I'll see you in my . . .

I've passed the 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th. There will be the 13th and there will be August 19th, but it was last weekend that I felt looming and that I both dreaded and welcomed. I made it through, with a lot of help from my friends, family, and Ky's friends. I spent time with several, got calls and emails and notes from others. They were thinking of and praying for me and Mir and Gear. Every message was an embrace. They (you) got me through.

I had a gift in the night. I dreamt of Kyle when he was about 3 years old, about the age he is in this picture, taken on their first day of school after we moved to Eagle Rock. Miranda heading off to Eagle Rock Elementary and Kyle to Eagle Rock Montessori. Except in my dream his hair was shorter.

I don't remember much, but the dream went on for a long time. At one point Kyle was holding my mascara and someone (I think it was MY mum) was concerned, but I went over to him and let him hold it with me as I put some on my eyelashes. Was I ever so gentle and caring as I was in this dream? I only hope so.

I never put a lot of value on dreams, but now they are treasures. I got to see Ky again, so sweet and earnest. My beautiful little boy.

Mother's Day

Dear nieces Devon and Elizabeth with Cyn and Sal

Early in the week a few people said to me, "I know this is a rough week for you." The first time, it didn't register. The second time, I asked myself what they were talking about. Of course, Mother's Day. I gave myself an emotional check-in and realized that I wasn't having a hard time. It was a pleasant sensation, not to be in pain even when I had a perfectly good excuse.

They say that rituals help. Maybe that's why. I've been up to my ears in ritual. There were two donor memorials; the Musculoskeletal Transplant Foundation's ceremony on the 13th of April up in Cupertino and the Organ Donor Remembrance on the 26th in Hayward. I saw hundreds of donor family members who--like me--had lost their son or daughter or wife or husband and who had--like Gearey and I--made the decision to give his/her organs and more to save or help the living. I met recipients of skin who had undergone painful disfiguring burns, a former paraplegic who was cured by the transplant of a neck bone, a young nurse who'd lost the use of her foot, but now--thanks to donations of bone--was back to nursing on two strong feet. I met recipients of kidneys and livers, who explained how new it was to get a liver and how hard it is to find a kidney match (which was why Ky's kidneys are in Oregon and Maryland). And then, I watched as a line of recipients--young, old, white, black, Asian, Latino--stretched long across the stage and one by one, humbly and lovingly, spoke to us, the families of the 900 northern California donors in 2007, and thanked us for our loved lost ones' gifts.

On Ky's 23rd birthday, I visited the train station (see below). Later in the month in San Francisco, I finally met Kyle's wonderful boss Paul, who was every bit as kind and caring as Kyle had described. I will never know how much Paul influenced him in that year; but I bet it was a great deal. Then, last weekend I visited Miranda to celebrate her graduation (more on that later). And in between, when in town, I visited Kyle's grave at Forest Lawn, where I burnt incense, blew bubbles (the little bubble bottle still residing in Aunt Di's planter), left a note, cleaned off the marker, watered the plants, arranged flowers, and took in the view and the sounds and the smells.

So, by the time Mother's Day came around I had been taken 3 airplane round trips, met kind strangers, hugged a whole lot of people, cried buckets, and engaged in ritual practice many many times.

The main feeling I had before and on Mother's Day, was of celebration. As a mother for 26 plus years, I have given birth to and raised to adulthood two miraculous children. They are/were handsome and brilliant and good and kind and generous and witty and fun-loving-- like each of you and each of your children. I could not, would not, have traded in either of them for all the green/black/white tea in China.

And, the most prominent thought this week, was remembering that I was so proud of Kyle last year when a padded envelope arrived two days before Mother's Day, addressed incorrectly but still arriving early. Inside was a tiny bag and inside the bag wrapped in turquoise tissue paper were a pair of earrings. Lovely delicate dangly earrings with green (my favorite colors) stones. Perfect earrings for me (see photo above). At the time I kept the little paper bag and the tissue paper. And after Ky died I was so glad I did.

When your children remember to call you, hundreds of miles away, on your birthday or Mother's Day or New Year's Day, it is such a pleasure. You share a few minutes, catch up, wish each other well and happy day. But when they go that extra length, to send a card or a gift like flowers or a plant or earrings, your heart is filled with such warmth and pride--that they are growing up and taking time from their busy lives to do something for another (for you). These are the moments you treasure. Miranda had been doing this for several years. Last year was the first time for Kyle. And I delighted in this sure sign of adulthood, of manhood.

Two days before Mother's Day, a beautiful orchid plant arrived from Miranda. A deep purple phalaenopsis, with several flowers and many more buds. Bless her heart, my sweet daughter. The orchid is on my desk next to my computer with just enough sunlight. It can last for years; it will, if it is very very lucky, and Sallie helps me.

