1. Flying to Cecelia

Chapter One of FLYING WITH CECELIA: Actually, about her life and times and being her gramma.

August 18, 1999. I remember getting the phone call from Michael. "Megan’s in labor. Why don’t you come out now." I had been anxiously awaiting this call and now that it came, I felt suddenly overwhelmed. Here it was, the arrival of my first grandchild. What would it be? A boy? Hmmmmm…our family was mostly girls and a boy would be an adjustment. A girl? That’s the right answer I thought!

So I went to the airport and got on the plane to Syracuse. There I was, up in the air on a beautiful summer afternoon. And I had nothing to do. A dangerous place for me to be. I did what I usually do when I have nothing to do – I think. I ruminate. I fuss. I bother. I get into those little nooks and cranny's that merit being left in the dark. Elaborate conversations take place in my head. And sometimes they are downright silly.

So, never one to let dangerous places and behaviors stop me, I said to myself “I wonder when I will love this baby?” Never having been a gramma before, I was clueless about the emotional side of things. I knew that my love for my daughters was immediate and forever. But this was not a daughter – it was a grand-something. So I wondered next if I would even love this baby! Maybe grandparents did not experience the depth and strength of feelings for a child “once removed” from themselves. Then I figured that I probably would love the baby, but when? Would it take a couple of days? Weeks? How long? Someone, please tell me! Maybe there is something on the Internet - I need to search the Internet. That surely will tell me. When, how, when?

I continued thinking in this vein for the remainder of the flight. It was a good thing that it was a short flight! Who knows where I might have ended up with these less than quotidian questions.

I got to Syracuse and commenced the waiting process. Megan labored and she labored and she labored. And I waited. I had gone to Megan and Mike’s home to get things ready, although I really had no idea what things, or where they were. So I waited some more and finally, fell asleep on the couch. Around 2:00 am, Michael called to tell me that they had a girl (oh for joy!) and everyone was doing well. He said he would pick me up in the morning and take me to the hospital so I could meet Cecelia Ellis Root! A girl! I was excited, thankful, relieved that Megan and Cecelia were both doing well. But I was not in love with the baby. So, hearing about the new baby was not the answer to my incessant questions. WHEN would I know I loved her? Would it even happen? How long would it take? Awake at 2 in the morning is also not a good place for me to be!

So, the morning of August 19, 1999 I went to St. Joseph’s Hospital to meet Cecelia. All the way there I was wondering, puzzling, ruminating, obsessing, worrying, about loving this new baby girl. What I would think about this new person in my life? And still wondering when it would be that I would love her. How many minutes, hours, days, egad - weeks?! Walking up to the hospital, still wondering. How long would it take to love her? Into the lobby, in the elevator, when does a gramma love a grandchild? walking to Megan’s room. When will I love this baby? How long is it going to take? Will I love this baby? What am I going to feel about this baby?

Baby love. Be my baby. Baby I’m yours. Sweet baby baby. Baby I love your way, Love to love you baby, Pure love baby, Love struck baby, Baby you send me, I love my baby.

Finally, I was in the room. Michael handed me the tiny warm bundle of a baby – I took her in my arms and held her close to me. I was in love.

Ooh baby I love your way every day
Wanna tell you I love your way uuhh
Wanna be with you night and day
Ooh baby I love your way every day
Wanna tell you I love your way uuhh
Wanna be with you night and day.
Peter Frampton

Getting Rid of Old Baggage

I have been in a downsizing mood lately - clutter is making me anxious, and I have been attacking it with a vigor and frenzy akin to that energy surge you get right before you go into labor. I put a set of luggage on Freecycle last week, nice stuff that I have not used in more than 5 years. It went right away. I felt pounds lighter!

As I was cleaning it off to get it ready to be picked up I pulled the baggage tape from the handle and was about to throw it away. But I stopped and held it in my hand. I don't know why. Then I looked at it. February 13, 2001. BWI - MSP. And I knew why I was holding it in my hand.

