Midlife’s A Trip

What Would I Do Without Sisters?

Posted on 26. Sep, 2009 by Karen.

The story below was posted today on Facebook by “Irma” and it’s just the amazing kind of woman’s wisdom I like to share here on Midlife’s A Trip. Let me know how it resonates with you:

“A young wife sat on a sofa on a hot humid day, drinking iced tea and visiting with her Mother. As they talked about life, about marriage, about the responsibilities of life and the obligations of adulthood, the mother clinked the ice cubes in her glass, swirling the tea leaves to the bottom of her glass.

At one point, she turned a clear, serious glance upon her daughter and said ‘Don’t forget your “Sisters”. They’ll be more important to you as you get older. No matter how much you love your husband, no matter how much you love the children you may have, you are still going to need Sisters. Remember to go places with them now and then; do things with them – now.’

‘And also remember that ‘Sisters’ means ALL the women in your life – your girlfriends, your daughters, and all your other women relatives too.’You’ll need other women. Women always do.’

What a funny piece of advice!’ the young woman thought. Haven’t I just gotten married? Haven’t I just joined the couple-world? I’m now a married woman, for goodness sake! A grownup! Surely my husband and the family we may start will be all I need to make my life worthwhile!’

But she listened to her mother and took her advice. She kept contact with her Sisters and made more women friends each year. As the years tumbled by, one after another, the woman gradually came to understand what her mother was talking about.

As time and nature work their changes and their mysteries upon a woman, Sisters are the mainstay of life. And after more than 50 years of living in this world, here is what I have learned about women and their Sisters:

• Time passes.

• Life happens.

• Distance separates.

• Children grow up.

• Jobs come and go.

• Love waxes and wanes.

• Some men don’t do what they’re supposed to do.

• Hearts break.

• Parents die.

• Colleagues forget favors.

• Careers end.

• We get sick, we heal.

But whatever is going on in your life, know with the most amazing certainty that your Sisters are there, no matter how much time and how many miles are between you. A Sister is never farther away than needing her can reach.

When you have to walk that lonesome valley of some kind of despair and life sadness, the women in your life will be on the valley’s rim, cheering you on, praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the valley’s end. And sometimes, Sisters will break the rules, charge into the valley, walk beside you or even carry you out! Because that’s what Sisters do for one another.

Girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters, daughters-in-law, sisters, sisters-in-law, Mothers, Grandmothers, aunties, nieces, cousins, and extended family, all bless our life!

The world wouldn’t be the same without the Sisters in my life and neither would I. When we began this adventure called womanhood, we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead. Nor did we know how much we would need each other. That’s what the mother was telling her daughter.”

Please share this with all the women, the Sisters who help make your life meaningful.

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The Midlife Baby Whisperer

Posted on 09. Mar, 2009 by Karen.

Meet Baby D – my new little cousin.  He was born very early Saturday morning and I was there!  What an amazing experience to be present to welcome a new life into the world.

While Baby D was warming up under the heat lamp, I was talking to him – one of the very first voices he heard in this outside world.  Even though Baby D was only 10 minutes old, he turned his head toward my voice and stopped crying to listen.  In that moment, I felt like a “baby whisperer”, not a midlife coach. It was so very special.

Yet another great stop on my midlife trip.

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Musings of a Daddy’s Girl

Posted on 17. Feb, 2009 by Karen.

Yesterday would have been my dad’s 89th birthday and I’ve been thinking about him a lot over the last week.  Dad died 6 years ago.  I guess I thought that there’s a beginning and end to the grieving process but there really isn’t.

Missing my dad seem so fresh sometimes, especially when I look at pictures of his hundreds of freckles, incredible smile and endearing gap between his front teeth.  Of course that was only the outer Dad — the inner man was truly remarkable.

He grew up during the Depression in abject poverty.  But the stories he used to tell us of those times were never about despair.  Because my dad mastered the power of positive thinking before it was “fashionable”.

He had a bone infection when he was 12 that put him in a convalescent home for a year.  That didn’t stop Dad because he recovered, kept up with his studies and graduated with honors from high school.  After similar success in college (as the first in his family to ever strive for higher education), Dad got a full scholarship to medical school but couldn’t go because they only allowed 2 Blacks in a class.  Unfazed by that roadblock, he got his master’s and taught at the university level until a Black “slot” opened up.

Dad had continued academic success but hit another barrier when the bone infection in his leg recurred during his senior year in med school.  With a coveted internship waiting and his dream of being a doctor in his line of sight, Dad told the doctors to amputate.  They did and he went on to graduate with honors — again.