On Mother's Day, our beautiful nieces, Devon and Elizabeth, took sister Sal and me to brunch. Since my daughter was in NYC and Sallie's daughter Rhea was driving across country--had hit the rockies on Sunday, we were awfully lucky to have our brothers' girls to celebrate with. So there we all are. At Baja Cantina. Pestering the waitress to take a pic on the cell phone. And, can't you tell? A lovely time was had by all.

So. Yeah. I'm doing okay. I haven't sat down with Ky's picture and stared into his eyes and once again realized he is not coming down from SF ever again; nor have I truly allowed myself to get in touch with the pain that is there, not too far, below the surface. I'm staying busy and crazed (see upcoming Saga of How Losing All Ones Office Keys Can Make Semi Blindness a Minor Concern) and another ritual comes up this weekend. More to Come, More to Come, More to Come . . . .

April 13, 1985

On Sunday, it will be Kyle's 23rd birthday. The picture above is of Kyle, minutes old, in the arms of his dad. Kyle was two weeks overdue. As a boy he used to laugh and say that he didn't want to come out because he was so comfortable in there. The doctor got concerned, so he gave Gear and I some articles to read about inducing and told us to talk it over at dinner and then if we were comfortable about it, to just head to the hospital. So late in the evening about 11pm, the nurses started to induce labor. That kicked things off and eventually I had about 10 hours of hard labor (less than with Miranda), but then pushed for 3 hours before the doctor said he was going to have to perform a Caesarean.

Kyle Campbell Whitham McLeod was born at about 6:36 pm. He was 22 inches long and weighed 9 pounds, 15 and 1/4 ounces. We were pretty impressed with that weight, but the same day at the Hollywood Presbyterian Hospital a 13 pound baby girl was born. If Kyle got to be 6'8" I wonder how big that girl is today. He had the biggest hands and the longest fingers and Gear said, "Piano playing power forward." Kyle was so wide awake under the lights in the nursery that the nurses had to take him into their dark station for him to get some sleep. Ky's big sister, Miranda, welcomed him home a few days later and just adored him. With our boy, our little family felt complete.

On Ky's birthday, I'll be up north in Cupertino attending a memorial event by the Musculoskeletel Tissue Foundation. There will be recipients there and there will be a slide show of all of last year's donors. It may seem a little odd to be doing this; but I'm feeling drawn up north again and I'm not put off by public grieving rituals. At least I'll be crying with a bunch of other people for a change, in a place where crying is expected. And I think it might be harder to be at Forest Lawn, which is where I'd be otherwise.

But I will celebrate a little bit at Forest Lawn tomorrow, before I leave town. I'm bringing some sandalwood incense to burn and a little battery run speaker (that I had given Ky) to play some reggae, and I have a tiny little bottle of bubble stuff--I'll probably leave that there for any of you who will be visiting him. I'll bring some flowers of course. It's odd not having food around when thinking about celebrating a birthday, particularly Kyle's, but of course you can't leave food around a grave, what with ants and coyotes.

So if you're in town and free on Sunday, the 13th, consider giving Ky a visit or-- wherever you are--maybe raise a glass to Kyle and say a few words. If Ky were here he would be partying: with music and friends and libation and laughter. And it would be all good, wouldn't it.

Dearest boy, I love you and miss you and carry you in my thoughts and heart every moment. Happy Birthday, Kyle.

My Mom & Dad Were Married 60 Years Ago Today

On March 28th, 1948, my mom and dad were married at the Congregational Church in Troy, NH. Sixty years ago, this very day. They stayed at the Fitzwilliam Inn, in (duh) Fitzwilliam, New Hampshire. Ten months later I was born. They must have liked the area because in 1958 we moved to Fitzwilliam. BTW, on the card from the Inn that Mum had saved in a scrapbook, the rates in 1948 ranged from $4.50 for a single without running water to $15.00 for a double with a bath. (No comment.)

Somewhere, I have a picture of my mom and dad standing in front of the church on their wedding day. I'll find it someday and post it. Bettsy was 25 and Blair was 30. They each had a 6 year old daughter (my sisters Donna and Beverly). Dad and Mum had known each other 6 weeks. The night they met, dad told his mother he'd just met the woman he was going to marry. Well, the second woman.

I remember seeing a letter that Dad wrote to my mom. It was so sweet. That letter showed me that, in spite of how he often treated my mom badly, he had started out completely devoted. They had a lot of fun. They had 4 kids together. And they had a rocky marriage. Dad could be verbally abusive, Mom could be amazingly passive aggressive. When I wonder how they got together, I think of that sweet letter.

