s how we learn to live with it all. I didn’t do that in the traditional way.
As I am going through the accumulated stuff…I’m finding things. Pieces of the puzzle. And with that information, I’m able to put the broken pieces back together. I don’t want to be afraid of “it.” The experience of living through the death of my son.
I found the receipt from VNA. The receipt they left the day they delivered the “Semi Electric Rental Bed and the Mattress Cover.” The delivery was on February 14, 2005. Valentine’s Day. I think it was a Monday. He died eight days later. Hmmmm. I hadn’t remembered that. I would have guessed he was in the hospital bed longer. Seemed longer.
I also found a half-finished project Rory was working on. He was making a collage. A political collage. He had leafed through newspapers and magazines and searched some websites…he cut out photos of John Kerry, and phrases and single words, and political
cartoons. With his own two hands he clipped the pieces of paper to a larger piece … getting ready to glue them all together.
Election Day 2004 was November 2nd.
We watched the results together that evening. We thought Kerry would win. We were hoping. Rory and I had spent many, many nights that fall watching CNN together – closely following the campaign.
And the night of November 2nd, we thought we had a winner.
My memory kind of stopped there. As I looked back, I knew that three short days later, Friday, November 5th my mom and I drove Rory into Children’s Memorial Hospital in Chicago. I knew that four days after that, Tuesday, November 9th was the day of the biopsy-turned-brain-surgery that brought us to the cancer diagnosis.
But, as I looked back, I was fuzzy on November 2 and 3 and 4. Did Rory go to school? Was he more well or more sick? Did we think we were moving in the right direction health wise or were we living under a dark cloud?
And what I discovered, by going through the accumulated stuff…and finding this half-finished social studies project… is that on November 2nd that year, he had had searched the Internet, found and printed the political cartoons, and began to pull together the pieces he’d need to create his collage. He had gone to school that day. He was more well than sick. I think we thought we were moving in the right direction.
It’s a small (or not so small) piece of information that’s been missing these years.
I’m putting some of the pieces back together.
It feels healthy and empowering – to me.
It feels counter to the conventional “hurry-up-and-move-on” wisdom.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Thursday, November 6, 2008 5:32 am CST
Jason Lammon.
I don’t know if Rory and he were friends.
We moved to town 6 years ago this past August. It was 5 years ago that Jason and his family moved to town.
Rory was in 5th grade when we moved. I clearly remember his first day at King Gifted School. I hoped the kids would welcome him…that someone would be kind and “let him in.” I knew it would be hard for him to be the new kid in 5th grade. Thought it would be even harder to be the new kid in 6th. That’s why we moved when we did.
They did welcome him. Big time. They made room. And his close, wonderful group of buddies in Walnut Creek was replaced by a close, wonderful group of buddies in Rockford. For him, the transition was easy.
When he moved to the middle school that next year – there was a whole new group of kids. All the “regulars” moved up from King (Rory included) but there were new kids, too. Every morning I reminded him to be welcoming.
“Say hi to a new kid. Smile at someone. There are lonely kids at your new school. New kids who have no friends. Welcome them Rory. The same way you were welcomed when you were the new kid.”
I was a broken record.
I hope he welcomed Jason.
Jason died almost 2 weeks ago. On Friday, October 24th. He was waiting for his school bus. Early Thursday morning. And something hit him. A driverless car. A utility pole. I don’t know if they know.
He died the next die.
And his dad and two younger siblings are left to pick up the pieces.
Jason loved music. He was a junior at Auburn High School. He was a member of the school’s Jazz Band, Marching Band and Concert Band. He was also drummer for Case In Point, a local original rock band.
His friends are inviting the entire Rockford community to hear the Auburn Jazz Band play at a Cabaret Benefit for Jason’s family. The event is this Friday, November 7, 2008 beginning at 7:30 pm at St. Mark’s Lutheran Church, 675 North Mulford Road in Rockford.
Tickets to the concert are $3.00 in advance, $5.00 at the door, and $2.00 for students. Children 10 and under are free. They’re creating a special raffle reflective of Jason’s interests, including his love of music. Guzzardo Music has already donated a guitar. Refreshments will be served. For more information, to offer assistance, or purchase advance tickets call 964-0712 or 963-9654 or email kirstn@prodigy.net or cjwestholder@comcast.net.
Proceeds from this benefit will go directly to the Lammon family. Financial contributions may be made to the Jason Lammon Memorial Fund, C/O Castle Bank, 4520 W. Algonquin Road, Lake In The Hills, IL 60156.
If you can help Jason’s family in any way, I hope you will. Trust me. They need it.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Rory loved Michael Crichton. He read (and loved) every single one of his books – and he was only 13. That last Christmas – after Rory’s surgery and cancer diagnosis – I gave him Crichton’s latest - “State of Fear” (interesting title).
I think we both knew he’d never be able to read it.
And he didn’t.
But the gift was about something else.
I wanted to make sure he knew that I knew who he was.
I did.
I stopped for a moment when I read that Michael Crichton has died. From cancer. No one is saying what type of cancer. I can’t help but wonder if its brain cancer?
Sunday, November 2, 2008 7:21 am CST
I called yesterday’s workshop in Naperville,
“The Power of Loss.”
It’s becoming more and more clear to me – that the purpose of loss in our lives – is to crack us open and provide us with an opportunity to “move up” to the next step in our transformational evolution, if you will.
The intention I set – when we first created the workshop was to: “Assist participants with coming to a deeper understanding of grief and mourning. Help them recognize the gifts of denial. Our openhearted intention will be to honor our inner voice that we might step into the power of transformation and reclaim our birthright – joy.”
I believe that the right people will be drawn to my sessions – when it is the right time for them (and me).
It was the right time for eleven people. Eleven brave, courageous people who listened to the voice inside that said…”choose life.” In spite of, of perhaps because of, all that each has lived through…they took a step in the direction of conscious transformation.
It’s an amazing thing to witness. When people have been torn apart – literally – by life, rather than curl up in a ball and totally give up (which would be totally understandable) … they muster up the courage, faith and strength and say… “I’ll give it one more try – this thing called life. I’m willing to say yes to life again…can you give me an idea how I might do that?”
And that’s where I come in.
I’ve scheduled two workshops series during the holidays. The first – a 3-week series that begins Tuesday, November 18th - will be held at Womanspace and the second is a 5-part series – held in my home – begins Tuesday, December 9th. These are the workshops I wish I could have attended that first holiday season after my daughter Erin died – and the first holiday season following my wife’s death. You can find more information at You’re Invited.
If you – or someone you know – will be marking your first holiday season living with great loss – please consider coming. If you want more information email me at tom@tomzuba.com
If you’re somewhat on the fence…wondering what the experience might be like for you…here are some comments from folks who attended yesterday’s event.
“The workshop exceeded my expectations. I feel affirmed in what I kind of thought and now know to begin to move forward. I do believe that everything happens for a reason. Tom – your insight and explanation were very thought provoking. I feel I have some new tools to move forward.”
“Gives me hope for another day.”
“I didn’t know what to expect so I had little expectations. So the day far exceeded my expectations, was extremely helpful, a necessary part of my journey.”
“This was the best.
“It exceeded my expectations. The acceptance, sincerity and wisdom that Tom shared permeated the room and created a safe, supportive environment.”
“A total mind blow to me in how it unfolded.”
Hope and peace,
Tom
Friday, October 31, 2008 7:40 am CST
"All things on earth point home in old October: sailors to sea, travelers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken."
~Thomas Wolfe
I have this very clear memory of visiting Anderson Japanese Gardens with Rory on Halloween 2004. It was a Sunday. The last day the Gardens would be open that year. A gorgeous fall day.
I think Sean had basketball practice, so Rory and I had a few hours alone.
Rory had been in and out of the hospital a few times by then – hospitals in Rockford and Chicago. That “hot spot” on his left temporal lobe was still questionable. No one was really sure what it was – or if it was getting smaller, staying the same, or increasing in size.
I had spoken with the female neurosurgeon’s office just a few days ago – and after reviewing all the MRIs – she assured me that Rory did not have cancer.
“No need to come in. There’s no cancer.” --- in spite of the radiologist’s growing concerns.
All I wanted to hear was “no cancer” – so a part of me gratefully exhaled.
We were told that it could take months and months for Rory to fully recover from the affects of the seizure he had in late August. But the brain was remarkable and his short-term memory would come back. He’d loose his slight foot drag and any distortion – subtle or not so subtle – in his face would disappear. As long as he was okay…I was willing and able to wait for the full recovery.
I was grateful that Halloween to be spending a fall afternoon with my oldest son visiting one of our favorite places. I got one more chance to see the Gardens through Rory’s eye. He knew every corner, every detail, and remembered every fact or anecdote we had learned from the docents or read in the guidebook. And he freely shared it all with me. He loved being the teacher – to me. I drank it in.
And as we were leaving the Gardens that day…he stopped in the path, took in the panoramic view and encouraged me to do the same.
“Look at the colors, Dad. It’s a painting. Look at how beautiful the reds and oranges and yellows are. Isn’t it incredible?”
It was.
And I knew there was something really significant about that moment. When Rory made me stop. And he encouraged me to take it all on.
A great teacher.
Still teaching.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Thursday, October 30, 2008 6:24 am CST
There are one or two spots still open for my workshop this Saturday in Naperville. If you – or someone you know – lives in the Naperville area and would like to attend, please call Lynne Staley, at 630.922.0979 or lmcstaley@comcast.net
The Power of Loss
Interactive Workshop
Saturday, November 1, 2008
RUAH Center
1110 N. Washington Street, Naperville, IL
9:30am until 2:00pm
$45 fee includes lunch.
Space is limited to the first 15 registrants.
Loss cracks us open. It transforms us. With each breath we take.
Consciously decide what role you will play in that transformation. Spend a day participating in an interactive workshop where a small group of kindred spirits will create a safe, sacred space. We will excavate grief, mourn safely, honor the gifts of denial and gently lean into possibility. With a better understanding of the after-effects of loss, we can begin to live fully with our losses.
Our openhearted intention will be to honor our inner voice that we might step into the power of transformation and reclaim our birthright – joy.
Sponsored by The Grief Recovery® Outreach Program at RUAH Center. For more information about The Power of Loss workshop, contact Lynne Staley, at 630.922.0979 or lmcstaley@comcast.net
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The holidays are coming…on the department stores shelves and toy catalogues of many stores, they’ve already arrived.
And with the holidays come so many different feelings and emotions.
Beginning with Halloween.
Trust me, I know it’s all in good fun --- and almost 20 year later I am able to just smile (in a weird, quizzical way) --- when I see the plastic gravestones creating a temporary graveyard in a neighbor’s front lawn … complete with the blood stained hand rising from the earth and the half-chewed bones strewn about… but you have to admit – it is an odd fascination we have with death… and not the comforting side of death… that we celebrate (?) on Halloween.
I remember that first Halloween after my daughter Erin died – being horrified by the sites and sounds of Halloween. It had not been too terribly long ago that I had purchased a casket for my little girl’s body, picked out a gravesite and stone, and stood by as her casket was lowered into the cold, hard earth.
So to see the makeshift graveyards…was…odd.
We celebrated one Halloween with Erin. Trici dressed her in a furry, “onesie,” coverall and made a red dot on her nose and whiskers on her cheek. I wasn’t exactly sure what she was … but she sure was cute.
That second Halloween…after she died… we couldn’t bear the thought of opening our door to the throngs of young Trick-or-Treaters who filled our Oak Park neighborhood … too painful… so we were “out” for the night.
It can be a tough time for people who are learning to live with the death of someone they love. It can feel isolating and lonely and very, very painful.
And no ever talks about it.
And one Halloween – not too long after his mom died – Rory dressed as the grim reaper. I let him, telling myself that perhaps he was consciously (or unconsciously) engaging in healthy role-playing??? Trying to gain some “control” over death … or at least – for a night – getting to decide for himself who lives and who dies?
And then there’s Thanksgiving and Christmas and Hanukkah.
I’ve added a new “button” at the top of this homepage called Holiday Help. In addition to the popular Candlelight Memorial I’ve made available to site visitors in the past, I’ve also included info that might help you LIVE with the holidays – if you are learning to live with the death of someone you love. There’s also information that might help you if you are trying to figure out how to offer comfort and support to someone you know who is learning to live… You’ll also find info about my two upcoming Holiday workshop series scheduled to offer real-time support and comfort.
This is a complicated season.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Monday, October 27, 2008 6:48 am CST
Another thing I spoke about at my Temple presentation last week (I’ve written about it here as well) is my belief that it’s impossible to die at the wrong time or in the wrong way.
Impossible.
Ever.
The hush that came over the room last Sunday night when those words flashed on the screen and oozed out of my mouth was palpable.
Huh?
What are you suggesting? What are you saying?
What about all the kids that die too early? And the accidents? And, and, and…
I’ve come to believe with all my being that the death of someone we know cracks us open. Big time.
It’s supposed to.
We’re stopped in our tracks. Paralyzed for a time.
Life as we knew it ceases to exist. In an instant. And for a few moments (minutes, hours, days, weeks) we notice.
We notice life. Our own. Other peoples. The way we’ve lived life. The way we want to live life from this day forward.
Death cracks us open. It’s grabs hold of us. It gets our attention.
And questions rise up.
Is there a God?
If there is? What did he (Is he even a he? Maybe he’s a she? Or a they? An it? Or perhaps there’s no pronoun that adequately describes the Divine?) have to do with the death of the person I love?
What happens to people when they die?
Do they go to “heaven?”
If so…where is heaven? Up there, far away, in the clouds? Or are they right here?
Will I see my dead again?
Can I communicate with them?
Can they communicate with me?
These – in my opinion – are but some of the gifts we receive when we choose to consciously learn to live with the death of someone we love.
We get to ask and then answer some of these fundamental questions.
And for me … the answer to the “Is there a God?” question … has been a resounding Yes, Yes, Yes.
And my God`s not a he or a she or a they or an it. My God is pronoun-less.
And its description and its message is not found exclusively in the Bible. And it doesn’t “hate the sin, but love the sinner.” And it doesn’t insist that there is only one path to it. And I could go on and on and on and write about the ways man has limited “God” by seeing the Almighty as a reflection of man … as opposed to knowing that man is a reflection of the Divine. There’s a big difference, in my opinion.
The God I choose to believe in is so loving, so compassionate, so kind, so gentle … that it’s scope and magnitude and power and all-knowingness is beyond the beyond. My human mind can’t comprehend.
And I don’t think God is supposed to be experienced and known in the limited mind – contrary to what so many preachers are out there preaching.
I think God is to be encountered and remembered and received and connected with in the heart. The place where we feel.
And that – in my opinion and experience – is one of the gifts of learning to live with the death of someone we love.
Death cracks us open. It provides us with the opportunity to leave our mind and enter our heart. Because we are overtaken by feeling and emotion…the death of someone we loves invites us to feel.
And that’s a good thing. It’s what it’s all about. In my opinion.
And when we are able to surrender to and begin to encounter the all that there is of the loving, kind, compassionate, gentle God (which we are a reflection of) then the only conclusion (I think/feel) that we can come to is that – regardless of how our mind perceives it … God loves us so much … that he/she/they/it would not allow any of us to die at the wrong time or in the wrong way.
The only possible unfolding – because we are so wrapped in the arms of love – is that we will die in the perfect way…at the perfect time.
All of us. Always been that way. Always will be.
And that truth is not of the head. It can’t be.
It’s of the heart.
And the death of someone we love brings us to a place where we can connect with our heart – again, or for the first time. It’s supposed to.
In my opinion.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Tuesday, October 21, 2008 7:19 am CST
I talked about a lot of different things Sunday evening at Temple Beth El during my presentation, “Tom Zuba – A Blessed.”
In the more informal portion of the evening – the 2nd half - the Rabbi asked me about the presentation tile, “A Blessed Life.” Given the details of my life experiences – the death of my young daughter, my wife and my 13-year-old son - how could it be a blessed life, she asked?
I tried to explain that the blessing for me is in the rebirth. And the accumulation of all the gifts I received (and continue to receive) during the process (which is ongoing) of rebirth.
I shared that my biggest concern at the time Rory was dying was not for him, but for me.
I new he would be fine. I knew he was fine. I knew he was being held in the loving arms of a power far greater than anything my human mind can comprehend. I knew that he was not the cancer that was continuing to grow in his brain. I knew that the essence of my son… the who of who he really is… is eternal. I was not worried about him.
But I was worried about me.
I had been down this road before. I had fallen (been thrown actually) into the deep, dark, seemingly bottomless pit of despair, desperation, loneliness, confusion, darkness that IS, for so many people, so often the first part of “learning to live with the death of someone you love.”