That was the day I returned home from Krista's funeral. 7 years ago.
I made that round trip dozens of times in the almost 3 years she was being treated for ovarian cancer. She was 14 when she was diagnosed - 17 when she died. I went to Minneapolis almost monthly to be with her during that time. She never had a remission - she never got to go home again.

I remember sitting by her bed early on. She was sleeping. And I was battling with god for an answer. A reason. WHY does a 14 year old get OVARIAN cancer? Why does she get any kind of cancer, let alone one that is supposed to be for old women! I never did get an answer. What I did receive after a much prayer and struggle was acceptance of god's will.

It may sound odd, but the visits with Krista were some of the most fun times I have ever had. My daughters and my cousin would often join me on my Krista visits. We laughed! And laughed! And laughed till our stomach's cramped; till we cried; and then laughed some more - again and again. We would play pranks on the hospital staff. We would have them rolling on the floor laughing. Her doctors were always shaking their heads in wry amusement at Krista's antics and her crazy Aunt Pattee. How could that insane woman have a Ph.D. in anything, I could hear them saying in their minds. We had slumber parties in her hospital room. Beauty salon days. Movie nights - popcorn and all. We overflowed the dishwasher and flooded the hospital hallways. We stole movies from the Ronald McDonald House to take with Krista for another hospital stay. We stole movies from the hospital to home with her to the Ronald McDonald House. There were more shopping trips to the Mall of America than I can count. We did wheelies with Krista in her wheelchair in parking lots.

We had ecstatic moments of hope. We firmly believed in miracles. We absolutely and without a doubt believed each new treatment would be the one that cured her. Vincristin, cisplatin, paclitaxel, radiation, surgery and more surgery, a bone marrow transplant, more cemo. She never had a remission.

And we cried more tears than a body should hold. Tears of fear and horror at the start. Tears of frustration as the process went on. Tears of anger when a new treatment did not work. Tears over the pain she was suffering. Tears over our fear of losing her. Tears of despair as the doctors began to run out of treatments. And finally, tears of relief and sorrow when she died. Relief that Krista was no long in pain. Of sorrow for our loss, for Krista and all the things she would never do.

We finally took Krista home to her beloved Ashland. It was cold beyond bitter. That gray which was a lack of color settled over everything. Gray as only February can be. February in Ashland, Wisconsin. On Lake Superior. Below zero, too cold to snow out. Everything was frozen solid. Including those of us who went to bury her. Numb, frozen, in a state of disbelief, suspended animation. Just for a little while. Her mom and I readied her body for the burial. We massaged her favorite lotion all over her scarred body. We dressed her. I made the funeral plans, bought the coffin, wrote the eulogy for the newspaper. Keep busy, just jeep busy.

We were kind and loving to everyone who came to the wake. We found ourselves, after a while, in a large circle of Krista's friends and their moms. And we began to tell Krista stories. And we began to laugh, hesitantly and quietly at first. And then with great relief and true joy at the funny stories, the memories, the short but meaningful life of that girl. We roared! It felt so good to let all that come out there in the lobby of the funeral home.

We had the funeral. The lid to her coffin was closed. It was so final. I wanted to scream NO! Instead, I read a story and told a story. Her girlfriends sang. Her minister comforted. We picked up her coffin. By the time we got to the church door she had more than a dozen pall bearers. No one wanted to let her go. The cemetery was cold-bleak-blustery, colorless and empty. There was a hole in the ground. We brought the coffin there. We stood and prayed. Tears froze on our faces. We left her there.

Krista is still with me today. I believe in the existence of what people call "ghosts." I prefer to think of them as spirits of people I loved. I can see Krista at times, hear her talking to me, feel her next to me. She even can make me laugh out loud! Especially when I am in the pajama section at Target! She is always urging me to buy her some new colorful flannel pajama pants - that is all she lived in her last year of life. And I am delighted to have Krista hang around. Her spirit is kind and funny and loving. She is saying "Remember me Aunt Pattee. Remember me."

