From the Desk of Pennwell Gray

*Names are omitted and other specifics may be vague to respect those who inspired this post.*

I don’t think there is any worse feeling in the world than the one that arises from not being able to help those we love.

When we can see clearly the personality and physical changes, the emotional distance and attitude shift. When you’re in the same room, yet your loved one is not even present. When you try to help, and you’re chastised or pushed away.

Tonight, with a few simple questions, I was slightly crucified – and believe me, I appreciate that because it makes me evaluate my intentions and actions, then learn how those are perceived by others.

Sometimes what we think people appreciate, they actually resent. Sometimes when we think we’re doing good, we’re totally screwing up. Then we feel hurt, bitter and angry – but need to step back and assess where it’s coming from, look deeper for the root cause, and adapt.

“You want to fix everything. You’re involved in this committee and that committee, volunteering and trying to make a difference everywhere. I have to fix things, it’s up to me,” I was told. Wow, an admission. Yet –

Stunned. Pissed. Awoken.

A recount of recent things we’ve done and places we’ve been, wonderful memories. An admission that there is a boredom, every day is the same. But that is life, for the most part, if you don’t have passions, hobbies, or activities to engage you. I can’t get at what exactly is wrong. It hurts.

I know that I’m a fixer. I know that I’m solution based. But I always believed that I let others guide me, following their lead. I didn’t think my helpfulness or suggestions were intrusive or offensive, but a gentle nudge to make everything ok.

When your circle is small, that circle is your universe, emotions run deep. Feelings can be overwhelming. And when you question who to turn to in times like this, that is a reality check.

How I miss my best friend, the one person who was always there, through thick or thin. She could always make things better. She challenged me, supported me, and was there for me, as I was for her. You were taken way too soon.

Tonight, I asked, who can or would I turn to? Who could advise and support me as I encourage and support my loved ones?

We are all alone at the end of any day. Yet I’m not so sure right now that I want to handle this on my own. And the reality is, the people we think would be there, rarely are.

As I close this day, I reflect upon what I thought were helpful acts, that erupted into irritation and upset.

As I close this day, I fight hard against making that irritation about myself – accepting the fact that something much deeper is at play.

Observance. Patience. Acceptance.

Good Lord, help us all and help me do what’s right for those I love.

It’s Saturday evening and the rain is gently falling off and on, the muffled sound of fireworks coming from somewhere in the distance. What an ideal time to nestle into my favorite chair with a book – one that I hold in my hands, turning actual pages – and simply unwind, making time for a simple act that seems like quite the luxury.

It’s habit for me to have the television on, yet never watch it. I’ll listen, tune into something that captures my attention from time to time, yet I find myself to be a woman of words – those I read, and those I write.

As I started to read, what was on the television became noise – a subtle distraction that wasn’t appealing to my senses. Thus I opted for a switch in channel, selecting an app with just the right sounds to complement my relaxation. Then I shook my head and quietly laughed – who have I become?!

I was the girl who danced in front of the speakers at clubs and turned the volume as high as it would go in my car, singing along at the top of my lungs. Now, I turn down the radio to see – if I have it on at all.

Music was a metaphor for life and still is in countless ways, don’t get me wrong, yet as of late I often opt for the sound of silence. I choose to listen to the crickets or tree frogs, white noise from the night air when the windows are cracked just enough to let the outside world in.

Trust me. I can still pull all nighters and dance until dawn when given the chance, or party with the best of them, whoever they may be. But the desire is very low and the occasion would have to be quite unique or special.

I once went out at 9 pm. Now I look at the clock to see how if it’s too early for bed. I once craved excitement and company. Now, the definition of both has changed. Excitement is most often the type of evening I described above – home, with a book, and a very darling dog by my side.

Like the seasons, we change and we should embrace that. Sometimes we’re stormy and wild, other times tranquil and serene. When we live fully and authentically, we grow and transform. And if we are fortunate enough to allow that to happen, we will live our best lives every day.

There are so many cliche sayings we hear people state often, like “it doesn’t impact me” or “nothing I can do about it.” They bury their heads so far into the sand then they’re shocked when reality hits, usually followed by the words, “I had no idea.” But you did – you just didn’t want to be bothered.

There are also people who have a lot to say, spewing off strong opinions with conviction, making them sound like truth when what they’re saying couldn’t be any further from it. If you toss a stat or a fact their way, they look at you, dumbfounded, at a complete loss for words – or rallying to recover in an attempt to formulate what they hope will be a somewhat intelligent response.