I knew I would survive. That was the problem. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I wasn’t sure I would be able to claw my way out of the darkness this third time.
But I did. I have. I am.
And the peace and the “knowing” and the insight … born out of sheer, utter, overwhelming desperation has been, is, and continues to be – the blessing.
I shared that – for me – the rebirth required me to ask myself some of what I consider to be life’s fundamental questions. Questions that I think most people live their whole life and never really ask – and answer – for themselves. Not at a deep – really deep level.
Questions such as:
Is there a God?
If there is, what is he/she/they?
What did he/she/they have to do with the death of the person I love?
Can I change the mind of “God?”
What happens to people when they die?
Do they continue to exist?
Is there a heaven? If so, where is it?
Is my dead loved one still aware of me?
Can he communicate with me?
Can I communicate with her?
For me, it was the slow, conscious process – borne of the strong desire to end the pain I was experiencing - of asking and answering these questions… that has been the blessing of this journey.
The answers – for me – have actually risen up … from deep within. The answers were not, and are not, outside of me. And the answer that “fits” me best … for today … may not be the answer that “fits” you best. And that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
It’s not a one size fits all sort of thing…regardless of what you’ve been told.
Hope, peace and blessings to you today,
Tom
Monday, October 20, 2008 6:48 am CST
I’m being interviewed live on WNTA-AM, 1330 radio this morning from 9:00-9:30 am CST. Folks outside the area can listen in via www.wnta.com. This is what we’re chatting about:
Trying to Manage the Holidays this Year
1. Remind yourself that you will survive.
2. What will bring you the most peace?
a. Keeping all traditions in tact?
b. Tweaking some traditions a bit?
c. Introducing new traditions?
d. Flying to Florida and completely skipping the holidays this year?
3. Don’t expect anyone to mention your deceased love one by name, believe it or not, that’s your job. People will look to you to determine whether or not it’s safe to talk about the deceased. A few subtle ways to do that:
a. Serve/bring your deceased loved one’s favorite holiday dish – mention that!
b. Bring a favorite picture – pass it around. Work it into the centerpiece.
c. Bring a favorite memento – a book, a poem, a watch, a piece of jewelry – pass it around.
d. Have your loved ones favorite music playing in the background
4. Plan a special evening for close family and friends when you REMEMBER. Ask everyone to bring a favorite photo and write down a special memory. Set time aside to sit in a circle and share the photos and stories.
5. Remember that it’s okay – it’s even healthy – to cry.
6. It’s okay to stay in bed… you will get out, when you’re ready and able.
7. It’s okay to smile or even laugh, a bit. You’re not being disloyal.
8. Buy yourself a gift. Wrap it. Write a note – to you – from the deceased.
10 Things you can to do
to help make this holiday season more bearable for someone you know who is learning to live with the death of someone they love.
1. Mention the dead person by name.
2. Your friend is already sad… nothing you can do will make them sadder … unless they think you have completely forgotten the person they love who has died.
3. Expect crying. It’s okay and healthy. You can cry, too. Crying helps people heal.
4. Extend an invitation. And another. And then another. Sooner or later the person will say yes. When they are ready and able. Don’t abandon them. They may already feel abandoned.
5. Realize that your friend may not really know what they want to do for the holidays. Or it may change hour to hour. Be flexible and patient. Accompany your friend as best you can. Let them take the lead. Don’t force or make them feel guilty.
6. When you send a holiday card. Write a note. Mention the deceased by name. Share a favorite memory or story.
7. Offer to bring your friend to Holiday Church services. Again, be flexible. He/she may change their mind again and again.
8. Remember – you don’t know how the person feels. But you can ask – “What is it like to be you today?” And then make sure you set aside time to LISTEN!
9. Search through your photos and videotape. Find a picture of the deceased and mail it - or better yet deliver it in person.
10. Don’t work too hard on trying to “cheer your friend up” but do spend time with him/her. Let them talk. You listen!
Hope and peace,
Tom
Thursday, October 16, 2008 6:47 am CST
I hope you will join me at:
Tom Zuba – A Blessed Life
Birth, death and rebirth x 3: Sharing tools for the journey.
Sunday, October 19th from 6:00 pm – 8:00 pm.
Temple Beth-El, 1203 Comanche Drive in Rockford
Open to the public. No charge. Refreshments will be served.
I will speak for the first hour and then we will have a full hour for questions, comments and conversation. This (in my opinion) is always the most interesting part of the evening. You never know where the spirit will take us.
Following the Q and A will be refreshments and mingling. A great opportunity to get up close and personal.
I hope you will come. It really is open to everyone. If you’ve never seen the beautiful stained glass window inside Temple Beth-El…come for that. And bring someone. Who do you know that is in pain right now…due to a loss? Who is dreading the upcoming holidays…wondering how they will possibly survive? Be a friend and bring that person to come hear me speak. I don’t think you’ll be sorry.
It will also give you the opportunity to take a free, peak at who I am and what I do. You never know…you may be moved to participate in one of my other upcoming events.
Radio Interview
I’ll be interviewed Monday morning, October 20th from 9:00 am to 9:30 am on our local radio AM-1330 station. Folks outside the area can listen in via www.wnta.com. Callers welcome!
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The Power of Loss
Interactive Workshop
Saturday, November 1, 2008
RUAH Center
1110 N. Washington Street, Naperville, IL
9:30am until 2:00pm
$45 fee includes lunch.
Space is limited to the first 15 registrants.
Loss cracks us open. It transforms us. With each breath we take.
Consciously decide what role you will play in that transformation. Spend a day participating in an interactive workshop where a small group of kindred spirits will create a safe, sacred space. We will excavate grief, mourn safely, honor the gifts of denial and gently lean into possibility. With a better understanding of the after-effects of loss, we can begin to live fully with our losses.
Our openhearted intention will be to honor our inner voice that we might step into the power of transformation and reclaim our birthright – joy.
Sponsored by The Grief Recovery® Outreach Program at RUAH Center. For more information about The Power of Loss workshop, contact Lynne Staley, at 630.922.0979 or lmcstaley@comcast.net
If you – or someone you know and love – live in the Chicago area, please come to this workshop. If you can forward this information to a family member or friend – thank you.
______________________________
Honoring Life: Ours and Theirs
During this holiday season, reexamine the relationship you have with someone who has died. Whether the death occurred 30 years ago, three years ago, or six months ago, we often innocently rush to “close” the relationship. Join a small group of kindred spirits to create a safe, sacred space where you can excavate grief, mourn safely, and gently lean into POSSIBILITY by remembering and reconnecting with our loved ones who have died. Our openhearted intention will be to honor our own inner voice that we might step into the power of transformation and experience joy.
Tuesdays, November 18, 25 and December 2
6:30 pm – 8:30 pm
Womanspace (men and women welcome),
3333 Maria Linden Drive in Rockford
$65.00 for the 3-part series
To register call 815.877.0118
This is a powerful series. I’ve offered this the last few holiday seasons and no one has been disappointed. I intentionally scheduled it right before Thanksgiving…and then we’ll meet again the next two Tuesdays – leading up to Christmas and Hanukkah. It can be a tough time for people learning to live with death. We’ll walk together…accompanying each other. It’s easier that way. Think about coming with a family member. It could make the holidays bearable for you this year.
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Permission to Mourn
Tuesdays, December 9, 16, 23, 30, January 6
6:30-8:00 pm
We will meet in the comfort of my Rockford home
at 3303 Brookview Road.
$95.00 for the 5-part series
Limited to 10 people.
Give yourself (or someone you know) the gift of healing this holiday season. I wish this 5-part series had been available to me that first holiday season following my daughter’s death … or the holiday season following my wife Trici’s death. It’s hard to do it alone.
Join me as we create a safe, sacred where we can “go public” with our grief in the presence of kindred souls. I call that mourning. It’s the path to healing.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Monday. October 13, 2008 7:25 am CST
To those who have asked…Saturday’s retreat,
The Power of Loss,
was incredible. A circle of eight. Setting the intention to move towards/into loss (as opposed to inhaling conventional wisdom and running away from loss).
I asked folks not to compare loss. I asked them to very “selfishly” (it’s not selfish at all but we’ve been programmed to believe it is) use the time we had together to focus on them. Me. Me. Me. What a concept. What a luxury.
What we all discovered … is that regardless of the details … there is much, much common ground when learning to live with loss. And healing occurs… when we are in a space that feels so safe that we are able and willing to excavate the details of the loss…and bring it into the light of day.
I think most (if not everyone) who participated in Saturday’s event would have liked to continue working together as a group. So…
In March, I will be facilitating a 4-part series called
“Permission to Mourn”
in my Rockford home. The series will be limited to the first 10 people who register. We will meet from 6:30-8:00 pm on March 4, 11, 18 and 25. If you’re interested and would like more information about cost please email me at tom@tomzuba.com.
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Loss so often ends the dream we carried for our life. If – and when – we are ready … it is up to us to gather the courage, take a step in the direction of trust … and dare to begin to create a new dream for our life. That is huge. It’s us allowing life to continue to expand. To follow its natural course.
So often … loss includes the “absence” of a person. Through death, divorce, separation, alienation. Or the “absence” of who we once were…or who we thought we were becoming … due to an illness, old age, a disability.
And we fight that. We resist it with all our might. If only that person would/could come back into my life!!! Then all would be well. I’d be happy again.
If only this illness, this disability, this thing called old age were not part of my “now” … then I’d be happy.
I talked a bit about this on Saturday. And I got the confused, not-quite-grasping-it looks, I often do. What follows cannot be really understood in the head. For me, the concept had to wash over me several (many) times until I finally got it. At a deep place. Not in my head. In my being.
And once that happened. I was free. And the pain of “separation” from Erin’s physical body, from Trici’s physical body, and from Rory’s physical body was lessened. Not gone completely…but lessened. Made bearable. For me.
And I was able to begin building new dreams. And/or allowing the dream of my life to be birthed through me, again.
That’s a bit of an illusion, I think… because the resistance is all part of it…necessary and fruitful…but that’s for another day, I think.
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“The best way to write your story is with love. Love is the material that comes directly from your integrity, from what you really are.”
~Don Miguel Ruiz
Don Miguel Ruiz is the author – of among other books – The Four Agreements. It’s in my Top Ten of all time. A simple, profound, life changing read.
When I was able to grasp (at that “being” level…not in the head) that I am not – as Tolle calls it my “ego” or as Zukav calls it my “personality” but instead connect (remember) the very essence of what I am – love – everything changed, It had too.
From pages 139-140 of
Awakening From Grief – finding the way back to joy. By John E. Welshons. A must-read magnificent book.
“Even if people are physically absent from our lives, the memory of them and the awareness of the ways in which we would like to heal, change, or nurture those relationships stay very much alive within us. We need to connect with the aliveness within. We need to remember those people vividly. We need to bring them from time to time into the forefront of our consciousness. We need to fully experience all of the emotions their images awaken in us.
Everyone we know and everyone we love exists in some form within us. They have become a part of us. We need to talk to ourselves and to those people in the form they hold within us. We need to ask ourselves what we need in order to feel fulfilled in our relationship with those people. Then we begin to talk to our images of them, to move toward the resolution of any unfinished business.
Maybe we just need to feel that we are still connected, that their physical absence has not ended the relationship or the ability of those relationships to enhance or affect our lives. Amazingly enough, we can carry those relationships within ourselves forever, and we have all the tools at our command to heal them and to resolve them, to nourish them, and to reach a real sense of completeness.
As it turns out, all relationships exist within our own beings anyway. We are conditioned to think external people and conditions create us and create our emotional states. But our emotional states are actually conditioned by a multitude of forces and experiences far beyond whatever it is, or whoever it is, that we are currently interacting with…
To heal our grief, we must know that love is a state of being within us. It is not given to us by someone else. We need to find a new way to access that place inside ourselves. That is the beginning of letting go of dependence. That is the beginning of healing our grief.”
How profound are these words? Applicable whether the loss we are experiencing is due to the death of a person, their physical absence due to divorce or separation … and/or separation from who we used to be…
“Maybe we just need to feel that we are still connected, that their physical absence has not ended the relationship nor the ability of those relationships to enhance or affect our lives.”
Lots to ponder.
A reminder that I will be speaking this Sunday, October 19th from 6:00-8:00 pm.
Tom Zuba: A Blessed Life
Birth, death and rebirth x 3: Sharing tools for the Journey
Presented by the Rockford Chapter of Hadassah in conjunction with Temple Beth-El
Sunday, October 19th
6 – 8 pm
Temple Beth Beth-El
1203 Commanche Drive, Rockford
For more info call 815.623.3947.
Everyone – and we mean everyone – is invited to attend. And it`s free!
Come. It’s gonna be good!
Hope and peace,
Tom
Friday, October 10, 2008 4:49 pm CST
And today…as I was walking towards my house with my two dogs on this-most-magnificent-Midwestern-fall-day…I came upon this Blue Heron.
For those of you that have been w/me for a while…you may remember that she (he?) came to visit on a day I was facilitating a workshop from my home. We were mesmerized.
The Blue Heron’s message is self-reflection.
“The power of knowing the self by discovering its gifts and facing its challenges. It is the ability to accept all feelings and opinions without denying any emotion or thought…the Blue Heron urges you to dive into the watery world of feelings to seek your truth.”
Perfect.
Tomorrow I am working with a group of brave souls…willing (ready … able, I am not really certain) to lean into their own transformation and sit with “The Power of Loss.”
Send us your loving energy … if you can.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Thursday, October 9, 2008 7:45 am CST
What do I mean when I suggested yesterday that our response to loss (death, specifically) is learned? And, therefore, upon examination can be changed?
First it’s the thought.
Which triggers a feeling/emotion.
Which creates an experience.
Change the thought…change the experience. This is not new.
What are the thoughts floating in the air about death, about grief, about mourning, about life lived after someone dies?
Who examines these thoughts?
Who has the energy – the desire – the ability to examine these thoughts immediately after the death occurs…when our world is rocked?
Why not examine the thoughts you hold about death now?
I contend that we very innocently step into the “this-is-what-happens-to-us-after-a-death” Universe and float around in it. And it’s been my experience that that manmade Universe is very, very painful.
What are some of the thoughts that hold that Universe together?
- When people die – if they’ve been really good – they go to heaven. And heaven is “up there” far, far, far away from us. They are separate from us.
Really?
- When people die – if they’ve been really, really, really bad – they go to hell. And you sure don’t want to end up there.
Really?
- Wait till the second year… it’s even more painful than the first.
Really?
- The most horrific death of all is the death of a child…it’s so unnatural.
Really?
- The person you loved shouldn’t have died. Life is so unfair. They were taken from you too soon. You were cheated.
Really?
- Move on. You have to put this behind you and just move on. Get a life.
Really?
- Keep busy. The key is to not think about it and keep busy.
Really?
- Put all the pictures, videos and mementos away. Too painful. You don’t want to wallow.
Really?
- We won’t talk about it. Ever! That would make you (us) cry…and we don’t want to cry. It’s a sign of weakness.
Really?
Do you have one – a belief – that you innocently inhaled…that has caused you great pain…that upon careful examination may not be true?
Hope and peace,
Tom
Reminder: You can still register for my workshop The Power of Loss by calling 815.877.0118. Workshop is this Saturday, October 11, 2008. 10:00 am – 2:00 pm. Beverages provided; bring a sack lunch. It will be held at Womanspace (men and women welcome), 3333 Maria Linden Drive in Rockford. $50.00
The Power of Loss
Loss cracks us open. Death. Divorce. Disability. Job Loss. Aging. With each breath we take, our losses transform us. Consciously decide what role you will play in that transformation. Spend a day participating in an interactive workshop. Come to a deeper understanding of grief and mourning. Recognize the gifts of denial. With a better understanding of the after-effects of loss, you can begin to live fully with your losses. Gently reconnect with your birthright…, which is joy!
Questions? Email me at tom@tomzuba.com
Wednesday, October 8, 2008 6:15 am CST
You don’t have to read many of my Journal Entries to discover that my teachers include Gary Zukav, Eckhart Tolle, Byron Katie, Debbie Ford, Martha Beck and Don Miguel Ruiz. A fascinating group.
A while back, a woman I consider a friend (an Internet-friend-who-shares-the-experience-of-living-with-the-death-of-a-son-from-cancer) asked if I thought one of these people (to be honest, I don’t remember which author she asked about) was “new age.” The question caught me off guard. I hadn’t heard that term used in some time. Her pastor warned her to stay away from “new age” authors. She was concerned.
Fear.
While I haven’t heard from her in awhile… I suspect (hope) she still visits this site.
As I’ve said before, the death of someone we loves crack us open. Wide.
It gives us the opportunity to question everything. Not from a place of fear. But from a place of desperation and pain, I think. I know I wanted to make sense of the new, unimaginable world I found myself in – every minute of every day. I wanted truth. Which lead to freedom. And then peace.