On my trip back east to see her, Miranda said, again, that she couldn't understand why her dad and I ever got married. I was surprised. Gear and I had a lot in common and a good marriage for years. How could she not remember? In fact, at the age of ten, Miranda was completely surprised when we separated, because we never argued in front of her and her brother. Now, 16 years after the separation, she looks as us and can't figure out how we could ever have been together. That seemed so odd. I rattled off a list of the things we had in common, the many things we both loved to do, the things we saw eye to eye on. I'm not sure I got through to her. It's hard for kids to get their parents. And as hard as it is for our kids to understand us, it was that hard for me and my sibs to understand our parents' relationship.

The one thing I am sure about is that Blair and Bettsy would have loved seeing their grandkids. They would have adored this crew. They did know Robin and Melanie and Pete and Tim and Katie. But Dad died in 1979 and didn't know any of the grandchildren that would come of his marriage to Mum. And Mum died in 1982 when Miranda was 4 months old. So my parents have missed out on knowing Miranda, Rhea, Kyle, Devon, Elizabeth, Siena, and William. And they missed out on their great-grandchildren Alicia, Kiersten, and Nickolas--as well as Pete, Tim, and Katie's children. And that is a shame, cause this generation of kids is wonderful. My dad loved smart kids and he would have been blown away by this crew. And they both would have been impressed by each and every one of their grandchildren: how beautiful, how nice, how sweet, how loving, how funny, and how delightful they are.

And I think they would have loved Kyle. Kyle who had the biggest heart of all. Kyle, who appreciated family more than any kid I've ever known. Kyle who would grow as tall as a tree. Kyle with the magnificent hands. Kyle with the exquisite face that seemed to have McLeod and Whitham and Campbell and Price in equal amounts. Kyle who read and kept up on sports and sought out the news and understood world events. Kyle who was such a good friend and such a dear son.

And maybe the joke is on me. Maybe Blair and Betts and Kyle and all the generations who have gone before are hanging out together in the great unknown. Getting to know each other, the older folks really enjoying Kyle and feeling so bad for us because we have lost him, and knowing that our tragic loss is their gain. And in the clear light of day, I don't believe that one whit. But it's not the clear light of day. It's late night now. And I'll entertain anything.

Happy anniversary, Mum and Dad. You two have formed a multitude. And we are grateful and we honor you and we miss you so very very much.

With all my love,

Your daughter,

Cindy

No, not again! Tax AND work deadlines!

yes. i'm up to my ears today, sunday, easter even, working on a project. it's editing, so it's not taxing (like the taxes). but it has to be done and i'm being paid, so other than robbing my life of it's very essence, it's not bad.

and of course there is the T word. my appointment is april 11. if you look at a calendar it seems a long way away. but it's not. it's tomorrow practically. and with other deadlines and work work work, will i find the time to find enough receipts to ward off paying more taxes and penalties?

on the good side i had a wonderful time on my whirlwind weekend in NYC. saw dear friends (and former roommates) Leslie Hurley and Judy Copeland and saw Judy Flynn and David Kneuss from BU.

had a terrific girls' happy hour with miranda and met several of her friends, all of whom are delightful. met m & j's roommate Justin very briefly. saw The Homecoming with Katie and Dominique and M & J and it gave us great fodder for our post-play drink. the interpretation of the boxer brother Joey as pretty brain-damaged was right on target. i still am trying to figure out Ruth's motivation for leaving her children (leaving her self-important husband Teddy makes sense); when i played Ruth back in 1969, i didn't know enough about life to get how bizarre that way. given the sparse script, i'm not sure if any actress can make that believable-- particularly for mothers sitting in the audience.

we also went to the New Museum, the boxes building, and saw the exhibit "Unmonumental" which I keep referring to as "Unmemorable." altho a few other the sculptures or media pieces were engaging, i most enjoyed the view from the street of the building of boxes stacked against the sky and at the panorama from the top floor. looking over the bowery rooftops, seeing the hodge podge of textures, variety of architecture-- it occurred to me that the collection of bizarre junk (truly much of the exhibit was made of trash) inside reflected the outside city. but the exhibit made me feel i am just out of it, because if some of this stuff is art, i should forget about throwing away my recyclables and start glueing. maybe i'll reread the brochure and see if i can figure out what i am supposed to feel about "Unmonumental."

the best part was seeing Miranda, certainly. since it was the start of spring break she could afford a weekend trailing about with her mom. i do wish we lived closer. the best thing would be to have little visits more frequently. i wonder as i get older whether i will want to live on the east coast again. and yet, it's hot and bright and beautiful in LA this morning, and there is a pool downstairs waiting to see if i'll get enough work done to take a break.