JUST FOR TODAY

Just for TODAY I WILL:

Pray
Move
Breathe
Eat,and
I WILL NOT pick up.

These are my simple daily rules. So, why are they so hard to remember - except for the last one, that is. And if I can get these first 5 simple acts accomplished, then Just for Today I will:

Laugh
Relax
Talk
Listen
Ask for Help.

Be Honest
Be open-minded
Be willing
Make amends where needed, and
Do a joyful thing!

Just for Today!

Thinking About Robert

My brother Robert has been on my mind. He generally is. Which is a change from how it used to be with Robert. He was my goofy, odd, funny little brother; always getting into trouble but never meaning to do so. It just seemed that Robert was born suffering from a all-but-fatal case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was awkward, klutzy, and had the judgement capabilities of a frog. That is not an insult - I think frogs do pretty well making decisions relevant to their pond lives. It is just that Robert did not live in a pond. He lived in the world with the rest of us.

So Robert got into trouble right from the start, daily, inadvertently, without even trying! That never changed. And he also always got caught. My parents had a keen eye, ear, and sense of smell where Robert and his activities were concerned. They possessed an uncanny prescience about Robert.

As a result, Robert rarely - if ever - "got away" with anything! He even was blamed for things he could not possibly have done. No matter. He was a born scapegoat. Robert always lied about whatever incident. He was hard wired to immediately and always respond "I did not do it!" And one thing Robert could not do well was lie. He would fumble for words, look away, stutter, contort himself into Houdini-like shapes to avoid the blows that he knew were coming. And the whole time he was getting slapped, shoved, pushed, hit, he would keep protesting his innocence. He would repeat like a mantra, "I didn't do it."

Pretty soon, we all stopped listening to Robert because he became the child-who-lies. Everyone generalized his protests - those LIES - to everything Robert said. That became his persona. He was a liar, plain and simple! The family stopped expecting anything from Robert but for him to mess up and then lie. Robert was given a blessing and a curse. The blessing was that no one expected anything of him! He was freed from all of the normal childhood and teenage expectations and activities. He failed in school. He had no friends. He did not have any hobbies nor did he play a sport. He was not a reader, a writer, an artist. He did not get jobs delivering the newspaper or sweeping the grocery store. Nothing was expected of him. He was just Robert who lies.

The curse of this was that he never became anything. I do not mean that in a derogatory or demeaning way. He was a loving child of god, painfully ill-formed by nature and nurture. But he never matured; he never developed into his capabilities because no one thought he had any capabilities. He was not given affection, he was not enabled to develop self-esteem, he was not challenged to learn or to be successful. He just was left to be. Thus, upon reaching adulthood (in years, not in maturity), Robert was not equipped to handle the world. He had no skills, no social abilities. He was not trained to work or think. He was not raised to take care of himself. He was fed, clothed and sheltered - and ignored and derided.

Robert easily fell into the family disease at an early age. And it became the one thing he excelled at - alcoholism. He took to alcohol and drugs, immersing himself in the dreams that they gave him, the shelter they provided. Alcohol was his loving mother, his caring and proud father, his family, his friends, his successes in school, his major achievement in his life. And it became his life.

This was easy for Robert. His family had already "written him off" so the fact that he became a drunk and a bum at a young age was no surprise. And no concern either. It was just a natural extension of Robert who lies. And just as we negated and turned away from that child, so did we do the same to the adult.

I have so much to say about Robert - to Robert. My brother.

My brother who was murdered in December of 2003 in Eureka, CA. Once again, he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Drinking and drugging, homeless and wandering, as he usually was. His bones were found buried in a forest in February 2004. No identification or distinguishing physical features remained. Robert was listed as John Doe. How fitting.