So… my search for truth. For freedom. For peace brought me to these “new age” authors and teachers.
While I am not 100% certain… it is my hope that my message – the words I write – the person I am becoming - is not rooted in fear. If you disagree … please let me know. I’ll want to take a closer look. At myself.
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And as I prepare for my October 19th presentation, “A Blessed Life” at Temple Beth-El here in Rockford…I’ve discovered something.
The definition of grief I’ve held to for over three years…
GRIEF: the internal, automatic, unlearned response to loss
No longer fits.
It did fit. And brought me much comfort. For a long time.
But I’ve evolved. Grown. Transformed.
And now… the definition of grief that feels more true is…
GRIEF: the internal, automatic, learned response to loss.
From the chair I’m sitting in now, I think our response to grief is “learned” in the very, very broadest sense of the word.
We think. Our thought creates feelings and emotions. We experience.
And I believe that from the moment we’re born (earlier actually) we inhale an air filled to capacity with a notion of what death and living with death is supposed to be like. And that notion informs and colors our experience.
And I’ve been blessed by living with a very intimate death…not once, not twice, but three times. And each go-round was different because of that which preceded it.
After my daughter Erin’s death in 1990, I didn’t believe there was light at the end of the tunnel.
But then, when my wife Trici died in 1999, I knew that – indeed - there was light.
And when Rory died in 2005 – as excruciatingly painful as his death was for me – the tunnel was lit. And that light made all the difference.
So…in the broadest sense, I believe our current response to loss is learned. Consciously and unconsciously. And the most magnificent news is that what is learned… can be examined… and replaced with a set of new beliefs that serve us better.
Come hear me speak on Sunday, October 19th from 6:00 – 8:00 pm at Temple Beth-El in Rockford to learn more. It’s open to the public.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Tuesday, October 7, 2008 7:20 am CST
Susie wrote these words in the Guestbook. I’m taking the liberty of reprinting here and adding my 2+ cents.
So many questions in my mind now..........does prayer change God`s Mind? Or does it change us? Does He/She/It hear us and know what we`re doing here during these ceremonies? Does it matter at all? It does to us, I know. But does it MATTER? I need to feel this stuff today and then get on with living. I had two good weeks where I felt tremendous healing, but now feel set back a bit. I know it`s temporary.
Such important questions. Monumental, actually. Transformational. Keys to awakening.
Gifts.
Gifts to those of us who are learning to live with the death of someone we love. Really live. Life.
Not simply exist. In a body that no longer feels. Much of anything. Except perhaps anger and frustration and confusion and loneliness and isolation and probably – above all – separateness. From ourselves. From our concept of God. From the person we love that died. From every other human being. From life itself. Separate.
I don’t think most people ask themselves those questions. They really have no need to …as they skim the surface of life. Until they are cracked open. Again or for the first time.
The illusion of brokenness we find ourselves swimming in - following the death of someone we love gives us the opportunity to ask. Questions born of our pain and desperation.
Does prayer change God’s Mind?
Or does it change us?
Does He/She/It hear us and know what we’re doing here during these ceremonies?
Does it matter at all?
It does to us, I know.
But does it MATTER?
I need to feel this stuff today and then get on with living.
I am sure that all of the organized religions have answers to these questions. And the beauty about living with death…especially in the very early stages…is that for most of us…the standard, pre-formed, rote answers no longer serve us.
And we question everything.
Everything.
Because when we feel like we’ve lost everything – and there is nothing left to loose – we have the freedom/courage to question everything. Everything.
And – counter to what many of the religions tell us…its a good thing. Not to be feared.
God is not afraid of our questions. As Susie says…
”He/She/It”
can handle our questions. All of them.
And when we create a safe, sacred, open (sometimes quiet) space. The answers come. And they are amazing.
And your answers do not have to be my answers…and my answers do not have to be your answers.
But they might be. And that’s okay, too.
And transformation occurs.
And awakening continues.
And we call it healing.
Another of the gifts that “death” brings us. If/when we are ready/able to receive.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Monday, October 6, 2008 6:00 am CST
Nobody chooses dysfunction, conflict, pain. Nobody chooses insanity. This happens because there is not enough presence in you to dissolve the past, not enough light to dispel the darkness. You are not fully here. You have not quite woken up yet. In the meantime, the conditioned mind is running your life.
It always looks as if people had a choice, but that is an illusion. As long as your mind with its conditioned patterns runs your life, as long as you are your mind, what choice do you have? None. You are not even there. The mind-identified state is severely dysfunctional. It is a form of insanity. Almost everyone is suffering from this illness in varying degrees. The moment you realize this, there can be no resentment. How can you resent someone’s illness? The only appropriate response is compassion.
These words are on page 190 – the 2nd to the last page – of Eckhart Tolle’s book The Power of Now.
If you haven’t read the book, I’m not sure the words make any sense. I’ve read the book – several times. I’ve seen him in person. I’ve read his follow-up, A New Earth – twice. And I’ve watched his 10-part series with Oprah.
I “think” I comprehend some of what he is saying in my head.
I “feel” tiny bits of the soul of his teaching “traveling” down to my heart and connecting with that which has always known…and waking it up. And it’s mostly a slow process – for me.
--------------------
This is a complex time for me. This autumn of 2008.
Had my daughter Erin lived…we’d be getting ready to celebrate her 20th birthday on January 2, 2009. I can’t even imagine what that would be like. I really can’t. A sophomore in college…
And this January 1st marks the 10th anniversary of Trici’s death. A decade. Seems like many, many, many lifetimes ago. So much has happened in those 10 years.
And only 4 years ago - we were still trying to figure out what was up with Rory. A hot spot on his left temporal lobe. So many MRIs that I was losing count. Relief every time a doctor ruled out cancer. And many did. Many times.
I so clearly remember Election Day that November of 2004. We were both stunned by the outcome. Together, we had watched CNN night after night after night…and if you recall…the pundits were saying Kerry had nabbed it. And a week to the day after the election, Rory’s brain surgery. And the first suggestion from the medical experts that he would not live.
So – it’s a complicated time – for me. I chose to feel.
10 years ago, Trici and her sisters were celebrating her mom’s 80th birthday. A party for friends and family at one of the restaurants in Oakbrook. Rory was seven. Sean was three. We were opening to another baby. Life was good for our little family.
No one would have guessed that Trici would be dead in three months.
And yesterday – another party. At a restaurant in Oakbrook. Family and friends. Trici’s mom turned 90.
And there was no trace of Trici. Or our daughter Erin. Or our son Rory. Not a mention by name. Or one of the thousands of photos that have been taken.
As if they never existed.
And I wonder what Sean thinks and what he feels about the omissions? Does he notice the noticeable silence from his mother’s family?
I do.
And it is such a mystery to me. Because – for me – it’s been the path of pain. The silence. The oh-so-noticeable silence.
And I know – for so many – it’s the American way.
Pretend. Repress. Deny. Ignore. Carry on. Move on. Be tough. Be strong. Don’t cry.
We’re not unique. We’re the unhealthy, abnormal norm.
And Tolle suggests that nobody chooses pain.
It’s all about the awakening …
He says that the only appropriate response is compassion.
First for me. And then for them.
And most days, I get it in my head. It’s the trickling down to my heart part that I’m intent on allowing.
The alternative is too painful…for me.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Sunday, October 5, 2008 8:47 am CST
In addition to the three Rockford-area events I have coming up this fall, I am also facilitating a workshop in Naperville on Saturday, November 1st. This workshop is similar to the one I am facilitating in Rockford this coming Saturday…however, the Naperville event is targeted at folks whose loss is the death of someone they love. The Rockford event is open to folks living with any kind of loss.
The Power of Loss
Interactive Workshop
Saturday, November 1, 2008
RUAH Center
1110 N. Washington Street, Naperville, IL
9:30am until 2:00pm
$45 fee includes lunch.
Space is limited to the first 15 registrants.
Loss cracks us open. It transforms us. With each breath we take.
Consciously decide what role you will play in that transformation. Spend a day participating in an interactive workshop where a small group of kindred spirits will create a safe, sacred space. We will excavate grief, mourn safely, honor the gifts of denial and gently lean into possibility. With a better understanding of the after-effects of loss, we can begin to live fully with our losses.
Our openhearted intention will be to honor our inner voice that we might step into the power of transformation and reclaim our birthright – joy.
Sponsored by The Grief Recovery® Outreach Program at RUAH Center. For more information about The Power of Loss workshop, contact Lynne Staley, at 630.922.0979 or lmcstaley@comcast.net
If you – or someone you know and love – live in the Chicago area, please come to this workshop. If you can forward this information to a family member or friend – thank you.
Hope and peace,
Tom Zuba
Saturday, October 4, 2008 7:35 am CST
One week from today – Saturday, October 11th – I will be facilitating a workshop at Womanspace in Rockford called:
The Power of Loss
These are the words I’ve written to try and succinctly describe the ½ day experience:
Loss cracks you open. Death. Divorce. Disability. Job Loss. Aging. With each breath you take, your losses transform you. Consciously decide what role you will play in that transformation. Spend a day participating in a hands-on interactive workshop creating a sacred space. Come to a deeper understanding of grief and mourning. Recognize the gifts of denial. With a better understanding of the after-effects of loss, you can begin to live fully with those losses. Gently reconnect with your birthright…which is joy! Beverages provided; bring a sack lunch.
Saturday, October 11, 2008 from 10:00 am – 2:00 pm
Womanspace, 3333 Maria Linden Drive in Rockford
To register call 815.877.0118
$50.00
So…
if you, and/or someone you know, (think about coming together) is currently living with loss…loss of any kind…death is the obvious, but there are so many other kinds of unattended losses…
empty nesting (did one of your children go off to college last month?)
loss of financial security (are you watching your retirement funds decline – rapidly)
old age – loss of physical “beauty,” mobility, flexibility, memory
job loss or the fear of loosing your job in these uncertain times.
Come to this workshop.
We tend to “rank” or score losses.
So many times I have heard someone say…”Well, your loss is so much greater than my loss. I know I shouldn’t even be complaining.”
Nonesense.
We all experience loss. And most of have been taught to deny, pretend, stuff away, suck-it-up … do anything we can possibly do not to feel - really feel – what it’s like to live with loss.
And new loss brings up old loss. Always. Often in very subtle (or not so subtle) ways.
So – by not feeling.
By not really entering the loss.
We miss out on the gifts that the loss offers us.
We miss out on the transformation.
And, instead we marinate in anger.
Sadness.
Lethargy.
Isolation.
Numbness.
Fear.
You name it.
Because the vast majority of our energy is spent “keeping the balloon” of loss under the water…. so we don’t have to feel.
There is another way.
And for me…it started with knowledge and a better understanding of
Grief.
Mourning.
Denial.
Armed with the knowledge and understanding I will share at this workshop…I was able to
Open to my loss.
Surrender to what is.
Lean into my own transformation.
You can do it too.
If you are ready.
To register for my October 11th workshop, The Power of Loss, call 815.877.0118.
Hope and peace,
Tom Zuba
Friday, October 3, 2008 6:47 am CST
Continuing the story I began telling on Tuesday…
My friend and I – the woman who actually opened the Temple door for my October 19th presentation there – had lunch a few weeks ago. We hadn’t seen each other in quite a long time.
I shared with her what the Rabbi told me the Jewish teachings about death and an afterlife are.
This life is it. We are born, we live, and we die. No afterlife. No heaven. Nothing. She went on to explain (the Rabbi) that we live on in the good works we do while we’re alive… and in the memories and hearts of those we knew and loved.
That had always been my understanding of the Jewish teachings… and as I prepare for my upcoming presentation, I wanted to make sure I was correct.
My friend then leaned across the table and shared this…
She had recently come back from a couple-week visit with one of her best friends. Her dear friend’s husband was dying… and she wanted to accompany them on their last leg of this journey. The husband was on life support and many hours, days in fact, were spent keeping watch and vigil in the quiet of his hospital room.
There was no question. Her friend’s husband was dying. Machines were keeping him alive. The task at hand was to decide when to allow him to go.
And my friend told me she experienced something she had never experienced before…as this was her first encounter with a really, really intimate death. She shared with me that she could feel – literally feel – her friend’s husband leave his body over a period of time.
“It wasn’t as if he was there one minute… and dead - gone - the next, Tom,” she said to me. “He very slowly left his body over a long period of time.”
“And as he left his body, I began to feel his presence in a very, very real way. And he spoke to me. He told me what to do. In very concrete ways he told me what I could do to take care of his wife, his beloved, as he continued to leave his physical body.”
“It was all very real, Tom. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
Hope and peace,
Tom
Wednesday, October 1, 2008 7:26 am CST
I know I said I’d tell “the rest of the story” today…but something happened yesterday and I want to grab it.
A person I know told me about a friend of a friend whose wife had just died. Just a few weeks ago. I’m not exactly sure how old the couple was … senior citizens. I know they had been married for many, many years.
The person I know was sharing…that she had recently heard… that the widower…the man whose wife of a lifetime had just died…had mentioned to his kids that he just didn’t feel like going on. To him, his own death seemed more desirable then life.
Life without his love. The woman he had been married to for all these years…
And the person sharing the story was – very innocently, I thought - resting on this point…
“Can you imagine telling your grown children – after they have just lost their mother – that you are considering suicide?”
“Can you imagine doing that to them?”
“Well…
Yes, actually,” I said to her. “I can imagine doing that.”
“In fact, I very seriously considered suicide after my daughter died. And, how I wished it were an option after my wife died. It’s a very normal and common response.”
She didn’t seem able to hear the words that were coming out of my mouth.
I told her that thoughts of suicide – following the death of someone you love – are very, very, very common.
It’s a cry for help. Help. Help. Help, me. Please.
The pain I am experiencing every waking and sleeping moment is so intense and powerful that I simply cannot go on. My own death seems like a viable option. To end the pain I am living with. Without the person I love so dearly.
And what dawned on me… is that the person so innocently telling me this story… was unable or unwilling to step – for even a moment – into the depth of the pain that this man (whose dear wife had just died) was feeling…as the prospect of living the rest of his life without his love physically at his side seemed unbearable to him.
We rarely talk about the after effects of loss. What its really like to live day-by-day, hour-by-hour, moment-by-moment … without the person we love by our side.
Nobody wants to hear about it. Too painful. And frightening.
Because we rarely talk about it…
This gentleman – this fresh widower – didn’t know that in time, with inner work, the intense, overwhelming, very real, debilitating, paralyzing pain can soften… and diminish… and cracks of light can make their way into our field of vision again.
And thoughts of suicide (the oh so normal, very common, I’m-afraid-to-tell-anyone), thoughts of suicide subside… diminish and then disappear.
And slowly and gently we can learn to live with the death … of the person we love.
We don’t move on. We don’t find closure.
We live with. We carry the pieces. We carry the people.
And when our heart softens enough…we realize… that they – the people we love who have died – have actually been carrying us – and will continue to carry us when being carried is what’s needed most … it’s then that we realize (perhaps for the first time) that yes, life is worth living.
And that we were born to experience joy.
So complex.
So very simple.
Attainable.
Counter to almost everything we believe to be true about death, and grief and mourning.
Hope, peace and joy,
Tom
Tuesday, September 30, 2008 6:38 am CST
I met her some time during that first year I was back in Rockford. Both of our sons were at the “top of their class” in the 5th grade gifted class.
I really got to know her though that next year… when we both volunteered for the middle school PTO when our boys were in 6th grade.
We spent a wonderful day together at the U of I when our sons were both invited to participate in the state’s Young Author’s Day – as reward for their writing accomplishments.
Her husband, a radiologist at the local hospital Rory was being treated at those first weeks of his 6-month journey was an “inside-friend” that was looking out for us amid what seemed, at times, to be a maze of madness.
And when Rory died…she was one of the ones that didn’t fall away. I think it’s a common seemingly-uncommon occurrence. Many of the people you think will be there for you…to support, carry, accompany, assist…fall away. Not all – but many. And the people you don’t know quite as well – rise up. They reach out. They show up. They move closer.
Perhaps it’s easier for them? The emotional connections aren’t quite as strong so their own loss isn’t as wrenching? I really don’t know.
But, she was one of the ones who showed up. Moved closer. For coffee. For lunch. To listen. To accompany.
And last winter, I received an email from a friend of hers. Will you speak at our Temple?
I had already had the honor, last fall, of speaking to over 100 at the big Catholic Church in town. “The largest crowd we’ve ever had,” the event organizers told me. And not one, but two Catholic bishops in attendance. The topic was, “Resting in the Palm of God’s Hand.”
And this past winter and spring, I spoke at two different Lutheran Churches in town. Searching for Gifts in the Darkness and Making Room for Grief, Mourning and Healing.
