Friday, August 3, 2007

RED EYE, RED EYES

Ma died yesterday.  She was 83 and I am grateful that something told me to take the red eye flight from Denver to Florida two nights ago so I could be here with her one more time. I wasn’t supposed to actually arrive until later tonight, Friday.  Maybe she just committed herself to waiting, living until I got here, acting to the very end like the loyal soldier she has always been.   Either way she was then quickly ‘gone’ within 12 hours of my pulling up to the house, and I do openly thank the Gods for allowing me to both see her while she was still alive, albeit barely, and also (to be truthful) to be able to spend some time with her for a few hours after she had actually died.

Yes, we indeed left her there in the bed for a while before we called someone to come and pick her up.

ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD

A couple hours after she died there were several people there in the house swapping stories about my mother, Dorothy Jane Sellner (Ma), and toasting her life. Those of us that are still living were taking turns getting teary and or weeping.  The group in attendance included my sister and myself (both now orphaned) as well as a few of my mother’s closest friends. 

So my Mom was deceased but still in the house and in her room while this “pre-wake,” last supper scene was going on in the other room, and I would literally go in to her bed periodically and give her a big hug and hold her close or kiss her forehead, maybe cry a little, as if to say goodbye one more time each time as it were. I was not wailing, however, and I was not oozing sorrow from the inside out either.  I was relishing that time, and it made me a little ashamed.  Then I took it farther. I had the thought that maybe I was some kind of sicko for enjoying any part of her death, and then the movie title "Weekend at Bernie’s” actually popped into my head, at which point I decided that I probably definitely do need some kind of professional help for that part of my anatomy (mind). 

I felt like she was there with me, though, and I liked it. I was in no hurry for her to be taken away from me this last time.

I don’t mean to sound like any part of my mother’s death was the least bit funny or fun, but I am trying so hard to put her in a warm place in my heart right now while I am here, and I don’t want the memory of her gasping and grasping for air while her body and brain were saturated with sister morphine during her final day on earth to be the picture of her that is hung in my 'gallery' for the rest of my life.

NUTS AND SQUIRRELS

I guess right now I question my own sanity in general just a little and in spite of the fact all day long yesterday there were qualified medical professionals who kept coming, going, predicting, and monitoring my mother’s demise. While at it some of them were also busy telling me that it was okay for people (me, for example) to grieve and go through this living process of dying in very different, personal, and or strange ways.  One of these nurse types told me that neither hunger nor humor was off limits and that I should eat my sandwich.  I did eat that egg salad sandwich (Mom made a mean egg salad way back in the day), but I couldn’t help feeling guilty about being hungry or eating at all while my mother was in the other room barely hanging on to life.

Later in the afternoon the medical and care people were all gone for a very brief time. She chose that moment in time to die and she just did it. At least that's the way it looked to me. It was about 6:30 p.m. on August 2, 2007 when the end came.

I wonder about me and this ‘process of letting go’ and how I feel. Or maybe I am asking why I am not more emotional RIGHT NOW.  I was, am, and always will be mama’s boy.  I admired her, respected and loved her, and I also probably have always thought that many or most of whatever ‘good’ or specialized qualities that I might (or even might not) have were things that somehow came to me from her.  Yet, the tears that I have cried so far have all been small, isolated, and almost pain free.  I’m not sure I understand why this is so.

I know that some part of my fairly passive reaction to this my-world altering event is because I am relieved that she would not spend the next days or weeks suffering with the inevitability of death as the already known final destination.  She got it done quickly, as if by design, and yes, I am gladdened, if that is an okay word to use here, by the fact that she went so fast. Based on the few times that I have seen the way that cancer does its death dance, faster to the finish is better.  Mom made no effort in the end to cheat or beat the grim reaper.  In my mind she clearly showed great courage and died on her own terms.

THE DYING GAME

Modern hospice is in many ways wonderful in concept and practice with its open communication and the sensitivities shown to a family and their wishes and worries.  That whole business of dying has got to be tough on those that do it every day. It has to either wear down or anesthetize the people that handle, help, and arrange death for others to some degree, doesn't it?

At the request of my sister I wrote the first obituary of my life this morning.  Again I wonder if I should somehow apologize for my lack of emotion, because it did not make me sad or sadder to do it.  Rather, it inspired me.  I was eager to tell people just a little bit about who my mother was.

MOM KNOWS TEAM

My father was good at sports, but it was from my mother that I learned how to compete and the kind of intensity that it takes to do things to the best of one’s ability. 

My mother was a great teammate because, while she had no compulsion to be a leader, per say, she always made everyone around her better.  That was her motivation.  She wanted to be helpful.  Let others get the accolades or whatever. Her complete and obvious loyalty to whatever ‘team’ she was part of (I’m not talking about sports) was not only admirable, but for me it has always been the foundation of what I strive to bring out in any team I coach with my ‘daily’ coaching philosophy.

IT’S ALL ABOUT THE LOVE

I believe unconditionally in the power of passion.  I am not saying that it is always the right thing at the right time. Passion sometimes must be channeled in new directions, but it is never weak.

One of the first things I want to know about a lacrosse player is how much he really loves to play the game. I am personally able to put that kind of thing to efficient team use more than any insightful X or O that I have ever learned from a book or stole from another coach. My mother always brought her enthusiasm and excitement (passion) with her every day, and she put it out there for others to freely use as well.  What a gift that is. I constantly look and hope for that quality to emerge in any player that I coach. The true givers are rare.

FAMILY MATTERS

What group dynamic is stronger than a functional and motivated nuclear family with a common goal? I want to bring that sense of a ‘blood’ bond type of closeness to everyone and every group I encounter on my coaching path.  With that dynamic the potential for explosion is always there, never too far from the surface, and with a little luck it is also sometimes available.

The road to my mother has always been as easy to travel as any my life has known.  She has always been there for me, no matter what. I suppose that makes me a lot or just like a billion other guys.  Mama's boys are not rare. I do carry it all the way into my coaching life, though. For as long as I prowl the sidelines she will always be there with me, at least a little, and she’ll be helping me one way or the other. 

Ma never allowed me to doubt myself. She always believed in and rooted for me, and I pray that it was mostly for the right reasons.  Anyone against me was against her, and I appreciated that as well, although I also know that I have not always been ‘right’ and may not have always been worthy of that kind of blind devotion.  Somehow there is nothing quite as empowering as a mother’s love, though, and I have put that concept to use plenty in my life to be sure.

My mother was a powerful role model and influence on my life every day, whether she was with me or not.  I do not think her death will change that even slightly. 

BILLY, BILLY, BILLY

So if it does go like some say, then you would be off to be with Bill now, and for the rest of, well, you know. If that is true then I know you two lovebirds will be happy, and maybe that is how I want it to be, too.

FOR YOUR EARS ONLY, MA

I love you so much.  I will miss the sound of your voice.  Thank you so much for everything, especially that giving birth part.  I hear that’s a real pain.

Bye bye.

Love, Flip

P.S. Judy, Mike, and I went to the beach today, as we always did with you. I forgot to bring my hat to Florida. I needed one. The sun was strong. My head is bald, just like you told me it would be back when I was five. You (almost) never hid the truth.

Anyway, I hope you don't mind that I took your old Chicago Cub hat and that, as painful as it will be for me and if it is okay with you, I will keep it and wear it with pride in your honor for a while.

Meet me in Chicago one day when the Phillies are in town. Maybe we will bump into Harry Carey on the street ouside a bar the night after a day game again. LET ME HEAR YOU... A-ONE, A-TWO.....

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