Funny thing about my father is that he never discussed his disability.  Of course we knew he had a prosthetic leg but it was never talked about as we were growing up.  For Dad, it was a non-issue and something he never let stand in the way of creating the life he truly wanted.

54 years later after a successful practice and a devotion to community health issues, Dad’s colleagues hosted a retirement party for him.  When they looked up his med school record, they learned that he had actually graduated top of his class — a fact suppressed by the then dean who had just come on board from Alabama.

I’m proud to say that I was part of Dad’s life as the oldest of his 3 children.  He was always the wind beneath my wings — my hero, my mentor, my advisor and friend.  He was the person who could make me laugh until I cried and the person who always challenged me to dream and believe that my dreams could be my reality.  And I — well I was always Daddy’s girl.  Still am.

In Memory of Thomas M. Batchelor, M.D.

1920 — 2002

xxxooo

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Age is But a Number

Posted on 04. Jan, 2009 by Karen.

Yesterday evening my sister and I took my mom to visit her best friend of 40 years.  Mom is 89 and her friend is 80.  It’s so good to see how the strong bond with have with girlfriends survives the test of time.  While we were there another old friend from their crowd stopped by.

“Tal”, short for Natalia,  is this amazing woman who’s been a role model all my life.  She’s a respected pediatrician who still practices and has probably cared for 3 generations of children in some families.  Caregiver to her ailing husband, Tal still finds time between work and home to be active in civic clubs she’s belonged to for decades.  As we stood around yesterday, she was slim and fashionable in a black jumpsuit, make-up just so and a darling little cut that accents the salt and pepper in her hair.

If you met Tal, you’d think “what a lovely 70-something”.  It would be indelicate to ask her age, but this woman who stills skis and plays a mean game of golf is pushing 90 if she’s not already there.  Being around Tal yesterday reminded me in a huge way that age is but a number.

So as I start 2009, I’m adopting a different mindset about aging.  The birthdays may tick by but who’s counting?  Instead I’m adopting the “live life full out” plan that Tal obviously has perfected.

Want to join me?

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Shards of Memories

Posted on 13. Nov, 2008 by Karen.

Isn’t that an incredible title — shards of memories?  I wish I could claim it as my own creation but it comes by way of friend Steve who was responding to a recent email from me.  I wrote about spending time with my cousins this week in Virginia as we all gathered for the funeral of my Aunt Hazel.  She died last week at 79 years old.  My mother is the last survivor of that generation.

My cousins and I sat around the dining table on Monday night and shared our collective memories of life in our family.  It was truly a collection of the good and bad, the happy and sad, the ups and downs of 3 generations of an amazing American family. 

We talked about my great-grandmother Dom who died when I was a toddler.  She was the proud Pennsylvania Dutch, Scotch-Irish matriarch of our family who didn’t stand for anyone bad-mouthing her bi-racial family.  I learned that she wore a Persian lamb jacket with a unique pin that my cousin Dottie still has.  Funny, I have a faux Persian lamb jacket that little old ladies love because it reminds them of the ones they wore so many years ago — like Dom. 

We also talked about my Bermudian grandfather Fred and the lovely hazel-eyed grandmother Hazel I never knew because she died of breast cancer before I was born.  And we reminisced about Great Aunt Clara, the character in our family.  She drove a big black car well into her 80’s and took no nonsense from anyone — except her 5 husbands. 

I’ve often thought of how to spin our family history in a way that allows me to wrap it up neatly at the end with a big red bow.  But this week, I realized, as Steve so wisely put it, that our family memories are shards from the past like broken mirror.  Interestingly, as my cousins and I shared our memories I could almost see these jagged pieces being reassembled like a broken mirror — a mirror that reflected back the person I’ve become because of our family history. 

Shards of memories.

What are yours?

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What A Midlife Crisis Feels Like

Posted on 11. Nov, 2008 by Karen.

In the next hour I will be at my aunt’s funeral.  Aunt Hazel died last Friday at 79.  And to be honest, I can’t imagine the world without her.  My earliest memories of her are of a loving woman who always said what she meant and meant what she said.  “No nonsense” was her mantra.  Good cooking and a great sense of humor were her forte.  She was part of the fabric of my life.

I talk a lot here about midlife and transformation and how this is all a bridge to the better half of life.  Most of the time that’s really what I believe.  But today, life is feeling more like a midlife crisis.  Here’s how it’s hitting me right now:

1. My aunt has died.
2. She was my mother’s younger sister–my 10 years–and my mother is still living.
3. My mother has dementia and although we’ve told her about her sister’s death, it’s hard to know how she’s taking this sad news.
4. That makes me sad.
5. I’m here in Virginia surrounded by cousins–Aunt Hazel and Mom are the last elders on this side of the family.  My mother and immediate family can’t be here so it’s just me from the Michigan contingency.
6. All the young cousins I held as babies are now grown and having families of their own.
7. My older cousin who’s 75 feels like a peer and my cousin who’s just a few years old is about to turn 60.
8. Yes I pretend sometimes that I’m only as young as I think but 60 is around the corner for me too.