Continue reading “Ignorance is a choice.”

There is always something to be grateful for and in parallel, there is most likely always something to be sad about. Each day, we make the decision which feelings and emotions will take charge. And some days, it is completely out of our control.

Today, we learned another dear friend of ours passed. He’d been sick for years, a miracle some would say because he survived Stage IV cancer and found a will, unbeknownst to most of us, to survive. Not only survive, but to live each moment to the fullest and make the most out of, well, everything.

For the past few years, we celebrated his birthday with a weekend in Maine, filled with various excursions. His excitement was that of a five-year old, so joyful to be getting out of the city and spending time with friends. You see, he couldn’t hear. He’d been raised in homes for the deaf and suffered greatly, he was gay in a day and age when it wasn’t accepted, yet he also had such amazing and memorable experiences during his life due to his unyielding passion – his fire, his anger, his intention to be seen and heard no matter what the cost. He made his way in this world.

He was amazing. He possessed a self-confidence, a self-assuredness, that shrunk for no one. He went for what he wanted, fought for what he needed, and though his speech and hearing was disabled – he lived loud!

Just one month ago, he was in our presence. He was in my home, with my parents, armed with Christmas gifts for all of us, right down to a Party Favors cake (if you know, you know), decorated for the Murphy family. Through my door he walked, donning his pajama bottoms, so excited to be here and happy to spend time with us all.

He fed himself through a tube, couldn’t indulge in any way that we’re all accustomed to enjoying, and struggled – to breathe, to digest nutrients, to live – but he did. Shame on all of us who complain about the basic aches and pains in life. This man went through hell for countless years and cherished every moment he lived – with a smile, with an unbelievable attitude, and an acceptance for those who never accepted him.

He’d had enough that evening, crying because he wanted to stay, yet had to go, then we drove him home and settled him in.

The calls we’d get one, two, maybe 20x each day – no exaggeration – will never come again. The countless bags of popcorn, boxes of green tea, and so many dog treats – he knew what I loved and lived on. He was filled with love and his intentions were the best. My heart is heavy.

Last week, I received a thank you note from him – thanking me, and his niece, Vivienne, for our Christmas time and gifts.

Our friend was dying, and he was writing thank you notes. I haven’t even started or sent my holiday thank you notes, and I was the queen of etiquette at one time. Ha!

Don’t take anything for granted. That person who annoys you, pesters you, or overwhelms you with care – trust me, you’ll miss that when it’s gone.

When I got the news my first thoughts were, “I should have, could have …”

Yet that’s making it about me. He’s gone. There is no should have, could have. We all gave everything we had, with what we had at the time.

I asked myself if I cherished him enough. I did, but did I show it? Did he know? Did I ever leave room for doubt?

What I would give right now for that call.

Last evening, my dog went nuts. She was sniffing and chasing something in my home, out of the blue, staring at the ceiling, and dancing in front of a piece of furniture and art our friend gifted me. He’d passed, and we’d not yet been aware.

My father reacted, wondering if there was a gas leak or something we weren’t sensing whereas an animal would.

Today, my mother called and said what I’d also thought – was our friend making his presence known? Did his “niece” Vivienne sense his loss, or presence?

Tonight, I looked over at a beautiful painting I’d fallen in love with during one of our visits to Maine. Yes, I loved it, but wasn’t quite sure that I wanted to bring it home.

Our friend witnessed me admiring it, sensitive enough to gage my emotion toward the piece of work.

It arrived on my doorstep soon after, and I was floored. He’d caught me in a moment, his perception and sincerity so true. Though it may not have been one I chose to acquire, it means the world to me today.

In that painting is the life and thoughtfulness of my dear friend. How I wish he was here for me to make sure he knew that. I looked to that painting tonight and my heart was both full, and heavy.

Please let there be no more loss in the near future. My dance card is full.

Tell those you love, that you love them. Cherish those who care.

Be reminded that tomorrow, may be today, so leave nothing to chance.

Grief is a part of life. Sadness is inevitable. But we will carry on, and pack it all up with a smile.

How much we love you. Always. You brought so much to our lives. Thank you, my friend. Thank you.

 

 

** WARNING: May trigger those sensitive to addiction, suicide, death, or like topics. Please read at your own discretion. **

You hear the news.

You’re not shocked. You knew it was inevitable.

You’re not surprised. You knew it would happen, despite every hope in the world that it wouldn’t.

Yet it did – and it was ‘unexpected.’

Within moments, your mind freezes – then your heart breaks. Continue reading “Saying Goodbye.”