And now an invitation to speak at the Temple.
Wow.
In preparation of my October 19th presentation I met with the Rabbi and my contact person. The friend of my friend.
“Will you explain to me how Jewish people view death?” I asked. Already having an idea how my question would be answered…but wanting to verify.
“We believe that this is it. We live one life. We do the best we can. And then it’s over. Period. No afterlife. No heaven. No hell. It’s up to those that are still alive to keep our memory alive. And the good deeds we do continue to sow goodness after we die.”
That’s what I thought.
“Well…you’ve read my website,” I said. “You know that there is a huge thread of spirituality that runs through most everything I write and say. What do you want me to talk about on the 19th?”
The Rabbi…a mother of a 3-year-old child said, “Tell us how you get up each morning. I’m not sure, if your life experiences were my life experiences that I’d be able to get out of bed each day. Just tell us how you manage to get out of bed.”
Simple.
Complex.
Profound.
Doable.
The topic of my free presentation is:
Tom Zuba: A Blessed Life
Birth, death and rebirth x 3: Sharing tools for the Journey
Presented by the Rockford Chapter of Hadassah in conjunction with Temple Beth-El
Sunday, October 19th
6 – 8 pm
Temple Beth Beth-El
1203 Commanche Drive, Rockford
For more info call 815.623.3947.
Everyone – and we mean everyone – is invited to attend.
After we firmed up the details for the program. I had lunch with my friend. She told me a remarkable story of her very first, very recent experience with an intimate death.
I’ll write about it tomorrow. She was stunned. I am not.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Monday, September 29, 2008 7:20 am CST
Spring of 2005.
Rory had died that February 22nd. I was gone. Sure, physically the body still moved. But the “me of me” had left…seeking a safer, saner, quieter place I would imagine…to rest and then after a long, long, long time - ponder the possibility of healing – again.
But, that spring, Sean – somehow – threw himself into the White Sox. And it was that budding relationship that ultimately saved him – in my opinion. He watched game after game. His photographic memory allowed him to capture every statistic, every run scored, every ball caught. He could recount every play made…inning by inning. And he relished in it. Waiting for the next game gave him a reason to get up the next day…even though our family of three had now become a family of just two.
And in the Divine plan of it all… that season the White Sox won…and they won…and they won…all the way to the World Championship. And I think – to some extent – the winning helped Sean believe again…in something. In the possibility that “it’s not all bad.”
So the next April – for his April 18th birthday – I surprised him with the “Ozzie Plan.” Two tickets to 13 different White Sox games. And over the next six months we averaged two baseball games a month … and it was quite the adventure. For a dad and his son who were learning to live with the death of one of their own – again. We settled into our routines. Nachos and cheese as soon as we got to U.S. Cellular. Splitting a sugar-laden Mountain Dew. Kosher dogs mid-game…from the window where they smothered the dogs with grilled onions (not the guys selling the onionless hot dogs in the stands)…and later in the season we discovered the curly fries. Oh the curly fries.
And we had tickets to the last home game of the season. And it was a great end to our summer of baseball.
And we did it again the next year. 2007. Not 13 games…but 6 or 7.
And we had tickets to the last home game of that season. And it was a great end to our summer of baseball.
And again in 2008.
Yesterday - we had tickets to what was suppose to be the last home game of the season. (The die-hard Sox fans know that they play again today…and if (when) they win today…they play tomorrow.) And it was a great end to our summer of baseball.
And Sean is 13 now. And when I talk to parents who are raising – or have raised – a 13-year-old boy … they smile at me – and I smile back. 13 isn’t so easy – from either perspective.
And as we drove down I-90 … as I hopped from radio station to radio station…we came upon Cher’s last hit song, “Believe.” We blasted it.
It’s the song that propelled Cher back into the Top 10 – right after Sonny died. I’ve always thought of it as his last gift to her … a #1 song gifted from beyond the physical world.
It’s the song that Rory, Trici, Sean and I would dance around the living room to that early winter of 1998…before Trici died. And the song that Rory, Sean and I would form a hand-holding-circle too… and spin and spin too…in the days and weeks and months after Trici died. Believe.
It was a way for us to connect then…and as Sean and I drove into the BIG CITY we love so much yesterday…it was a way for us to connect – all of us – again.
And as the game unfolded…and the nachos and hot dogs with grilled onions were all but a memory…and the sticky, sweet syrup of the Mountain Dew still filled the oversized paper cup…I looked at the Stadium Clock…just glanced over…not really sure why…just an impulse.
And the time was…
2:22
And I smiled. And said thanks…as I always do now. Thankful that my first son. Rory. Has found a way to break through and say to me, “I love you, Daddy. I’m right here. All is well. All has always been well. All will always be well. All is well, Daddy. I love you.”
And as if that wasn’t enough…the Sox broke their 5-game losing streak and won the game.
As we drove home. Happy. Full. Tired. Wondering how the time between our first April game…and our last September game could possibly have passed so darn quickly.
I again flipped through the radio channels. And the familiar-to-me- because Rory listened-to-it-nonstop-while-he-was alive beginning notes of the Evanesance song, “My Immortal” played on the radio. I always thought that song – the entire CD for that matter – was way too sophisticated for a 12-year-old boy to enjoy, much less understand…but he loved it. And it reminds of him – every time I hear it.
In the event I didn’t “get it” via the Cher song, or the 2:22 on the Stadium Clock…Rory wanted to make sure his little brother and I knew he was right with us – as always.
I am convinced that those we love – who have died – are standing beside us. Not looking down from a far-away mysterious heaven that we’ve been taught to believe in…but standing with us. Holding us when we need to be held. Comforting us when we need to be comforted. Offering assistance when assistance is requested.
I’m convinced of it.
It`s what I believe.
And I wonder what our lives would be like if we really believed that? What would the grieving process be like if we knew that to be true?
We’re not alone. Not abandoned. Not really separated.
Who would we be if we believed that?
Hope and peace,
Tom
Tuesday, September 23, 2008 7:40 am CST
"Any transition serious enough to alter your definition of self will require not just small adjustments in your way of living and thinking but a full-on metamorphosis.”
~Martha Beck
Martha’s book “Finding Your Own North Star” is in my personal Top Ten of life-changing reads.
If you find yourself shattered… and dream-less due to a loss (of any kind) that you are living with… in addition to starting a Gratitude Journal (which I wrote about yesterday) consider reading her book.
Both or either actions I consider
“leaning into the life you were born to live.”
It’s been my experience that when I lean…even ever so slightly… the Universe (God) rises up to meet/greet me.
Big time.
Try it.
What do you have to lose?
Other than a shattered, dream-less life?
Hope and peace,
Tom
Monday, September 22, 2008 8:06 am CST
If you’ve visited my site before and read any of my Journal Entries…it won’t take you long to discover that I am a spring/summer person. No doubt about it.
And today is the first day (officially) of autumn…which here in the Midwest can quickly become winter. Which seems to last forever…to those of us that are spring/summer people.
For the past 50 years…my M.O. has been to resist the approaching seasons. To fight the change. To question why the heck I moved back from the sunny western U.S. --- not once, but twice. To argue (fiercely) with what is…all the way through. To the bitter end. To the dark, cold, gray, wet, snowy, depressing days of February. Never to surrender
And the results are always the same.
Stagnant. Frozen. Tired. Spent.
_______________________________
There is a beautiful light lavender-turns-to-white-as-the sun-warms-it reblooming iris in my garden. There are several in fact. Gardeners know that iris’ bloom in the spring. It’s one of the standards we wait for. Patiently. It’s worth the wait.
But this iris…called “Immortality” (of all things) blooms in the autumn, too. It’s presence shakes up the old way of thinking. Totally. There aren’t suppose to be iris’ blooming in the fall.
But here she is…"Immortality.”
____________________________
The Fall Equinox (today) is a time to harvest seeds that we have planted this past year – consciously or unconsciously.
______________________
If you’re not quite sure what seeds you’ve planted … or if, indeed, not even sure if you’ve planted any seeds…take a look (feel) at your life. Right now.
“How’s it going?”
On the outside…these times they are a ‘troubling.
A change in leadership is looming. Mud is being slung – big time – from many places. And the financial picture…
What’s happening on the inside – of you? The only place we have some “control” over.
If – on the inside – you “could do better” – consider starting a Gratitude Journal. Today. This first day of autumn.
Sometime today. Write down five things you are grateful for. Five things. That’s it. And then do it again tomorrow…and the next day. Don`t stop. This exercise/practice will change your life. Starting on the inside. Where the only REAl change can occur.
I promise.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Saturday, September 13, 2008 7:00 am CST
Like so many, I am watching the news of Hurricane Ike.
As some of you know, Rory and I (along with my sister Ann Marie and sisters-in-law Anne and Jeannine) spent about 2 weeks in Houston in January of 2005 while Roy was being treated at the Burzynski Clinic.
I am certain that this week (yesterday, today, tomorrow)…there are families just like mine that traveled to Houston from all over the world seeking Dr. Burzynski’s alternative, controversial, and very expensive treatment because each decided (like we did) that it offered even the smallest sliver of … hope. To keep our loved ones alive.
To say nothing of the hundreds of patients and families at MD Anderson Hospital in Houston.
I can’t imagine what these days… what this very day… must be like for those patients and families (and doctors and nurses)… who have already been hit hard by the ravages and force of the tsunami called cancer … now facing the very real threat of Hurricane Ike.
I am keeping them all in my prayers and sending healing energy.
Interesting times we are living in.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Wednesday, September 3, 2008 7:13 am CST
Yesterday was 93 degrees here. The hottest day of the year so far.
Today is supposed to be in the 70’s.
Summer into Autumn … (although technically we have a few more weeks of summer left.)
Autumn always follows summer. And then winter. And then spring. And then summer again. It’s the law. The natural law.
Birth. Death. Rebirth.
Same thing. Always.
It’s the law. The natural law.
It’s no secret I love spring…followed by the glorious days of early summer. I’m a gardener. I love crocuses, tulips, daffodils, irises, peonies, roses, lilies…the flowers of spring and the flowers of early summer.
It takes more of an effort on my part to love late summer and early Autumn. I’ve set the intention, though. Leaning into it. Opening to it.
I do love sunflowers.
I planted lots of Japanese anemones because they bloom in late summer and early fall…when lots of flowers are dying back. I planted asters for the same reason. And a few years ago…I planted reblooming irises. Which in addition to blooming in the spring…bloom again in late summer and into the fall. And their presence is glorious. A reminder of spring days…and a real gift as the growing season comes to a close here in the Midwest.
For me…it’s about changing my perception. The way I look things.
The natural order of the seasons (life) doesn’t change…but with effort and consciousness…my way of thinking about it, my beliefs, my thoughts about this summer-into-autumn-thing are changing.
And that is what makes the difference.
FREEDOM - when I stop fighting "what is."
Last December 31st, I posted the following. I think it’s pretty good…so I am repeating it again. As we approach the beginning of a new season…consider taking stock in your “present.”
How’s it going?
How are you feeling?
Are you content – happy – joyful about the way life is unfolding for you?
Are you a participant in the creation of the day-to-day experience of your life?
Words to ponder…
I’ve compiled a list of concrete steps I took to actively participate in my own transformation following the deaths of my daughter Erin in 1990, my wife Trici in 1999 and my son Rory in 2005.
As you set the intention to lean into your new life… what concrete steps can you take?
1. Commit to active mourning. I define mourning as “going public” with your grief. Make the effort to find a therapist, a support group, a “grief buddy.” Healing occurs when you find a safe place where you can excavate, explore and express your grief in the presence of others. Being stoic, pretending, repressing, rejecting, ignoring all that wells up inside of you is not a path to healing. Mourning, in the presence of others, is a path to healing.
2. Commit to going outside and walking in nature every day. Even if its only five minutes and you have to force yourself to do it. Build up to ten minutes. 15. 20. Loose yourself in nature. The trees. The animals. The scents. Try and feel yourself in your own body. Pay attention to your feet hitting the ground. The breeze on your face... notice.
Over time, notice the change of seasons.
Spring follows winter. Always. The days get brighter.
What appeared to be dead brings forth new life. Always.
3. Commit to finding ways to release the heavy, burdensome energy stored in your body. A massage therapist cannot only help you physically relax but he/she can help your body release stored energy and even memory that no longer serves you. If you are living in a cold climate… consider a massage with hot stones on a cold winter day. Make an appointment to see a Reiki master or a Craniosacral therapist or any other energy worker. At the very least, the physical touch will be healing.
4. Commit to spending quiet time with yourself every day – to simply BE with yourself and your new life. Again, even if you have to force yourself to be quiet and alone for five minutes – do it. “The Universe will back you up...” And, over time, five minutes becomes 10, becomes 15, becomes 20. If you keep running from yourself and your new life, how can you live it? How can you consciously participate in it? Pray. Meditate. Ask. Listen. Be. Receive. Allow. Surrender. Feel.
5. Commit to writing in a gratitude journal every day. First thing in the morning or last thing at night. Buy a journal. Put it by your bed. Write 5 things you are grateful for every day. Every day. At first, you may simply be glad another day is over. You may be thankful for the soft pillow, the comfortable bed, the warm blankets. And then you may remember that the first cup of coffee actually tasted good and you’re grateful for that. And one day you notice the sun in the sky.
6. Commit to being gentle with yourself. Really gentle. Trusting life enough so that you are willing to create new dreams takes time. Lots of time. As the saying goes, we often take one step forward and two steps back. Healing is a process. It’s a journey. Be gentle.
As this New Year unfolds… set the intention to heal. Set the intention to consciously participate in your own transformation.
Commit to a plan. What steps can you take to lean into your new life?
Expect the Universe to back you up. To support you. To guide you. To rise up and show you the way.
A New Season.
A New Life.
God bless you – today and always.
Tom
Thursday, August 28, 2008 7:06 am CST
These words are included in the brand new Sugarland CD I referenced a short while back:
“When a pending pain is so big, there is an inner place that a soul will go to keep from breaking. A place where it sits and holds terribly still, an emotional coma that allows our heart a moment of Peace so that we can begin to heal. In this place we find a void, where there is no feeling, no up, no down, no sound, no taste.”
An emotional coma.
Profound words.
Never heard it put that way.
Rings true to me.
_________________________
Rory had his seizure 4 years ago today. Today – being early in the morning on the Thursday of that first week of school.
He had gone to school Tuesday and Wednesday … and in the middle of the night (early morning) something woke me up.
A sound?
Someone breaking into the house? A tree branch scraping up against the house?
Nothing? I’m tired, it’s dark, “body go back to sleep.”
And then somehow, someway…
Instinctively?
Intuitively?
Divinely?
I’m standing in the doorway of my 13-year-old son’s bedroom staring…
Sleep still keeping my eyes half-shut… I’m staring at him… trying to make sense of what I am seeing and of what I am hearing.
A stroke?
A seizure?
Is he asleep? Or awake?
His face is contorted. His body drawn up to one side.
Gurgling sounds. Foam coming out of his mouth.
A stroke or a seizure?
I called my mom. No answer.
I called my sister. Her son had recently had a slight seizure … during the night… oddly enough.
I described Rory’s symptoms.
Call 911?
Call 911!!! Now!
“Oh my God…here we go again.”
And Sean stood in the doorway of his big brother’s room… the same sounds that woke me had gotten him up as well. He stood there. A 9-year-old witnessing more than most people witness in a lifetime.
________________________
Conventional “wisdom.” That which we inhale. At a cellular level. Because we are unconscious (for now) says…
Don’t talk about it.
Why wallow?
Move on.
Keep busy.
Have a drink. Take a pill. Throw yourself into work. Buy something to make you happy.
________________________________
I’m interested in becoming an expert on my own grief. My own grief. I want to be released (freed) from it.
For me…it’s moving into the “darkness.” That which appears to have no light. Slowly. Carefully. Little by little. Bit by bit. When I am able. When I am feeling strong enough to do so. It’s moving in.
It’s moving into the darkness…and poking around.
Remembering. Piecing together. Reconstructing. Reminding myself.
What happened? What did it look, feel, smell, taste like? Why did I do what I did? Am I remembering it correctly?
It’s no longer being afraid of it all. It’s reclaiming my power. It’s re-entering my very own body.
It’s where I find things like…
Gratitude to the force that pushed (propelled) me into Rory’s room that night “sparing” me from finding a brain-dead body lying in bed the next morning.