Tripping

well there is a reunion party in New York City next Friday, the 14th, of Boston University School of Fine and Applied Arts attendees from (roughly) 1969 to 1976. i was there 67-70 and 71-72.

the gap was due to a drop out following Kent State and a "sabbatical" year spent first in Omaha with the Magic Theatre, then in Santa Rosa for 9 months, and finally in Honolulu for a month working in a "play" in a "theatre" that is best left undescribed and never put on a resume. but enough about the gap year.

i got a snail mail copy of an email describing the get together. the email address list is long and almost indecipherable. but i did find addresses for two former roommates and at least one old boyfriend. so i've been corresponding and will see Judy Copeland (Cohn) who introduced Gearey and me to each other, so is directly responsible for hooking me up with (among other things) some really good DNA for my babies.

and hearing about the BU Theatre Arts Wrap Party has helped me avoid doing my taxes which are due again (all those previous tax references are for my October filing last year--I'm trying to do my taxes on time this year). so i've spent time emailing friends from 35 years ago, sending pictures, and going down memory lane.

i'll go to the "wrap party," hole up in a $100/night B&B-type place in the East Village, take Miranda, Joshua, Katie, and Dominque to Pinter's The Homecoming--which will also be a trip down memory lane as I played Ruth in a summerstock production in 1969 in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. avoiding taxes further, i googled Downeast Players and came up with this link to a diary of a guy's summerstock experience as musical director at that theatre. if you do a "find" for "cynthia" you'll find a one line review of my performance as Ruth. the wonders of 21st century technology! true time travel.

at christmas with her in NYC, miranda said that i should "do like Aunt Della" and come to NYC more frequently in short stints. long trips wear out everyone no matter how much you love them, and she is exactly right: occasional brief wonderful visits make complete sense. as a certified member of the New England WASP Delay-Your-Gratification Club i have postponed various kinds of indulgence (see? i even call visiting my only child INDULGENCE!) for years, waiting until i have enough money or until otherwise feel deserving. but this is Life After Losing Kyle--and my priorities have changed. this is where my impulsivity gets free reign. i get to take a weekend junket.


i'm excited.

Kyle with Barack Obama's Grandmother's Cousin

Yes, our dear family friend, Gramma Ruth, is Barack Obama's grandmother's cousin. Ruth grew up in Kansas and there raised her family and our longtime friend Nancy of "Nancy and Dorian Harewood" fame. Our family has spent countless occasions with Gramma Ruth and N & D and their beautiful children Olivia and John. Nancy, Dorian, Olivia, and John campaigned in Iowa and Nevada for Barack, and continue in California. Gramma Ruth taught piano to Miranda and Kyle and many Eagle Rock children and still teaches. As Kyle and Miranda never new their grandparents, Gramma Ruth holds a special place in our hearts.

Happy Birthday, Miranda

Miranda turned 26 yesterday. I've been a mother 26 years. Motherhood changes us from essentially self-centered beings to loving, nurturing, protective, proud, mother lions.

Miranda has been so easy to love from birth. First, she was beautiful. How's that for great luck. Second she was smart, even greater luck. Third, she was a self-starting, creative, enthusiastic, strong, go-getter of a kid. She dove herself into whatever was at hand: a terrifying spelling bee at the Eagle Rock mall when she was 6, a poetry contest at Dutton's bookstore (won honorable mention) at 8, then swimming, gymnastics, art, and theatre. She mastered everything she approached. And she carried on this way through middle school and high school. I could go on but it would be a brag instead of a blog, and she'd probably hate it. And it would be boring except to me.

What was terrific though, was that that while Miranda was inspired, she wasn't driven. She could have fun while working. She could play while competing. She could party in the midst of studying for SATs or while writing a paper. She loved the chase and the achievement, but kept her feet on the ground and never has been too impressed by herself. In fact, she's always had the normal insecurities we all have, able to be realistic about her strengths and her short comings.

Maybe most importantly, Miranda is a really lovely person. A good person. A nice person. She confesses her resentment of her brother with such honesty, that you realize that resentment only makes one less of a person if you deny it. Miranda might reel off a list of less than stellar qualities, but her insight just makes one admire her more. Miranda, the name, comes from the Latin "to be admired."

We chose the name because Gearey had long loved the character Miranda, the daughter of Prospero in The Tempest. "The sweetest heroine in all of Shakespeare," he said. And we chose her name, because Miranda goes so nicely with McLeod. We didn't think about the Miranda ruling (which requires the police to warn a person who has been taken into custody of his/her rights to remain silent and to have legal counsel) nor were we aware that Miranda is a moon of the planet Uranus. I think we just blocked out Carmen Miranda.

I love the woman Miranda has become at age 26. She's remained beautiful and intelligent and hard-working--a thoughtful being, a devoted friend, and a loving daughter. And now she has grown and become a writer, one with a unique and powerful voice; she is an exquisite observer, who watches for and captures the wonder and the absurdity of day to day existence. In naming our daughter "one who is worthy of being admired," we could not have chosen more accurately.

So, Happy Birthday, Miranda. I love you more than words can convey. I hope this year brings you closer to peace and to fulfulling your dreams.

Miranda, Me, and Ky c 1993