Well enough from me now.  I’ve got to leave for the funeral.  You’ve got a sense of what a midlife crisis feels like to me today.

What about you?

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Peanut on Obama

Posted on 06. Nov, 2008 by Karen.

On election night we all gathered over at my sister’s to watch the poll results come in.  My 4 year old niece, the “Peanut” was thrilled with the company, the festive atmosphere and the party spread of food.  Oh — and the fact that she was allowed to stay up long past her bedtime. 

You see, my sister and I remembered that night in our childhood when our parents let us stay up all night to watch John F. Kennedy become president.  Funny, we’ve talked about that night often lately.  It’s etched on our memories. 

We wanted Peanut to have the same special memories of Obama being elected president.  Even though the results weren’t in yet when we gathered together, we all sensed it was just a matter of time.  And Peanut had to be part of it.

Shortly before Obama’s victory was announced, I was in the kitchen with Peanut explaining to her why this was all so important.  As I tried to set the stage for her in a way a four year old could comprehend, I gave her a short list of the reasons that Obama was the man we all wanted to see elected.  I ended with telling her that it was also very exciting that he would be the first Black man ever to be elected President of the United States.

Peanut smiled at that point in an indulgent and patient way.  She tilted her head, threw up her hands in slight exasperation with me and said:

Ti-Ti (that’s what she calls me), Barack Obama isn’t black — he’s brown!

I had to laugh!!  Peanut gets it.  Color is just color.  It’s not what defines you or makes you qualified or not for any job — even president.  Yet another life lesson from Peanut –

Out of the mouth of babes. 

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The One Vote Barack Obama Won’t Get

Posted on 03. Nov, 2008 by Karen.

I’m here to report that there’s one vote Barack Obama won’t get in this historic presidential election — my 89 year old mother’s.  But don’t get excited John McCain.  This isn’t a vote for you.  You see, Mom’s not voting for Senator Obama simply because she can no longer understand what the voting process is all about.  The dementia she has suffered from for years has robbed her of the ability to make an informed decision in this election.  Mom would be devastated if she knew.

But she doesn’t.  I had a conversation with her this past weekend to see if there was any hope of her being able to exercise her voting rights.  When I asked her if she knew who was running for president — she didn’t.  When I explained about the candidates, as objectively as possible, and asked Mom if she had an opinion on who she’d vote for — she didn’t.  And when I asked her if she wanted me to get more information for her — she didn’t.  At that point, I watched her retreat into the cave of her dementia; that place where she doesn’t have to face the fact that she can no longer make important decisions like the one that will be made tomorrow. 

If she were able, I know in my heart that my mother would be honored to have the opportunity to vote for Senator Obama.  There are many other seniors like my mother who are unable to vote for him tomorrow, though, for reasons beyond their control.  Let’s not forget them.  We stand on their shoulders — their efforts through the years form the foundation for the choices we have this Election Day.

So in honor of the choice Mom would make if she could, I’m dedicating my service as a legal monitor at the polls tomorrow to her.  If there’s an senior in your life whose mental and physical disabilities keep them from voting –

What can you do to honor them on Election Day?

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Lipstick Was My Favorite Halloween Costume

Posted on 31. Oct, 2008 by Karen.

I know it sounds weird but lipstick was my favorite Halloween costume.  I didn’t care what I dressed up as that day as long as lipstick was involved.  Remember, I grew up during the 50’s when the standard, at least what I saw on my friends’ mothers and women in the movies was really, really, really RED lipstick.  And in those days, little girls didn’t get to wear make-up under any circumstances, except of course — on Halloween.

Here are some of the costumes I had in my youth:

• Annie Oakley — with lipstick
• A bumble bee with sequins — and lipstick
• A princess — with lipstick
• A Wizard of Oz flying monkey — with lipstick
• A bunny rabbit recycled from the flying monkey costume — with lipstick
• A gypsy (I hate to think of the many years I dressed up as a negative ethnic stereotype) — with lipstick and
• Morticia from The Addams Family — with lipstick
• A lot of others I can’t even remember — with lipstick.

The goal was always to try to sneak past my mother’s vigilant eye and go to bed with the lipstick still on.  That way, I figured, I could sneak off to school the next day with a whole new aura of sophistication emanating from my faded, smeared but still red lipstick from the night before.  It never happened.