We had put put a missing persons report on Robert in March of 2004. He had been out of contact since November and that was not like Robert - he always stayed in touch with my parents. I received a phone call from the County Coroner in Eureka and it shattered my soul. The Coroner said they had a John Doe in the morgue who might be my brother. But there was really no good way to positively ID him other than doing a DNA match. So local police came and swabbed my cheek and my mother's cheek. Then we waited. Robert had suddenly gained a status that he never had in life. I thought about him constantly. I worried, I was fearful, anxious. I wanted to know who was in the morgue and I never wanted to find out.

In February 2004, the Coroner called me. The DNA was a match. We had found Robert. He was 52 years old. He was penniless, homeless. He never married or had a family. He was a drunk. A bum There were more than 30 stab wounds on his body. He did not die easy There was nothing kind and loving about Robert's death.  Why should it be any different than his life.

5. His Eminence – The Baby Boy Fletcher

THE ALL NEW MOSTLY TRUE ADVENTURES OF BABY BOY FLETCHER

With astonishing ease, Baby Boy Fletcher settled into his new life at home in Parkville. He seemed pleased with his surroundings and the fact that his mom & dad waited on him hand and foot was also not to be sneered at. Mostly he slept. And he was quite good at it – except when he wasn’t, which, was most of the time! He had a persnickety colic that created major gurgles and disturbances in his GI tract and the BBF found this cause to fuss, cry, twist, and shout. His parents, in spite of their super powers-which were only to be used for freedom and justice to protect and save the good and the innocent-could do nothing! They began to look wan, drawn, outright droopy. They got cranky.

There were nights when the BBF did not give them a moment of rest. His parents tried all the usual and already-established as “never works” remedies. They swaddled; they burped; they walked him; they rocked him; they took him for car rides; they prayed.

Meanwhile, the BBF thrived! By the time he was 4 months old he weighed 15 pounds! He had tripled his weight – a portent of things to come. A literal instantiation of his future prowess. 15 pounds. Heavier than a bag of sugar or potatoes. Heavier than a case of beer. Heavier than Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, a weighty tome indeed! The BBF was having an impact on his surroundings.

People came from far and wide to admire him; bill and coo; exclaim with delight a at his roundness, creases, beautiful blue-gray eyes. They came from Elgin, Syracuse, Rockford, Ithaca, Rochester, Columbia, bearing gifts as did the Magi.

It was the Christmas season after all.

A sweet newborn baby,
A crib for a bed,
The Baby Boy Fletcher
Lay down his sweet head.
The cats were meowing
The baby awakes,
But Baby Boy Fletcher no crying he makes (for once).
I love you dear baby
Dear gift of my heart,
You’re holy and precious
And n’er shall we part.

To be sung to the tune of "Away in a Manger"

Incredulous Maybe?

Too extraordinary and improbable to be believed! And for only $119.00 !!


I was perusing a cosmetics catalog and came across a NEW PRODUCT which created instant mirth! Tummy Flattening Gel - WOW - can you believe it? Would we all (or most) not love to have some of this!
It is a "topical slimming concentrate" which is touted as being "a Breakthrough Slimming Gel that works." And I am tall, thin and blond.

The product purportedly will make one's tummy look flatter and more well-defined - and you don't have to exert any more effort than rubbing the stuff on your tummy. No sit ups, ab machines, dieting.

AND - this wonder gel also claims to "reduce the appearance of bulging pockets of unsightly fat wherever they pop up." Gotta love it. It is so embarrassing when those bulging pockets of fat start popping up when I am in public. It will be great to just rub on some of this gel and get rid of them before anyone notices. I feel so much better now. Relieved to not have to worry about that one anymore.

So, call me a skeptic but, REALLY! If a gel could reduce my tummy I would buy it in a minute - even if it does cost $119.00. I would by a case of it to keep on hand for the pop-up bulges as well. But something just does not seem right here...is it that it might be irrational to expect a gel to do such wondrous and miraculous things when diet and exertion, targeted exercise and workouts cannot? Don't get me wrong. I do believe in miracles. I just do not believe in something for nothing - except $119.00.