Awe and respect for the inner strength I tapped into as I called 911. Rode in an ambulance to the ER for the 3rd time in my life with the person I loved most… Remembered my name and phone number as I spoke to the guy at the intake desk… Tried to be polite and kind to the docs and nurses who asked my countless questions over and over and over…
Gratitude for my older sister and my mom who met me at the ER… my Dad who came to be with Sean…the ER doc and ICU nurses who was so very kind and gentle to me…
Family and fiends and classmates – who upon hearing of Rory’s experience called, emailed, visited, sent cards…
____________________________
The illusion that we’ve created is that the darkness is to be avoided at all costs…
Too painful.
Too sad.
I might cry.
I might feel something.
I might not be “able to hold it together” for an hour or so…
Can’t go there…. won’t go there. Be strong… (We’ve all heard the crap before).
__________________________
My truth.
My experience is that…
when we ask for (and receive)
the grace-filled courage
to enter the darkness
and then consciously, slowly, carefully, mind-fully enter that darkness...
only after/when/as that happens
are we able to experience the great light
which we have always, always, always
been basking in
been warmed by
been held by
been surrounded by.
The great gift of the dark, dark, dark darkness is that it brings us back to the light… which has always been there.
Complex.
Simple.
Amazing.
If any of these words resonate…and you’d like to hear more…please join me:
Tom Zuba – A Blessed Life
Sunday, October 19th from 6:00 pm – 8:00 pm.
Temple Beth-El
1203 Comanche Drive
No charge. Refreshments will be served.
Hope, peace and grace-filled courage,
Tom
Tuesday, August 26, 2008 7:00 am CST
WOW!
I was surprised to see Ted Kennedy at the Democratic Convention last night. I had heard – last week – that he was scheduled to make an appearance. Just didn’t see how that could happen…
Other than the piece in the Chicago Tribune a few weeks back…I haven’t heard or read anyone come out and tell us exactly what type of brain cancer Senator Kennedy actually has. I certainly didn’t hear any mention of it last night amid all the convention coverage. All I heard was “brain cancer.”
Speculation is that his brain cancer is a glioblastoma…like Rory.
Like Rory… Ted had surgery.
Like Rory… “They got as much as they could…but couldn’t get it all. It’s very aggressive. It’s very invasive.”
Unlike Rory, Senator Kennedy opted for chemotherapy and radiation.
The docs told me “There is no cure. He will die from this. Chemo and radiation will buy him a few more months.”
We said no to the chemo and radiation and opted for alternatives. They offered us (me) hope. It was the right choice for us.
As I look back… Rory was remarkable after the surgery that removed as much cancer mixed with brain tissue as possible…his left temporal lobe…and resulted in a stroke.
He was remarkable.
Had it not been for that stroke … which affected his right side … it’s possible he might have been able to go back to school for a bit … or give a speech at the Democratic Convention … like Ted Kennedy.
He was doing so well … camping with us at White Pines, hiking, going up and down a huge flight of stairs (unassisted) a few weeks after surgery … that I thought there was a disconnect.
“The doctors have been wrong about so many things,” I thought. Perhaps they are wrong about his cancer?
Nobody told me … or if they did … it never sunk in to my already overloaded brain … that because the cancer had been removed (surgically) - of course, he’d seem “better.” For awhile. But the nature of the cancer – aggressive and invasive – was such that it’d be back with a vengeance.
It was.
I understand the talk of “Teddy back on the Senate floor in January! Teddy celebrating Obama’s victory in November!”
I understand it all. I really do.
I think we have such a fear of death – our own and people we love (especially many of us “Christians”) … and on a deep, core level we have such a fear of having to live life with the death of some we love … that we simply can’t go there.
So we pretend.
And we hope, and hope, and hope…
And we pray, and chant, and dance, and swirl, and scream, and shout, and beg, and…
I get it.
It’s what I did.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Monday, August 25, 2008 7:13 am CST
These words are meant for the eyes (and heart and head) of those who are learning to live with the death of someone they love. All others continue reading at your own risk…
Perhaps there is something to learn here…
For almost 19 years…I have held onto the belief that there is really nothing that separates me from a person who is not learning to live with the death of someone they love --- I mean really love. An intimate death, I call it.
I have believed that if that (lucky?) person listened to the words that came out of my mouth hard enough … read the right books … paid attention to the “Ann-Landers-type-help-columns” that seem to be everywhere … and even got in touch with the voice of their own heart … they would know the ‘right” thing to do. To say. Somehow they’d know what I needed… and they could take care of me.
That belief has caused me great pain.
And continues to separate me from many people.
People who have “fallen short” – based on my expectations. For care and support.
Four summers ago (how could it be?), when Rory was 13 … my entire family gathered for a family portrait at my brother’s house. A gift to my parents. My family is huge. I have six living brothers and sisters. Their spouses/partner. Kids. (There are 20-something nieces and nephews). And my nephew Danny’s kids…the next generation.
Each “little” family wore a different colored shirt.
Rory, Tom and Sean wore white
I remember feeling so strongly that day that something was missing. Someone.
Trici.
Erin – it seemed – had died so long ago…before most of the cousins were born ... that her absence didn’t feel so stark. But Trici had rubbed elbows with these folks for 13 + years. Her absence was heavy. For me.
And being thrown into the mix of “in tact” families… a mom and dad (and in our family - a mom and another mom), made the reality of our single-parent family even more pronounced. Painful. For me.
If that makes any sense?
Rory had his seizure a few short weeks after the family photo was taken.
I don’t think I ever ordered copies of any of the photos. Too caught up in the ups and downs of those weeks/months that followed. If I did get copies – I don’t know where they are.
The family portrait - surrounded by each individual families’ photo hangs in my parent’s house. They are great pictures.
When I look at Rory in the photos…I wonder…was the brain cancer growing? Seems like it would have to have been… He looks pretty normal, tho. Hmmmmmm.
Our family met again this past Saturday. This time at my house. Outside. Site of last year’s flood. The garden looks so beautiful we decided to use it as a backdrop. Amazing what can change in one year.
Another family portrait. For my mom’s birthday.
Sean and I wore red this time.
And as my friend Jim posed our family for the big group shot… of course, I couldn’t help feel something was missing. Someone.
Rory.
Hadn’t he just been with us (physically) for the last family picture? Wasn’t that just…yesterday?
Rory had rubbed elbows with these folks for 13 + years. His absence was … noticed and noted by me …
But not so so heavy.
This time.
For me.
I stopped fighting with reality.
Now I believe that those of us who are learning to live with the death of someone we love…really love…an intimate death…are different.
Not better. Not worse. Different.
We (I think it’s “we” --- I know it’s “me.”) have a need/desire to bring our dead people smack in the middle of the room sometime.
Some time. Not all the time. Some of the time.
It’s not uncomfortable for us.
It’s the NOT bringing them into the room that is so so so uncomfortable. And painful. And lonely. And isolating.
We don’t want to forget … and, on occasion, it’s nice to know that others haven’t forgotten either. It’s nice to hear that. We may know it intellectually…but it’s still nice to hear the words come our of someone’s mouth.
Isn’t it?
When I stopped fighting with reality… I realized that the person responsible for bringing Erin, Trici and Rory smack the middle of the family portrait space…was me.
And I did just that … in my mind and in my heart
I reclaimed my power. And was no longer looking outside myself.
And all is well.
Took me 19 years to get that…
Perhaps I’m a slow learner.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Saturday, August 23, 2008 2:46 pm CST
I’m happy to announce that I will be facilitating two workshops this fall and have one exciting speaking engagement. If you live locally, I hope you will consider participating in one of these life-changing/affirming workshops and/or joining us on Sunday evening, October 19th at Temple Beth-El for my presentation.
Please help me spread the word.
Tom Zuba – A Blessed Life
Sunday, October 19th from 6:00 pm – 8:00 pm.
Temple Beth-El
1203 Comanche Drive
No charge. Refreshments will be served.
The Power of Loss
Loss cracks you open. Death. Divorce. Disability. Job Loss. Aging. With each breath you take, your losses transform you. Consciously decide what role you will play in that transformation. Spend a day participating in a hands-on interactive workshop creating a sacred space. Come to a deeper understanding of grief and mourning. Recognize the gifts of denial. With a better understanding of the after-effects of loss, you can begin to live fully with those losses. Gently reconnect with your birthright…which is joy! Beverages provided; bring a sack lunch.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
10:00 am – 2:00 pm
Womanspace, 3333 Maria Linden Drive in Rockford
To register call 815.877.0118
$50.00
Honoring Life: Ours and Theirs
During this holiday season, reexamine the relationship you have with someone who has died. Whether the death occurred 30 year ago, three years ago, or six months ago, we often innocently rush to “close” those relationships. Join a small group of kindred spirits to create a safe, sacred space where you can excavate grief, mourn safely, and gently lean into POSSIBILITY by remembering and reconnecting with our loved ones who have died. Our openhearted intention will be to honor our own inner voice that we might step into the power of transformation and experience joy.
Tuesdays, November 18, 25 and December 2
6:30 pm – 8:30 pm
Womanspace, 3333 Maria Linden Drive in Rockford
To register call 815.877.0118
$65.00
Hope and peace,
Tom
Saturday, August 9, 2008 9:27 am CST
"And the day came when the risk it took to remain closed in a bud became more painful than the risk it took to blossom."
Anais Nin
I’m in the process of wrapping up the details for a speaking engagement I will have in Rockford. As of today, we are looking at Sunday, October 19th from 6:00 – 8:00 pm. Information regarding the location and sponsor will be forthcoming.
The name of my presentation will be:
Tom Zuba – A Blessed Life.
I met for breakfast this week with the sponsors and we brainstormed and heart stormed with the intention of finding our way to the presentation. One of the people present said something like: “I’d just like to know how you get up every morning? How do you get out of bed – in light of what you’ve lived through?” The other person added, “And once out of bed, how are able to be of service to other people in pain? I don’t think I could do that.”
And my presentation was birthed…
Mark you calendar for October 19th (it’s open to the public) and come back to the site for more details.
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After Trici died in 1999 … I said over and over and over again, “I don’t want to waste this experience. (her death) I want to be surrounded by people that are wiser than me.”
One of those people is Gary Zukav. It’s no secret that reading his book The Seat of the Soul was a major TURNING POINT for me. I’m happy to share that Gary has a new blog. To me, his words are always thought provoking and heart expanding. You can visit his blog at: http://garyzukav.blogspot.com/
While you’re there…check out the rest of his site.
And Byron Katie. One of my TOP FIVE TEACHERS. A practical, easy implementation of Eckhart Tolle’s message. Her website is www.thework.com. You can listen to a fascinating interview with her (and several other fascinating teachers) at http://www.masteringthepowerofnow.com/
And then there’s Oprah. As I said…I love her because she lets us see how complex (human) we all are. In addition to her groundbreaking 10-week class with Eckhart Tolle diving into his book A New Earth…she is making available to us – free – online – video of her radio interview show she calls SoulSeries webcasts. Her interview with Byron Katie will be available this Monday. August 11th. You can find it --- and her other webcasts by clicking SoulSeries.
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Our Door Cty vacation begins today. We’re off.
I am bringing my computer up with me. A first.
Sean is now a teen-ager…, which means he sleeps till 11:00…at least. My body gets up at 6:00 am. Regardless.
So…my intention is to use the 3-4 hours I will have each morning to pull my book together (finally)! I have never felt more ready.
The book – at this moment – is in three parts. A huge chunk I wrote after Trici died regarding her death and Erin’s death. The days before…the days of …the days, weeks, months, years following. The second piece is pulled from Rory’s Caringbridge site…that well-documented journey. And the third part is a series of Instant Messaging chats I had with a friend…in the weeks before Rory had his seizure…and after his death.
I remember sitting in the front pew at Old St. Pat’s Church on January 6, 1999 … Trici’s funeral … thinking, no – knowing – that “my whole life had prepared me for this moment.”
That’s how I feel now.
If you feel so moved…please send your love, light, prayers, energy in my direction so that I may be as open as possible…as I birth this project.
Hope and peace and gratitude,
Tom
Thursday. August 7, 2008 6:33 pm CST
I bought the new Sugarland CD. These words are printed on the inside cover:
“The day will come after mastering the winds, the waves, the tides and gravity, that we shall harness for God the energies of love. And, on that day, for the second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire.”
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
Love that quote. I’ve read it before. My first introduction? Sister Karen had it in large letters decorating her science room in junior high.
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Oprah.
I love her because she is so human. So complex. Like all of us.
By paying attention to the way I react to her…I get a deeper understanding of what’s going on inside of me
The other night I listened to her interview with author and psychic Ainslie MacLeod. His book is called The Instruction: Living the Life Your Soul Intended.
All I can say is WOW. If you are ready for his message…WOW.
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One year ago today, Sean and I were in Door Cty. Our annual vacation. I’ve been going up every year – except for maybe two – since Erin died in 1990. In fact, our first treck up was a few short weeks following her death...
Sean has gone up every year of his life.
I remember asking the kids that first summer after Trici died…Do you really want to go up? (hoping and hoping they’d say NO!)
Of course, they said YES. “Tradition, Dad.”
And that first summer after Rory died… “We’re not going up, are we?” (Please, please don’t make me go!)
“YES!” Sean said. It’s tradition.
So, one year ago today we were in Door Cty. A friend had been watching the dogs for me. I was a little surprised to get her Voicemail message.
“There’s been a flood, Tom. It’s pretty bad.”
That was the beginning.
Living through a flood…like living with the death of someone you know…is something that must be experienced to get the full effect. You might think you know…but until (unless) you live it…you really don’t.
I had over 8 feet (8 feet!!!) of water in my basement. The boxes of Erin’s things – that Trici had lovingly packed so many years ago…and that I had transported to California and back…were completely submerged in water. Completely.
When Trici died… I kept two of everything. One for Rory. One for Sean. I wanted them each to be able to “touch” their mom through her things…two coats, two pairs of shoes (did she love shoes), two purses, two skirts, two blouses, two business suits. Everything was submerged.
Everything.
My entire house was surrounded by water.
I had to pull up my first floor carpet. Thankfully, I was able to save it. The padding had to be tossed…and replaced. But only after I had dehumidifiers and fans going for weeks…and washed everthing down with a bleach and water solution to ward off mold.
I needed a new furnace, a water heater, and air conditioner. All the duct work in my basment had to be replaced. All of it.
The entire process of physically repairing all that had been damaged took months – months.
Psychologically and emotionally it took longer.
Longer than I expected (like learning to live wth the death of someone I love).
My depression was deep. So deep… that for the second time in my life I tried an antidepressant. To help. It did.
To this day, when I get a scent of damp, moldy wetness…it brings me right back.
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My gardens this year are more glorious then ever.
Who knew? Seems as if the flooding was just what they needed.
A few plants were washed away by the force of the water. I don’t miss them.
And I’ve been amazed by the new plants that have popped up – here and there. Plants that I didn’t plant. I’m thinking the raging waters carried their seeds…and as the water receded…the seeds found a safe, welcoming place to grow.
I like the new plants.
Isn’t life complex?
And simple.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Wednesday, August 6, 2008 6:52 pm CST
I hated this picture for a long time.
It looks different to me now.
I see a smiling, happy boy.
He’s wearing the famous Australia shirt that his friend Evan gave him for his 13th birthday. He wore that shirt all the time…
He’s sitting on the zebra-striped sleeper sofa I bought for our family room when we moved from Northern California … back to my hometown of Rockford…six years ago this month. I wanted a sleeper sofa so that when the kids had friends over…there’d be extra sleeping space.
To his left is the Japanese-inspired pillow his Aunt Linda gave him.
To the observant eye…you can tell his right arm is kind-of-limp. (Caused by the stroke.) His face is bloated from the meds. And of course, he’s wearing the telltale yellow bracelet.
Cancer.
The bracelet I took off his dead body and put on my own wrist. Still there.
It’s the picture that his friends chose to put on the “Rory Forever T-shirts” they all wore after he died. I loved seeing those kids wearing their Rory T-shirts. I loved sitting across from them…with Rory smiling back at me.
But I hated that picture.
Because I knew the back-story.
As I said…it looks different to me now.
Perhaps – I’m different now.
I see a smiling, happy boy.
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Rory spent his last weeks on that sofa. In the center of our family room. He slept upstairs in his own bedroom, but days (which sometimes began in the early evening) were spent on the zebra sofa. And when he could no longer walk down those stairs by himself…we helped him. And then I carried him. Up and down. It was my pleasure.
And then the day came when I simply couldn’t carry him downstairs anymore. And he never came down again. Until the paramedics carried him down that last night…
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After Rory died, Sean said that I was too boring and the house was too quiet. I agreed. I’m sure I was boring (consumed by grief) back then…and I know the house was quiet.
So we got a dog. Mandy.
And a year later we got another one. Molly.
And they match the zebra sofa. Mandy is black. Molly is tan.
And Rory’s sofa became Mandy and Molly’s sofa.
And our house wasn’t so quiet any more.
