Vivid Living

Six years ago today, my first husband, Brett, died in my arms at Calvary Hospice in Bronx, New York.  As many of you know, and others have read, he had a brain tumor that finally felled him nearly seven years after he was diagnosed in 1998.

Because this experience has profoundly shaped my life and my writing, it would be remiss of me not to write about loss and renewal, today, of all days.

Our twins, Casey and Rebecca, are now at the magical age of eight. They are clever, feeling, beautiful, loving and compassionate children. While they have no real memories of their dad, I make it a point to tell them that they carry his nose, his kindness, and his bottomless love for all things sweet.

In anticipation of today’s anniversary, I asked Casey and Rebecca what they would like Dad to know about them.  “I LOVE cheese steaks and I’m a kick-butt skier,” Casey said. “I LOVE cinnamon rolls and I sleep with the blanket Mommy made of your clothes almost every night,” said Rebecca. Which she does.

As for me, my perspective has shifted, which happens, I believe, over time.  Lately I’ve been thinking about him more often because I’ve been working on a memoir and have needed to dig deep into those hard years.  Even when he’s not top of mind, Brett is always with me.  The same is true for my new husband, Steve, who carries his late wife, Pam, with him, too. In our blended family, the past is still very present.

Mostly, I’m grateful today.  Grateful that Brett and I married, grateful that we had children who bear his name and hold the best parts of him, grateful that in spite of his death we have had the courage to move forward in life, grateful that indeed I found happiness again and a wonderful man who loves me and our children, grateful for health and time and the gift of memory.

Recently I stumbled upon this quote from Vincent Van Gogh and it seems apt: “For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.”

I’ve just read a jewel of a book that I want to recommend to women everywhere.  Called Secrets of Powerful Women, the book is a collection of short essays, advice and musings about power – how to seize it, hold it and share it.  The idea was born from the 2008 Democratic and Republican conventions at Lifetime’s Future Frontrunners Summit (which celebrated women’s voices in every corridor).

There are so many wise nuggets from trailblazers of every party, race, class, position and religion – women like Rosario Dawson, Fran Drescher, Andrea Wong, and Martha Bark. They speak candidly about facing fears, acting tough, staying true to your vision, shoring up mentors, and harnessing the power of the petition. As Vivid Living celebrates life in full bloom, thorns and all (look at my tagline), I’m especially drawn to the counsel of Betsy Myers, who served as senior advisor to Barack Obama’s presidential campaign. “Bloom where you are planted,” she says.  Which means strive for excellence where you are; it will gird you for future success.

I’ve decided to pass along my copy to my teenage friends, Maddie and Izzy.  They’re the daughters of my dear friends, Julie and Rick, who, in my view, are doing everything right to raise self-confident, aware, socially conscious young women.  Maddie and Izzy are poised to lead and should reach for the stars.

In the generous spirit of Secrets of Powerful Women, I urge you buy a copy, read it and then share the wealth with a young woman on the cusp of adulthood.

Only by fanning the fires of powerful women far and wide are we likely to shatter “those 18 million cracks in the glass ceiling” that Hilary Clinton famously intoned during her failed bid for President in 2008.

By the way, proceeds from the book benefit the White House Project, a leading voice for women’s leadership founded by the extraordinary Marie Wilson.

I’m nursing a bad cold or flu, I can’t yet tell which it is.  What I do know is that my head feels like an embattled warrior, my voice is reminiscent of a stuffed tuba, my eyes sting, and my muscles ache and tingle at the same time.  You get the picture.

It’s not often that I give in to being sick. But today I did for two reasons: whatever bug is brewing has walloped me, and I’m also keenly aware that pushing myself will only make things worse.  Which isn’t so easy for me since I come from the land of the doers. And when you’re a doer hard-pressed to get it all done each day, retreating from time in this way can feel jarring, like having your heart race wildly.

Sure I had a full to-do deck today, but that will just have to wait. It was better to cover up in bed and drift off to sleep for two hours and then sip hot tea and putter in my slippers and sweats.

Being sick has its blessings because it forces us to slow down.  Which is something everyone needs to do, especially as we age. In a way, I’m not surprised I got sick this week because I’ve been pushing myself so hard with other writing commitments that words and scenes are playing out in my head at all hours of the night. Lack of sleep is a killer, and it will run you down.

Being sick, too, is also a precious reminder to be grateful for our health and for all that we can enjoy in life.  Many do not have this privilege.

I can’t say I’m exactly happy about being sick, but I’m glad to savor rest time and gain perspective.

Here’s to your health!