As soon as we hit the house after trick-or-treating, Mom had the big jar of cold cream open and ready.  If memory serves, the brand of that vile goop she used was called “Albolene” and when Mom was done smearing it all over my face, there was no trace of lipstick to be found — always one of the low points of my childhood.

The residual of those memories of past Halloween lingers on in my long-time practice of wearing lipstick almost always.  These days my lipstick may not be red but I never leave home without it. 

So what will I be this Halloween.  I’m showing up as “aunt” to Peanut, my four-year old niece who, I hear through the grapevine, will be dressed as a “diva pumpkin fairy” with wings, a faux fur jacket, faux fur boots with silver trim and many layers underneath to keep her warm.  Apparently Peanut had final decision-making authority over her costume.  But when she comes over to trick-or-treat, we’ll add the final touch to both of our costumes — lipstick.  After all, it’s a family tradition!

What was your favorite Halloween get-up?

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Being Big Sister

Posted on 30. Oct, 2008 by Karen.

This week I had to pull rank on my sister.  She’s the one I refer to as “Meno Mom”, the mother of the now infamous Peanut, my 4 year old niece.  Meno Mom has become a wonderful caregiver in midlife.  She’s a single mom raising the Peanut and is infinitely patient and loving with my mother who has severe dementia.  And, the truth be known, Meno Mom is the best sister anyone could have.  I am blessed.

Now lest you think we’re Stepford sisters, we’re not.  We disagree and even argue vehemently from time to time.  We gossip.  We tussle over Ben and Jerry’s Heath Bar Crunch ice cream and cry together during Extreme Home Makeover on Sunday nights.  And we are always there for one another. 

Last week though, Meno Mom was sick as a dog.  She and Peanut both had colds.  Meno Mom took great care of my niece but not herself.  Then last Saturday, she casually mentioned to me on the phone that she almost passed out at Peanut’s Karate tournament.   

What Meno Mom didn’t know and should never forget is that big sisters constantly worry about their little sisters.  Yes, you heard it here.  She’s the youngest even though I always tell people it’s the other way around (not that they believe me, mind you).  But little sisters never get too old for big sister concern.  So when Meno Mom had to go to ER yesterday because of shortness of breath, I was extremely concerned although I had to hide it because Peanut was with me.

Long story short–Meno Mom has viral bronchitis.  She is now under strict orders from doctor and friends to stay home.  And I, with my traditional big sisterly charm, threatened her with bodily harm if she didn’t take care of herself and get well.  Because you see, being big sister never ends — no matter how old we get.

What’s your experience?

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In Memory of Dad — Notes of Hope and Change

Posted on 23. Oct, 2008 by Karen.

This week marks the 6th anniversary of my father’s death. Dad was a true Renaissance man — a dedicated physician, an accomplished artist, mentor to many and hero to me. He was the grandson of a slave and the slaveowner’s son and son of a domestic servant and a sharecropper turned factory worker. Despite his humble beginnings, Dad excelled in school because back then, that was the only way a young “colored” guy could remotely get ahead.

Dad injured his leg as a child and had to spend a year in a convalescent home. Despite this, he graduated near the top of his class from undergrad. Although he was positioned to go to medical school, back then they only took 2 Blacks in a class. So he waited for a spot for a year, earning his Master’s along the way.

In his senior year of med school, Dad’s leg was re-injured in the 1943 race riots in Detroit. Faced with another year in a convalescent home, he said “the hell with it” and let them amputate his leg at the knee. Despite THIS, he graduated first in his class — a fact he never knew until he retired 54 years later. The only thing we can figure is that it just wasn’t seemly to have a young Black man as valedictorian so grades weren’t posted the year he graduated.

Dad went on to a wonderful practice based more on service than on monetary gain. And as he grew his practice, he and my mother nurtured and grew 3 children — I was the oldest. Lest you think Dad was an egghead, that was just the tip of the iceberg of the man he was. He had a smile that was infectious, a million freckles, a sense of humor that had us laughing to the point of tears on many occasions. And so many people loved him for the caring and supportive way he showed up in the world — always.

As I grew older, Dad became my trusted advisor, my sounding board for what was supposed to be right in life. He was an amazing man who lived to be 83 years old. If he were here today and I were to tell him that a young Black man — another Renaissance man — was running for president of the United States, he would not be surprised. He always believed in the possibility that this country could rise above the heavy burden left by our history of racism. Because despite all, Dad was a man who believed in a world made better by hope and change.

I know he would have loved and been uplifted by the incredible music that has come out of this presidential campaign. So in search of a positive note this week (instead of too many tears), I found and posted here some of the music videos showcasing the talent and positive energy Dad would have admired and enjoyed. I hope you enjoy it too.

I love you Dad.