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Today was the day to see about getting two new cushions for the zebra-striped Rory/Mandy/Molly sofa.
They had had it!
So I visited the shop of the man whose daughter was a year older than Rory at West. The man who brought his beautiful celebrity portraits to the pancake breakfast fundraiser Rory’s school friends and their parents held for us. In addition to being an incredible artist he also reupholsters furniture.
We picked out a fabric … to compliment the zebra stripe.
And he and his wife asked how Sean and I were doing. I know what they meant.
He told me about his daughter. She’ll be a senior next year.
“She still wears her Rory T-shirt,” they said. “All the time.”
The “Rory Forever T-shirt” with the picture of Rory on it.
The picture I see differently now.
Because I’m different.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Tuesday, August 5, 2008 4:44 pm CST
One of the things I’ve come to believe (experience) is that our society has a preconceived notion (idea) of what it’s like to live with the death of someone we love.
That notion (idea) is woven into our fabric – our music, our literature, our movies, our television shows, our conversations. We inhale that preconceived notion (idea) … probably from a time even before we are born…because our mother and father inhaled it, too.
We can’t help it.
We don’t know any better. We rarely question it. It’s innocent.
And that notion (idea) … of what it’s like to live with the death of someone we love … can cause great pain. At least it did for me.
I’m halfway through The Last Lecture. Like many have said…it’s a fast, fascinating read.
On page 25 these words jumped out at me.
“Although my children will have a loving mother who I know will guide them through life brilliantly, they will not have their father. I’ve accepted that, but it does hurt.”
“… they will not have their father”
Part of the unquestioned, preconceived notion (idea) that we so innocently inhale.
“I’ve accepted that, but it does hurt.”
How could it not hurt?
As Byron Katie asks…is it true?
Is it true that they (we) will not have their (our) father (mother, sister, brother, spouse, child)?
Is it true?
Is it true?
Can we know for sure that it is true?
Question everything.
If you can.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Monday, August 4, 2008 7:50 am CST
I bought The Last Lecture shortly after Randy Pausch’s presence was made known worldwide via YouTube and Oprah. I haven’t read it yet…although I know many people who have been touched deeply by his words and his life.
Randy died July 25th…the day after what would have been Rory’s 17th birthday had he lived.
I taped the 20/20 special about Randy that aired a few days ago. Watched it this morning. It is definitely worth seeing…if you can find it somewhere on the Internet.
Randy’s wife Jai said two things (more actually) that struck me. At one point in the interview she said:
“I have everything I need.”
I get that. I do too.
The voiceover said – that after Randy finished his “Last Lecture” – because it was Jai’s birthday…they wheeled out a cake and sang Happy Birthday. Jai came up on stage to be with Randy, hugged him, and whispered:
“Please don’t die – all the magic would leave with you.”
I get that. I thought that too.
Once.
I’m hoping somehow, someway Jai finds this site.
She and Randy have done a glorious job of cracking those of us that are ready - open. They gave us more then a glimpse of living life to the fullest. Every day.
A terminal diagnosis can do that. Crack us. Open.
Death of someone we love cracks us open, too. Big time. The biggest, perhaps.
Cracks us in a million little pieces.
And (in my humble opinion) the teacher can only take us as far as he/she has travelled.
Randy and Jai travelled the first part.
The second part began (officially) on July 25th. The day Randy died.
I think (hope) that the surprise for Jai (all of us) is the realization that the magic did not leave when Randy left his physical body.
That is not possible.
The magic intensifes.
Big time.
It can’t be any other way.
Hope, peace…and magic,
Tom
Sunday, July 27, 2008 8:23 am CST
Of course I go back and forth and back and forth about just how “public” I want to be on this site. I have a friend who used to remind me…”when all else fails…be honest.” Such great advice. Clearly, people can feel honesty. We respond to honesty (most of us) at a gut level…
I had coffee Friday morning with a woman I had never met before. She moved to Rockford about 3 years ago due to her husband’s job change…leaving a wonderful circle of friends in Michigan...including a friend whose husband had just died from cancer…following the death just a few years earlier of that same friend’s 8-year-old son. Upon arriving in Rockford, the woman I had coffee with met the mother of a classmate of Rory.
“Visit www.tomzuba.com.” she was told. “His words may be comforting to you.”
So she did. She told me Friday that she read and read and read and read. “I’ve read every word you’ve written. You’re an inspiration.”
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Yesterday, I was in Chicago with members of my mom’s side of the family. My oldest cousin Cathi hosted the gathering. My mom’s cousin’s son Paul and his family were visiting from England.
In the kitchen, Cathi pulled me aside to let me know that “you have just no idea how many people you have touched through your website.” She told me about a couple in her Beverly neighborhood who are learning to live with the sudden death of their young son last July. She told me that the couple have visited this site…read some of my words…and felt something
Something resonated.
“The husband, too,” Cathi said. To think a man could express such emotion and “go there”…
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I think (believe) that the way I (we?) interpret/expereince the world is simply (or not so simply) a reflection of the way I view the world from my core…consciously and/or unconsciously.
That’s a loaded sentence…so you might want to read it a few times to see if it makes any sense???
I am amazed to learn how people perceive me… my day-to-day life… the way I have dealt with – and am dealing with – “learning to live with the death of my daughter, my wife and my son.”
Any one that has read my words knows how much I value the weight of words. I try so hard (most of the time) to choose words wisely and carefully…I try to say what I mean to say.
My daughter is dead.
My wife is dead.
My son is dead.
Yes, yes, yes…all true.
I bought three caskets. I have three death certificates. I said “Time to remove the ventilator tube” … not once, but twice.
I left the hospital … shoulders crunched over, head down, family members huddled around me… not one time, not two times, but three times…leaving the dead body of the person I loved the most at that time in my life… on a hospital bed. Not having the strength, energy or desire to even contemplate…what happens to their body now?
It’s all part of the walk I’ve walked.
It’s not the entire walk though… there’s been so much more.
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There were 754 visits to this site July 24th…Rory’s 17th birthday. People came looking for something…
There were 128 visits the day before.
178 visits the day after.
Rory’s birthday was the BIG DAY for site visitors.
Remember…I have no idea who the visitors are…
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I’m not that different (if there’s any difference at all) from the anonymous people (and you know who you are) who (thankfully) visit this site…searching for something…
I think it’s important to share more of the truth.
When all else fails…tell the truth...
I received an email from my nephew marking Rory’s 17th birthday. He said:
“I`m sure that I am one of a thousand who have chosen to email you today.”
No…I did not receive a thousand emails marking Rory’s birthday. I received less than ten.
A friend emailed:
“i find myself thinking about your beautiful children and family every day and hoping and wishing you are ok - i can picture you and if you are alone in your home, surrounded by your memories and pictures then my heart aches for you. How you go on when you are missing Rory and Erin and get through those days like his b-day and her anniversary is beyond me, but I`m so happy you somehow, someway do for you have no idea how you are affecting those of us who are witness to it - who are secretly afraid it may be us........................”
I am okay. I am better than okay. I feel very, very, very blessed to be living the life I am living. Have I always felt that way?
Of course not. Remember the dead daughter, wife, the most amazing son who died from brain cancer. Brain cancer!!! I’ve picked out the three caskets…
Of course, I have not always been okay.
But today…I feel okay. Better than okay…
I’ve done a lot of “work.” The hardest work I’ve ever done.
Am I alone in my house with my pictures and memories? …no, no, no. (Although if I was that would be okay too…if that was exactly where I needed to be.)
My pictures, my videos, my memories are all part of the journey…but they are not the entire journey.
Sean and I usually hear from one member of Trici’s family on these anniversary dates (her mom is still alive and she has 4 living sisters)… and part of my journey is trying to accept that and make peace with that. Trici’s sister wrote:
“On Rory`s 17th birthday, I still can not believe he is not here with us. Life is so unfair sometimes.”
Spend a day in my house. A full day. It’ll quickly sink in that Rory is not here (physically) with us. If you’re still not able to “go there.” Into the darkness of the truth that Rory died on February 22, 2005 after a 6-month journey – the likes of which I had never seen before… I don’t know what to say…
And for me…the words “Life is so unfair sometimes” are not on my radar screen.
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I did not hear from all of my own family members on July 18th…the anniversary of Erin’s death … nor did I hear from all of them on July 24th … Rory’s 17th birthday.
I never have. Does it surprise me? You know…it (still) kind of does. Is the omission so painful that it stops me in my tracks and ruins my day? Not anymore. Progress on my part!!!
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Why share this information in a public way?
Because it’s the truth … at this moment … as I’m experiencing it.
And I know … it’s similar to the truth and the experience of many, many, many of the anonymous, nameless people who visit this site. People who are learning to live with the death of someone they love. People who come to this site searching for something…
I have felt alone and lonely and misunderstood and overlooked and forgotten and “not-seen” many, many, many times over this 18-year journey of mine.
I have felt many, many other things as well…comforted, loved, carried, lifted, supported, cared for, prayed for, thought of, held, etc. etc. etc. … and I have written much about that.
But I have felt alone.
And…from the chair I am sitting in this morning … the gift of my own “aloneness” is that I can open my own heart … through these very words … so that you, the anonymous visitor … might not feel as alone as you do this morning.
Because I don’t think we were created to make the journey entirely on our own.
I think (know in my heart) that we need to show up for each other.
When we are able.
And today…I can show up.
So I will.
I did.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Friday, July 25, 2008 7:05 am CST
We watched video of Rory last night. The last video I had of him. His 13th birthday. One month before his seizure. When he seems to be at the apex of his life. (In retrospect, I guess he was.) Right before he started his own inward journey … before he left his body.
And then we watched Christmas of ’04. I knew it would be my last with him. Unless there was a miracle. And in the deepest part of my gut…I knew the end of this chapter. No miracle. At last not the miracle that ends with Rory being physically healed.
We looked at photos.
The most difficult photos for me to look at … have been the ones taken after his brain surgery. After they removed his left temporal lobe. After the stroke.
But when I look at the photos now…I see his smile. And the twinkle in his eye. And I remember that he would laugh at my corny jokes…or, at the very least, dramatically roll his eyes followed by an “Oh Dad!”
There’s something about going all the way into the darkness. To the bottom of the deep, black pit. Settling in there for a time. Marinating. Rolling around in the bleak despair. (I know the message we inhale is the complete opposite - that we should avoid feeling these feelings at all costs. Be happy! Now!)
But, I think…that until we summon up the courage (or open to the grace) that allows us to enter the darkness… we use all (or most) of our energy to keep the protective walls up. Walls we consciously or unconsciously build to “protect” us from our feelings…to protect us from ourselves.
And the walls separate us. And something seems to be lost.
And I know we’re each doing the best we can. That’s the mystery – to me.
As I said…Now, I can see his smile. And the twinkle in his eye.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Thursday, July 24, 2008 8:26 am CST
As anyone who has lived through the death of a young child knows…”they"… the experts tell you to wait at least a year until you make any major-life-decisions…like having another child. I couldn`t.
When Erin was born in 1989, I quickly learned to love being a family of three. Not just a couple…but – now – a family.
When she died so suddenly in 1990 … in my ignorant-innocence, I felt like she was lost to us … that we were no longer a family … and I so desperately wanted to be a family.
Reluctantly, Trici surrendered to my desire to have another baby ASAP…and three months after Erin died…on Thanksgiving morning…we found out we were pregnant.
Due a year to the day of Erin’s death – July 18, 1991 – Rory (the red king) waited and carved his own path…entering this world on July 24, 1991…17 years ago today.
Rory – throughout his life – had many, many best friends. Often at the same time. Corey was one of those friends.
At Rory’s Memorial Service…Corey’s mom wrote these words:
“He walked in a parade. Friends, creativity, a quest for knowledge, humor, were all part of the parade. I love you Rory. You used to call me mom when you were at our house. It made me so happy. I allowed myself to believe that I was the only one you said this to – even though I suspected otherwise. I love you baby.”
Reading Ann’s words make me cry … every time. I guess they’re tears of gratitude because she saw him. She took the time to see who Rory was. And he was such an amazing creature.
Despite learning to live with the death of his mom when he was seven … or maybe because of it … Rory was willing to go out on a limb and love people. BIG TIME. And that love was returned to him many times over.
What more could a parent want?
I love, love, love these three pictures of Rory.
The first was taken in 6th grade. Rory is with a teacher he loved…Mrs. Hamlett. (He loved all his teachers at West.) I love it because you can see he is trying to perfect his big, broad Rory-smile for the camera.
By now…that smile is perfected. The second shot was taken on the 4th of July…about 6 weeks before his seizure.
And the 3rd was taken about 2 weeks later…at the end of Camp Lone Oak. He’s pictured with two more of his “best friends” Ben and Evan.
Happy 17th birthday my most amazing son.
Thank you for letting me be your Daddy.
I love you!
Friday, July 18, 2008 7:45 am CST
"Life is not a random event. It has purpose and provides for the unfoldment of a divine plan with opportunities to make choices and decisions in every moment."
~Collin C. Tipping
Collin Tipping wrote a remarkable book called “Radical Forgiveness” that I read when I lived in California. It’s groundbreaking, I think. Like Byron Katie…Collin’s work helped me totally shift the way I look at life.
Of course…I have yet to master all the concepts presented in Radical Forgiveness…as those who I have yet to forgive can attest.
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I thought it would be different.
Trici (like my mom) was very much the keeper of the flame. It was Trici who was determined to remember Erin’s full life…and not have the focus forever be on her “disastrous” death. It all felt familiar to me…my mom had done the same with my little brother Danny…who was born 45 years ago tomorrow – July 19th…and died a few short weeks later, the day after his baptism.
…It felt natural to keep the photos up. To view the videotape. To work Erin life’s into the daily conversation of our life.
And as a result - Rory grew up knowing much about his older sister. So did Sean.
We were (are) a family of five…no doubt about it.
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Looking back – Trici and I talked about Erin the same way we talked about Rory and Sean. The way, I think most parents talk about their living children.
Remember this? Remember that? I used to love it when he did… It drove my crazy when she did … etc., etc., etc. I don’t think an observer…who might be listening in to our conversation…would have known that Erin was dead. She wasn’t to us. She was very much alive – and, as I said, part of our family.
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Erin was one of four cousins born that year.
Erin on January 2nd. (The oldest, the wisest, the funniest, the most beautiful…I thought) and Sammy was born on May 4th and Megan on May 23rd. Pat at the end of August.
I think we thought our families would hold the space for Erin … in a public way. I know I did. Her physical absence was so tangible to us…especially when the family was together… when we were actually in the midst of “what was once four was now three.”
And on those “special” occasions … that we missed out on … because our daughter was dead … but that we were probably even more acutely aware of because of her physical absence…we thought there’d be a space… a public space.
The first day of kindergarten.
Starting high school.
Turning 16.
Getting a driver’s license.
Homecoming.
Prom.
High school graduation.
Off to college.
I imagine there was – on many, if not, all of these occasions ... a private space – created and held for Erin in the hearts and minds of her aunts and uncles … perhaps her cousins … and most certainly her grandparents.
As I’ve said over and over again though… it’s in going public that we can heal. Together.
And I don’t think we’ve learned how to go public yet.
Brings up too many feelings. If I talk about it. If I take a risk and share with you what I’m really feeling about your dead daughter…I may become vulnerable, fragile… even human. It might bring me to tears. I might feel sad, or angry, or confused, or lonely, or disappointed…or out of control.
So…I’ll stuff it. Pretend. Repress. Avoid. I’ll avoid talking about it – at all costs. Even the cost of our relationship.
Many have discovered that by throwing ones self into work, into alcohol, into eating, into television, into sports (insert any of the many things we’ve become addicted to) … we can avoid the feelings.
It’s too painful to go there.
Avoiding it all seems easier. Less painful.
_________________________________
The gift for me … of the madness … at the age of 51 … is the realization that the person responsible for keeping Erin’s presence alive for me … is me.
Seems simple.
But for so many years – I kept looking outside of myself.
I didn’t know any better. Like all of us, I was doing the best I could,
Forgive me.
Hope and peace on this most magnificent day. The anniversary of the day my most magnificent daughter accomplished her mission…which, of course, was all wrapped up in teaching us how to love each other … and returned home.
I love you Erin. And I am so happy you choose me to be your Daddy.
Thursday, July 17, 2008 4:51 pm CST
Love bears all things
Love believes all things
Love hopes all things
Lone endures all things.
I was a complete and total basket case. Trici took me by my shaking hand and led me around like a puppy. She made all the decisions. That was fine with me.
She selected the verse above for the cover of the booklet handed out at Erin’s funeral.
She selected the songs.
“And he will raise you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of His hand.”
(There’s that “resting in the palm of God’s hand-thing” I’ve held on to…or come back too – I’m not sure.)
Same song was selected for Bobby Mayhall’s funeral today.
On Eagle’s Wings.
____________________________
Mrs. Donahue tapped me on the shoulder. She was sitting right in back of me. She and Mr. Donahue and all the Donahue kids lived in the 200 block of Paris. Donahues were close to State Street. Mayhalls were close to Rural. Tom Donahue…who Mrs. Donahue told me would be 55 now…died. Maybe a year ago last winter.
She knows.
She asked how I was doing. Good, I said. I feel good.
Eighteen years ago tomorrow my daughter Erin died, I told her. She’d be 19 ½. It was a hot, sunny, sticky day like today.
Mrs. Grizzanzio came over to talk to Mrs. Donahue. She greeted me. Mrs. Donahue told her, “It will be 18 years tomorrow that Tom’s daughter Erin died.”
“I was there”, Mrs. Grizzanzio said.
“I was there, too”, Mrs. Donahue said.
___________________________
I waited after the funeral. I wanted to say hello to Mrs. Wilson. Mrs. Wilson’s gorgeous granddaughter Allie was shot and killed three years ago this coming autumn. Three years.
She knows, too.
She told my her brother’s birthday is July 18th. “It’s never been hard for me to remember the day Erin died. I still keep her memorial card in my purse,” she told me. “That beautiful little girl on the rocking chair. I think of her all the time.”
_________________________
I think we live in a crazy world. Eckhart Tolle says we’re insane… asleep. Most of us haven’t awakened --- yet.
Death allows (jolts) the awakening – if (when) we are open to it. Even a little.
We spend so much time talking about crazy things. The game. The score. Britney. The price of gas.
Not enough “real talk" as Trici called it.
I had forgotten that Mrs. Donahue and Mrs. Grizzanzio were there.
I didn’t know Mrs. Wilson carried Erin’s Memorial Card in her purse.
It was so nice to hear. To know that she’s not forgotten.
We don’t talk about our dead people enough.
_____________________________
Trici designed Erin’s Memorial Card.
This photo on one side.
This e.e. cummings poem on the other.
I carry your heart with me
(I carry it in my heart)
I am never without it
(anywhere I go you go; my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)
I fear no fate
(for you are my fate, my sweet)
I want no world (for beautiful, you are my world, my true)
And its you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
Here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that’s keeping the starts apart
I carry your heart
(I carry it in my heart)
_____________________________
Mrs. Mayhall wasn’t at her son’s funeral this morning. She was at the hospital. As a patient.
Her son just died.
Her heart is shattered. Life as she knew it destroyed.
The most “normal” thing about the day… to me…is that Mrs. Mayhall is in the hospital.
Her baby just died.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Thursday, July 17, 2008 7:42 am CST
We grew up with the Mayhall’s. We lived in the 400 block of Rome Avenue and they lived in the 500 block of Paris Avenue. They lived closer to the end of the “big hill.” Not the “little hill” which was where our alley met the cross street. But beyond the little hill…across the cross street…and whooooosh…all the way down the big hill…flying on our bikes or holding on for dear life to our sleds.
Diane. Johnny. Bobby and Nancy.
Diane was a year younger then me.
Johnny was my brother John’s best friend.
Bobby and Nancy were “their” little kids. “Our” little kids were David, Mike and Ann Marie.
Mrs. Mayhall reminded me of Doris Day. Tan. Blonde hair.
At Bobby’s wake last night…Mrs. Mayhall – with tears in her eyes – said to me, “Bobby just had a big, old heart attack and died. Can you believe it?”
No. I can’t believe it.
I’m not sure when it became a custom to scramble right after the death and make picture boards…something I’ve never done…but I took the time to look at each photo. And did it bring me back. Smack back to the center of my youth. And there was Bobby. Smiling. Laughing. Giggling. Grinning.
And this morning…as I type these words…another mother and father are preparing for the funeral of their child. Brothers and sisters are getting ready to walk behind their sibling’s dead body lying in a casket. Aunts, uncles, grandparents, friends and neighbors are wondering…”What do I say now? What can I do to help?”
Others may be thinking…I should go…but I’m too busy today. I’ll send a card instead.
_____________________________
This is my little girl, Erin.
Who died at 18 months, 18 years ago tomorrow.
This is how I remember her. What she looks like when I think of her. Every day.
As I said…she was in the moving-from-baby-to-little-girl stage.
____________________________
I would not want to be in Mrs. Mayhall’s shoes - waking up today (if I had slept at all) knowing I was burying my baby.
On the whole, we do such a crappy job of supporting those of us who are forced to learn to live with the death of someone we love.
I hope, hope, hope that is changing.
____________________________
My classmate, Wally Schultz died “awhile back.” To be honest, I can’t remember exactly when. I’d say within the past 2 years….maybe not that long. At the time of his death…I mentioned his name on this site…and I heard from his family.
I remember seeing Wally and his wife at the Chicago Botanical Gardens when Trici was alive…so that was over 10 years ago.
Last night, as I signed my name in the Guestbook at Bobby Mayhall’s wake (I NEVER include my address anymore, because I think it’s absurd to expect the family to send thank you notes) I saw a few names above – Margaret Schultz.
Margaret was a good friend of my sister Mary. There were four best friends. Mary, Margaret, Marilaurice and Jill.
Margaret was at Bobby’s wake with her elderly parents.
The Schultz family had “crossed over.” They are learning to live with the death of someone they love.
They know – first hand – the importance of showing up. As Fr. Cusack said at Trici’s funeral…”You just have to show up!”
Hope and peace,
Tom
Wednesday, July 16, 2008 8:27 am CST
Trici always said that she hoped it would be Erin’s complete life we remembered and celebrated…instead of focusing on her death.
Last night I found the birth announcement we sent out when Erin was born 19 ½ years ago.
“See what love the Father has bestowed on us”
God’s love surrounds us – we see it everywhere – But for us, it is expressed most beautifully in the birth of our new baby!
Erin Brennan Zuba
January 2, 1989
7 pounds, 1 ounce
Tom and Trici
___________________________________
I wish we had dated this piece. I’m not sure when we created it…perhaps for the 1st anniversary of our daughter Erin’s death? Trici wrote the into, I typed it on our computer, and we gave copies to members of our family and a few special friends.
I’m not sure if I’ve posted it on this site or not.
It’s what some would call “new-agey” I guess. Although new age stuff doesn’t seem so new to me anymore. It feels true.
At times I forget how open and progressive Trici was w/her own spirituality…although, I do recall that her sisters referred to her as a “mystical-Catholic.” I think that’s the term they used. She was open and searching. And her most-loved daughter’s sudden death 18 years ago certainly propelled her onto a fast track – searching for answers.
This is what she wrote:
This letter was excerpted from On Children and Death by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. It was written by the aunt of an eight-month baby girl named Erin who died in a car accident the year before. That Erin’s mother passed the letter on to Kubler-Ross, sharing her wonderful vision of the meaning of her baby’s life. When I read it late one night the parallels to our Erin’s life struck me as incredible, going far beyond their shared name. Tom and I have often talked about the mission of our beautiful creature with the dark, old eyes. So, this may very well be her way of telling us something once again.
Once upon a time, there was a little angel who lived in God’s light. She was wise from living many lifetimes on earth and from her talks with God and other angels in between times.
As the saying goes, she was an ‘old soul’ whose progression to oneness with God was nearing perfection, but she wished to make one more journey to earth. Her grandmotherly feelings extended to two beautiful souls who had come to earth for further lessons in compassion, forgiveness and understanding. The little angel had been with them on earth before and felt she could influence them by joining them one more time for a brief sojourn.
While looking down from heaven she said to another angel, “I will join them but for a very short time, otherwise, my purpose will not be served.’
Her angel friend said, “Are you sure you want to g o through the pain of passing again to help those two? I know you love them and have been with them many times, but you are so near to oneness with God now you really don’t have to go.”
But I must said the little girl, and she did.
Oh! What joy she brought to the parents. They shared in her birth and marveled in her beauty.
Her grandparents and her great-grandparents saw that her eyes reflected the wisdom of the universe, and they pondered onto themselves on how such maturity and sense of being could be in such a tiny body.
Oh! What an angel! Said great-grandfather. Oh! What a darling said great-grandmother. Oh! How precious said grandmother and grandfather. Oh! What a glory to have you! said her aunts and uncles as they romped on the floor with the little angel.
And then it came time for her to take leave and withdraw from earth. The plan she made while in heaven for a sudden passing was an unalterable as the seasons and the tide. She had chosen a day recognized by many on Earth as Good Friday. This was an appropriate day, because her good friend Jesus had died on this day hundreds of Earth years before. She and Jesus had often talked about soul progression and how hard it is for some people to grow. Jesus had taught her that when a person reaches oneness with God, that person experiences peace that passes all understanding. The little angel wanted her loved ones to experience this, and her short life was for that purpose.
She knew from ages past that recriminations block growth and foul relationships, and that hate absolutely brings negative results. She knew that some situations offer opportunity to show compassion, if people will reach out to each other with loving hearts. (She knew that love is all there is.)
It is for this she wished before going into a deep sleep and resting in the preparation for her ascension once again into God’s light.
Hope and peace always,
Tom
Monday, July 14, 2008 9:26 pm CST
This Friday, July 18th marks the 18th anniversary of my daughter Erin’s death.
18 years.
“It” all started five days before. July 13, 1990. Friday the 13th.
Erin woke up with a fever. Because Trici and I had busy days at work, we trotted off to daycare and left Erin with Marilyn…Trici and I continued on to our jobs downtown.
At day’s end… Erin couldn’t have been feeling too bad. Trici and I left her in the care of our niece Mariah and we went out for Mexican food. I’m sure we had a marguerite or two as well.
It was the next day… Saturday the 14th when we started to get nervous. Erin was in pain. She would put both hands to her abdomen and say “pee-pee, pee-pee.” It looked like there might be blood in her stool and her diapers had an unbearable stench.
We drove her to the ER at McNeal Hospital in Berwyn … and after what seemed like forever… they sent us home.
“We think she has a kink in her intestine that may be causing her pain. It’ll probably go away”
“Buy some Pedialite and make sure you give it to her through the night.”
________________________________
Another one of the “someones” I heard from recently – as a result of this site - is a friend I knew at NIU during our college days. We were reacquainted some years later at our church, Old St. Pat’s in downtown Chicago.
This ‘someone” told me she has been following my journey since the Mary Schmich article:
“Just wanted to thank you for your honesty. For awhile there I thought you were some kind of Super Dad taking all this in stride but your gut wrenching experiences I can empathize with. No I haven`t experienced as much death as you have but I have had much struggle with contentment.“
I’m certainly not a Super Dad.
The pain I have lived through is unimaginable. Part of the reason I want to finish my book is so that my journey is well documented. It is unbelievable…as those of you who have accompanied me on parts of it know. So…unbelievable … and so almost indescribable … that I know I have tucked pieces away in safe places. And on occasion – like an anniversary – I visit those safe places - to reconnect and remember.
Who we were. Who I have become.
It’s not torture. It’s profound. And sacred. And I’m in awe of it.
18 years later…
Mostly I remember my sweet, funny, talkative, bold, confident, beautiful, big-eyed, whistling, dancing, singing baby girl…who was just turning the corner and becoming a “big girl” when she died.
Pictures. Did I take pictures! And video. Trici gave me a camcorder that Christmas before Erin was born and I was forever behind the camera documenting her every move...and her non-moves as so often is the case with first-born children.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Sunday, July 13, 2008 10:34 pm CST
According to this Chicago Tribune reporter Ted Kennedy’s brain cancer is glioblastoma…the same type of cancer my son Rory had.
Fascinating article in today’s Tribune.
I can’t begin to imagine how Curtis King is going to survive day-to-day all alone.
Brain cancer, and poverty too
A Chicago man lost his job, home, insurance coverage after being diagnosed with glioblastoma. Now he pins hopes on free care.
By Judith Graham | Chicago Tribune reporter
July 13, 2008
Curtis King has lost almost everything since being diagnosed with a brain tumor.
His job. His income. His room in a South Side motel. His belongings—most of them thrown out on the street.
King, 45, has glioblastoma, the same cancer Sen. Edward Kennedy is confronting in Boston with a team of influential associates, friends and family at his side.
In Chicago, King has no one. He lives in a homeless shelter in a room with five strangers, alone with his fear. When he can, King follows what`s happening with Kennedy on the Internet, trying to pick up bits and pieces of information that might help him save his life.
Theirs are the two faces of health care in the U.S., men who have virtually nothing in common but an illness that has no cure.
Kennedy has the best medical care this country has to offer, access to any specialist of his choosing and resources to pay for whatever treatments are recommended.
King relies on charity care at Stroger Hospital—Cook County`s medical provider of last resort—along with handouts and the traits he acquired growing up in Cabrini-Green: toughness, tenacity and a determination to never give up.
"I`ve been shot, beat up, stabbed. I`ve been through a lot," said this wiry man with deep scars—one from a golf club, the other from a baseball bat—punctuating both eyebrows. "But this cancer, it`s worse than all of that."
King`s confrontation with the disease began in early March, when he awoke one morning feeling like an insect had alighted on a twitching eyelid. It was an early sign of a seizure, though he didn`t know it at the time.
At work at a South Side manufacturing plant a few hours later, King was driving a forklift when his left side suddenly went numb and the vehicle crashed into a wall. An ambulance was quickly called.
At MacNeal Hospital in Berwyn, the MRI scan showed a tennis-ball-size tumor deep in his brain. The surgery removed about half; getting rid of the rest was too dangerous.
"You may not make it to your birthday" in September, King remembers a doctor telling him.
"I haven`t been right since," said King, a former gang member who has an extensive criminal record. "I`ve been past depressed."
A month after his emergency admission, King walked out of rehabilitation carrying a prescription for chemotherapy pills that cost $9,000 a month—a charge his union-based insurance wouldn`t cover and he couldn`t pay when the pharmacist told him it was his responsibility.
"I never had a problem like this. I didn`t know what to do," he said.
Looking for help, King walked into the emergency room at Stroger Hospital in early April, where doctors took another set of scans and staff signed him up for free therapy and medications, which he continues to take. "I had to try to save myself," he said.
"Every day, I wake up and feel like I`m going to fight this cancer," said King, who dresses to impress and walks with a swagger, concealing the headaches that are sometimes so intense he can barely stand.
"I ain`t working for a brand new pair of [Air] Jordans; I don`t think about that material stuff," he said. "I`m working to live. That`s my job."
Realistically, doctors say, there is no chance of recovery.
Glioblastoma is especially difficult to treat because glial cells infiltrate the brain, casting a wide net like a spider web, said Dr. Nathaniel Holloway, a radiation oncologist at Stroger.
Even when surgeons cut the malignancy away, cancer cells remain at the periphery, almost impossible to distinguish from normal brain tissue. Inevitably, they proliferate, and the cancer recurs.
"Because of the nature of this disease, patients just don`t do well," Holloway said, noting the goal of therapy is to "prolong the period when patients are symptom-free."
King`s tumor already has grown back once, expanding rapidly over the course of two months and requiring another bout of brain surgery in mid-May. Soon after the surgery, his union-based coverage ended and King became uninsured.
It was while recovering from this operation in the hospital that he first heard news of Kennedy`s seizure.
"I said, `I bet he got what I got,` " King remembered thinking, "and he better be careful, man, because it`s not easy.
"Then I was trying to find out as much as I can, to see what kind of treatment they`re giving him, because I definitely want it too. . . . But in my mind, I was asking: `Can he handle it?` Because he`s older, and if he`s got the headaches I have, it could kill him."
Once, King wouldn`t have admitted being in pain. Now he talks about how loud noises feel like an assault and how he couldn`t get down the stairs at an "L" station recently because he was too exhausted from radiation therapy.
On a recent morning, he squinted at his left hand and opened and closed his fist repeatedly.
"I got to talk to my hand to move it," he said. "I tell it, `Hold tight.`
"There`s a lot of words I want to say, but they won`t come out because my mouth ain`t right and it feels like I`m drooling all over," he said, referring to the numbness on the left side of his face.
Coming to this point wasn`t easy.
Back at Stroger Hospital for daily radiation therapy in June, King was irritated by having to wait—often for hours—for medical attention and infuriated by what he interpreted as the staff`s lack of respect.
"He was very agitated, very angry, to the point where I was a little concerned for my safety," said Lillian Coleman, an American Cancer Society employee stationed at Stroger who helps cancer patients connect with resources.
A turning point came when she asked a hospital social worker to meet with King, who finally opened up, talking of everything he`d lost because of the cancer.
"He didn`t know what to do, who to talk to, how to ask for help, what to ask for," Coleman said.
With the social worker`s help, she arranged for King to have a neuropsychiatric consultation, get physical and occupational therapy, and apply for Medicaid and disability benefits.
Today, Stroger Hospital has become a refuge of sorts for King—the only place where people seem to understand what he`s going through.
Out on the street, he said, people "don`t want to get into it. They treat you like nothing`s going on."
He`s changed, too, in ways he never expected, after spending time in the hospital observing other patients and realizing he was no different from them, in the end.
"I ain`t as selfish as I was, wanting everything for me, right away," King said. "I`ve seen so much suffering here, and I know what they`re going through—the pain, the sadness, the depression.
"When I started, I wanted to get this tumor cut out of my head. Now, I want all these people to get some help."
Sunday, July 13, 2008 9:32 am CST
My stats page tells me almost 7,000 different people have visited this site in the past 12 days. I find that almost impossible to believe – having no clue what would have caused the spike in visitors…
I’ve asked the “powers-that-be” if the counting tool is broken – and even though they have said “no” --- I’m still not sure I believe the numbers.
As I’ve said before…I have a real love/hate relationship with the site…because I often feel like I am writing into the black hole. Rarely, rarely, rarely do I hear from anyone letting me know that they visit the site… and you can tell that the posts in the Guestbook have all but dried up….
HOWEVER… when I do hear from someone…. it makes it all worthwhile. And recently, I’ve heard from several someones….
My friend Sheri…who I met in California…at David and T.C.’s Soul Circle… Sheri knew us when we were living in Walnut Creek...so she knew Rory, Sean and I as a family. She knew us when the content had turned to happiness and was bordering on joy.
Sheri is on the right being blessed by Leslie. Beryl and Kimberley are looking on. Sheri had blossomed big time…and was leaving the area to travel to Sedona. We were having a “sending off” ritual for her.
Sheri is an artist.
She said I could share this painting with you. I love it. To me, it’s another version of
“Resting in the Palm of God’s Hand."
Sweet. Innocent. Joy-full.
Hope and peace to you,
Tom
Thursday, July 10, 2008 6:18 am CST
I can’t honestly say that I know that much about Albert Einstein. I do think it’s interesting (coincidence?) that he died on April 18,1955.
My son Sean’s birthday is April 18th and Trici was born in 1955.
Rory loved Einstein. Loved him. For as long as I can remember.
When he was about 5 or 6 … loooong before there was any hint that his mom might not live to a ripe, old age…Rory said to both of us, one night, “Whichever one of you dies first… when you get to heaven and see Einstein…tell him to come visit me in my dreams. There are some things I want to ask him.”
Sean and I were in Washington, D.C. for the 4th of July. Among the many things we saw was a gorgeous statue of Einstein on the Mall. It depicts him as a grandfatherly figure with a large, open, welcoming lap. It’s the kind of lap you want to crawl up into and simply rest.
To be held.
I couldn’t help but think of Rory crawling up onto that lap and chatting away. With his idol. His mentor. Einstein.
I did some googling and here are some Einstein quotes:
“A human being is part of a whole, called by us the Universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separated from the rest a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”
“Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
"In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.”
“There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.”
“The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.”
Hope and peace,
Tom
Wednesday, July 3, 2008 6:07 am CST
"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door."
Hope and peace and freedom for all,
Tom
Tuesday, July 1, 2008 10:42 pm CST
I first heard about Global View in Spring Green, Wisconsin from Richard and my friends from West Middle School. Several years ago, my parents traveled there with a group of their friends and brought me back a Singing Bowl made in Nepal.
I always wanted to visit.
That opportunity presented itself two weeks ago when Richard asked me if I would be interested in helping unpack the shipment of goods from Indonesia.
Yes, yes, yes.
Among the many fascinating pieces we unpacked were a number of rather large hand carved statues. I took one look at the tall, slender, standing Buddha and was mesmerized.
Hand carved on the island of Java. From lava rock…spit out of the island’s active volcano. As the lava flows into the rivers and streams it hardens. The natives cut huge chunks of the stone and unleash the “statues within.”
By the end of the day, I made my purchase.
The Buddha was too large to take home that day. We would have to return with a bigger vehicle and more people to help us lift it.
That day was this past Sunday, June 29th. The day I brought the Buddha home.
Why?
There’s something sacred about it. Looking at it snaps me into the present moment. Where healing occurs. I placed it right outside my kitchen window in the side garden. It catches my eye often during the day.
Snap.
Out of the past. Out of the future.
Into the present. Where healing occurs.
__________________________________
I had the opportunity to meet the Dalai Lama last May. I wrote about that day in this Journal on May 21, 2007. If you’re interested you can scroll down and find it. I wrote about my nephew Andrew visiting Rory that first time he was in the hospital and bringing him Tibetan prayer beads. Rory loved them. They reminded me of rosary beads. Shortly after my visit with the Dalai Lama I found the Tibetan prayer beads in Rory’s room. I cut the length – shortening them so I could wear them around my neck. I was never quite certain if someone from Tibet…or someone who really understood the beads… would be offended that I had cut them and was wearing them around my neck…thinking it might be like cutting a rosary and shortening it to fit your own needs (wants). I wore them anyway.
The beads reminded me my of encounter with the Dalai Lama. The reminded me of the sacredness of the meeting. Of the energy. Of the excitement. Of the life. The beads brought me out of the past – out of the future - into the present moment. Where healing occurs.
__________________________________
I brought the Buddha home on Sunday the 29th.
And on Monday, the 30th…the Tibetan prayer beads I wore round my neck for over a year broke beyond repair. During yoga class.
Interesting.
Coincidence?
Hope and peace and inquiry,
Tom
Remember to question everything!
Monday, June 30, 2008 9:35 am CST
“... consciously participate
in our own transformation”
Nice phrase.
It “came to me” the day I was meeting with David and Valerie to talk about launching this website. I knew Valerie would ask…”What’s your intention for the site?” I sat down. Asked. Listened. Jotted down the intention on a piece of paper. Never changed a word of it.
Intuition?
Because I’m human I drift in and out of being conscious. I’m either in the past. Or I’m in the future. Not exactly sure how many minutes a day I am actually present. Really present. “In the moment” as they are fond of saying.
Many of them say “The point of power is the present moment.” Or some version of that. I’m interested in tapping into the point of power. To transform. To heal.
I need reminders.
Because I forget.
Often.
To “be” conscious.
This year, when you visit Anderson Japanese Gardens in town…they give you a sticker to wear as you tour the magnificent place. It’s a round circle with four Japanese symbols on it. I believe it’s called a Kosen Mizubachi. (There is a small water basin with the Kosen Mizubachi design carved into it tucked away in one of the Garden’s corners. It was one of Rory’s favorite spots.) It’s the symbol for the gardens and means, “In this moment I am content.” It’s hard for me to take the little sticker off my shirt at the end of my tour. Sometimes, I don’t. I leave it on till it drops off – or gets lost in the wash.
What would it be like if we ALL wore stickers (or T-shirts) that had those words printed --- “In this moment I am content!” Every time we looked in the mirror we’d see our “mantra.” AND every time we looked at another person – or a person looked at us – the thought (belief) that “in this moment I am content” would be reinforced.
The wearing of the Kosen Mizubachi sticker/T-shirt could zap us all into the present moment before we knew what happened to us…into the point of power…where healing occurs.
After Erin died…and more so often Trici died…and certainly after Rory died…I’d light a candle…or 6 or 7 candles - soon after I got up each day. There’d be one big candle in the center of the dining room table…and one in the kitchen…and the living room. The candles reminded me of going to church as a boy with my grandma.
“Here’s some money, Tommy. Go up and light a candle. Kneel down and say a prayer. Go on. Do it.”
Yes, grandma.
Looking at a candle zaps me into the present moment. Where healing can occur.
Fresh flowers do the same thing for me.
Zap.
I notice. For a moment I leave the past and/or the future and am present.
I’m facilitating a workshop that begins next Tuesday, July 8th where we’ll play with zapping ourselves into the present moment.
Making Peace
With Your Life
Tuesdays - July 8, 15 and 22
It’s a 3-part series open to both men and women. 9:30 am to noon at Womanspace, 3333 Maria Linden Rd in Rockford. Cost is $80.00
Register by calling 815.877.0118.
This is how I describe the workshop series:
In his book The Power of Now, Eckhart Tolle says that when I resist what is - I make the present moment my enemy. He goes on to say that only the present moment can free me of the past. If you are living your life in pain, due to death, a divorce, the end of a relationship, a job loss or any other life-changing event join a sacred circle of kindred spirits as we practice living in the present moment. Our shared intention will be to clear a space that we might hear the voice of God that he/she/it might help us remember that our birthright is peace and joy. Decide to exhale and make peace with your life.
At Womanspace, we will take advantage of their beautiful gardens and labyrinth. I will also share and encourage participants to experiment with techniques that help one stay “in the present moment.” It promises to be a transformational three weeks.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Wednesday, June 25, 2008 7:28 am CST
“Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.”
Albert Einstein
Have you noticed no news about Ted Kennedy’s actual diagnosis? At least none that I’ve seen or heard. Last picture we have is of the Senator sailing … shortly after “successful” brain cancer surgery. All “seems” to be well. A little chemo and radiation and it’s back to normal.
Those of us that have heard the words glioblastoma multiforme roll off a doctor’s lips following a brain biopsy know that nothing could be further from the truth.
As I’ve said before…I respect the Senator’s right to privacy…however…until we lay the truth about a diagnosis of GBM in the middle of the table…and stare at it for a good long time…nothing will change…as has been the case for some 30 years.
Not too long ago a friend asked me about the “clinic in Houston” that I took Rory to not too long after I heard the words glioblastoma multiforme.
The controversial, alternative, very expensive Burzynski Clinic in Houston.
The clinic where they offered us hope.
False hope?
I’m not sure.
It was Rory who said, “Dad, I want to try this.” He made the decision and I supported him. A pattern we had created long before.
“It’s certainly worth a phone call,” I said to my friend. “And perhaps even a visit. You’ll know if it’s the right thing to do. Choosing the right treatment is such a personal decision.”
Yesterday – as I was cleaning the kitchen sink – I saw a small piece of yellowed newspaper torn from its full page lying on the counter. One of many, many “things-to-be-saved” I have ripped from the paper over the years, no doubt.
“Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.”
Albert Einstein
It’s the quote I saw framed and hanging on the wall inside the Burzynski Clinic…printed on the newspaper square I had ripped from it’s full page some years ago.
Reading it the first time – that winter day in Houston - gave me permission to exhale for a moment.
Reading it again in the comfort of my own kitchen allowed me to exhale again.
As I said – we are not alone.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Friday, June 20, 2008 9:00 am CST
The number of folks visiting this site has increased significantly over the past few weeks…and the number of folks returning several times a day has increased as well.
Feels to me like people are looking for connection.
Also feels like we are living at a very significant time in humanity’s history. I can almost feel us all teetering on the edge of it all. Which direction are we going to move in?
Individually and collectively.
As I’ve said before – the death of someone we love cracks us wide open.
Unlimited possibilities are revealed.
In the midst of overwhelming darkness and despair.
If/when we choose to be with it all.
Tim Russert.
After the Memorial Service for Tim … after the “Izzy” version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow was played (same song I included in Rory’s Memorial Service) …as the people were leaving the Kennedy Center … they were greeted by a most magnificent double rainbow overhead.
Google “Tim Russert’s Rainbow” to see photo.
How to explain?
Uncanny coincidence?
Or are you cracked open enough to finally get it?
We are not alone.
Sean and I had tickets to the White Sox the night before Father’s Day. It was a 6:05 pm game. I thought it might be fun to stay in a hotel downtown … instead of driving home late Saturday night.
A friend suggested Priceline. Of course, I’ve seen the commercials but had not tried it yet.
A few days before the ballgame I visited the website.
I made my selections.
Chicago.
Millennium Park area.
4-star hotel (what did I have to loose?)
I was informed that rooms at 4-star hotels in the area of Chicago I requested were going for an average of $349.00 a night.
I offered $79.00.
Rejected.
I offered $99.00.
ACCEPTED.
Now the suspense… yes, my offer had been accepted…but at what hotel?
The Palmer House.
The place where I met the Dalai Lama last May.
The place that Trici and I walked through…not once, but twice a day on our way to and from work at the American Cancer Society.
The place I was staying the night I got the call… “Come home, my water broke, the baby is coming.”
I wrote about my connection to The Palmer House May 21, 2007.
The perfect place for Sean and I to spend Father’s Day 2008.
How to explain?
Uncanny coincidence?
Or are you cracked open enough to finally get it?
We are not alone.
If you are looking for a way to connect today…consider posting in the Guestbook. You are welcome.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Monday, June 16, 2008 8:12 am CST
Workshop Rescheduled. New dates for:
Making Peace With Your Life
Tuesdays - July 8, 15 and 22
It’s a 3-part series open to both men and women. 9:30 am to noon at Womanspace, 3333 Maria Linden Rd in Rockford. Cost is $80.00
Register by calling 815.877.0118.
This is how I describe the workshop series:
In his book The Power of Now, Eckhart Tolle says that when I resist what is - I make the present moment my enemy. He goes on to say that only the present moment can free me of the past. If you are living your life in pain, due to death, a divorce, the end of a relationship, a job loss or any other life-changing event join a sacred circle of kindred spirits as we practice living in the present moment. Our shared intention will be to clear a space that we might hear the voice of God that he/she/it might help us remember that our birthright is peace and joy. Decide to exhale and make peace with your life.
At Womanspace, we will take advantage of their beautiful gardens and labyrinth. I will also share and encourage participants to experiment with techniques that help one stay “in the present moment.” It promises to be a transformational three weeks.
Hope and peace,
Tom
Friday, June 13, 2008 1:59 pm CST
Father’s Day.
Never seems to be quite as big a deal as Mother’s Day.
I wonder why?
Probably has something to do with the picture (cage) we have painted (created) of what it means to be a man living in the United States of American in 2008. Of what it means to be a father…
It seems to be about the tie. Or the golf game. Or the fishing. Or the bar-b-que.
But not about the feelings. The emotions.
It feels like all that is changing though. (I hope so!) For the subjective “better.”
Opening.
It all seems to be opening.
The death of someone we love – really, really love - cracks us open. In a way so big…there are no words. And I don’t think we can really have a sense of the hugeness of it all until we are able to exhale (somewhat) and look back. It is only in reflecting back that we are able to get a hint of what it is we lived through. What we are living with.
The cracking open of it all.
Even though is it excruciating painful to admit…our memories fade. The sound of their voice? Their favorite color? The favorite food? Song? Book?
Our memories fade.
We rarely have the luxury of lazily reminiscing any more. Of hearing their name roll off our lips… or the lips of someone else. Of calling up the memories. And feeding off the memories of another person. I remember when… And I remember when… And that reminds me of…
A luxury so many – those that have their loved ones still anchored in their physical bodies - take for granted.
The other night I sat next to Ann. Ann is Corey’s mom. Corey was (is?) one of my son Rory’s best friends. The name Rory rolled of our lips. Over and over and over and over again. And it felt delicious to me. Remember when? I remember that… which reminds of... Almost seemed like he was still alive. Anchored in his physical body. It felt good.
When I came home Wednesday, a package was waiting for me. The letter said:
“Enclosed you will find a book about Give Kids The World (GKTW) in Orlando, FL, a place where Mackenzie went for her Make A Wish several years ago. Our family continues to visit there yearly because of the memory it has for us and we contribute to their operations wherever we can.
This year during our Spring Break in Orlando, we visited and celebrated the life of many children but especially Rory Zuba. You will see a certificate enclosed and it is to commemorate the “brick paver” we donated in the name of your beloved Rory. (The certificate is in your name, the paver in Rory’s.) If you ever get down there, it would be fun to visit and look up the location of his name on the Avenue of Angels…
We love you and hope you are off to a wonderful start to your summer.
Much love and thanks,
Loren, Erin, Allie, Maddie, Mackenzie and Carter”
And this morning.
A PS to an email from my friend Nancy,
“PS. One of Brittany`s friends whom I spoke with on graduation day (a fellow graduate from Barrington) knocked me out with his similarities to you....voice, intonations, mannerisms, and even looks. I shared this with he and his mom and they wanted your website to see for themselves. It was uncanny. He graduated in a manner I expect Rory would have...with the list of accomplishments and accolades so long before his name, one thought there was more than one graduate to accept by the time they announced his name.”
So.
What to give for Father’s Day?
Sit down.
Find the silence. Allow it.
Wait for the memory to rise.
It will. Be patient.
Write it down. Hard copy or email. Both are good.
Send it to the one who is missing the one he loves (the one who died) today. Even if he doesn’t look like he is missing that one. Especially if.
That’s what you can give for Father’s Day this year.
Hope and peace,
Tom
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This site launched on February 22, 2006.
