LET IT GO!

2016…. BE GONE

The Doorbell rings, and the post woman is waiting downstairs with a box, a crumpled up box that looks like it’s been kicked around like a football. I run downstairs to meet her, she speaks only French but I know this is the package my sister sent me months ago. The address label reads “Nan-c” so there is no doubt this is the package. The post woman hands me a receipt that I must surrender €37,43 to accept it, so I fumble through my wallet and miraculously have the exact amount. She is also elated as she carries no money. She hands over the lopsided, crumpled brown box and I run back upstairs to rip it open to find the long lost contents.

Two months before, I was sent a letter from the Douane (customs) regarding a package from the USA. I took the letter to the post office assuming I would sign for it and possibly pay a tax. to my surprise, they informed me I needed to call the Douane and so I did. The box contained a birthday gift as well as some money my sister owed me from our last USA rendezvous.  The Douane grilled me about the content, cost etc of the package and if I had the receipt. I graciously explained it was a gift from my sister in Alaska and because it was a birthday present I was clueless to it’s worth.  I wanted to yell “MY ONLY BIRTHDAY GIFT that I get and now I have to now pay forit too? ”, but I just answered his questions and told him I would forward his requests to my sister.

Five weeks passed and no sign of the box, so I call again and the Douane answers they have not received any information. I call my sister and she grumbles that she sent it but will do so again. At this point, knowing that there are Dollars stashed in the box too, I have given up hope. Perhaps the box mysteriously gets lost? Someone gets a little cash? Thus, I do,what I have learned to do and that is “ Let go”.

A few weeks before that, as I was getting ready for bed, I looked down at my right hand ring finger and the ring that I wore daily since 1988 no longer had the beautiful sparkling diamond glistening in it.  I jumped up and starting scouring my apartment for a little diamond. I looked everywhere. Opened the vacuum cleaner, you name it, but no avail. The next morning I went to the local gym asked them if they found anything as well as eagle eyed the weight room. Nothing. Then I went to my work and did the same as well as opened their vacuum cleaner and emptied all its dusty contents. NO NO NO, I was an official loser. This ring, besides it’s monetary worth had an emotional tie and even though the situation that is was given to me had changed, I still embraced it’s beauty and knew it would be the only diamond I would be given. “Let it go” came pounding to my head once again.

At this moment, I am in possession of the “lost parcel” from America. The box is smashed and ripped but still sealed. I take the scissors and open it with curiosity. Not because of what the gift is but the chance that it will have the money in there too? I pull out a beautiful turquoise pullover fleece hoodie that I instantly fall in love with. When you live in Belgium , fleece hoodies for a sporty woman like me, bring out tbe inner cozy happiness. Inside the hoody's folds, I found an envelope. The envelope was sealed and had a handwritten message “TOP SECRET” . I opened it and so my surprise was the money. I started laughing until I cried and took pictures of the crazy box for my sister to see. I knew we would be laughing uncontrollably. That was one “Let go” I could take back.

 These are just the little “let go’s”. I’ve am an experienced pro by now.

A year and a half ago, I accepted a responsibility that would limit my freedom. Although deep in my heart I knew it would be an unthankful and messy task, my morals and loyalty overrode my gut and hoped the situation could blossom. By no surprise, it ended horribly  but at least I stood for my morals and fulfilled a promise I made when I married for the second time. The result of that fiasco was the final “Let go” of that old life and pushed me out the door to search a new one.

No, it is not easy.  I have come to think of myself as the “luckiest unluckiest person" I know. Lucky I have freedom to live my lifestyle but unlucky there is a void.

So all I ask is 2017, let’s make a deal to “Let 2016 Go” …..

From the Heart

In many ways, I was prepared for my Mother's death, however somethings are difficult to digest.. Logic tells us this is a natural cycle of life. Logic tells us to let go and move on. Logic and emotions are two different entities. Logic prepares us to deal with the inevitable, gives the incentive to get the dirty yet important jobs done, and allows one to forage on. On the other hand, emotion reminds us to remember, feel, dream, admire, miss and be grateful.

I was blessed to have a Mother who was ahead of her time: not afraid of being different, she was open minded, focused, strong willed and strong bodied. She earned her Masters degree in Social Work from UC Berkeley in the late 1940's, pursued a career, got married, took off time to have a raise 3 children (translation: Boy Scout/Brownie leader, PTA president, school volunteer) then want back to work when I, the youngest, was ready for 1st grade.

She had her share of ups and downs, but rarely complained and put her energy into her work and family. She believed in empowering her children to follow their dreams and to be what we wanted to be NOT what She wanted us to be. Thus ALL of our crazy adventures were emotionally supported and if possible she attended our events and performances. Our endeavors were meaningful to her and she spoke proudly of our wildly different accolades as if we were Harvard graduates. When I was a musician, she came to my concerts, when I was a bodybuilder she toted photos of my poses and even agreed to flex her guns for the camera. When I bike raced, she always asked about my endeavors and if possible would have spectated if she could. She did the same for my brother and sister.
It gave her great pleasure to be active in our lives yet live a life of her own as well.

I had 50 years with her in my life, and as much as I thought I would not be like her, I find myself very much like her and just have to laugh..as much as you try to not be your Mom, it just seeps in and "Wallah~ YOU ARE HER..."

2010 was a tough but bonding year for us. As time was elapsing we had role reversals. I found myself more and more having to be "the mother". I needed to make tough but important decisions regarding her health and well-being. I had to attend to her failing mind and body. I had to do things I NEVER envisioned doing. I had to suck it up and just do it. It was not easy but I'm glad I could. After all, she did the same for me. She was stubborn and confused but always trusted me. I was lucky for that.

My mother was a fabulous listener and she taught me that, and I am forever grateful. However she was very private with her own affairs. She and my father were married for nearly 30 years before they divorced. Even though it was a very civil parting , she kept her feelings inside. As progressive as she was, she was "old school" in many ways.

Why am I sharing all this? Besides all the legal paperwork and paper shuffling that incurs when one dies, then there is the endless task of going through their belongings. Fortunately I had started this project before I left for Belgium so it was not as overwhelming as it could have been. Nonetheless, it is a painfully slow project as 1) going through one's mother's personal affects seems so wrong and 2) it is virtually impossible to not dissect everything and have memories/stories that accompany each item.

Fortunately my sister helped with this. In her unearthing of photos and every childhood birthday card, she found a mysterious old shoe box circa 1940's. Inside this shoe box was stack of letters/cards, some photos, a few old postcards and a pages of a desk calender. Hmmm, why hadn't we ever seen this before? Many of these letters were banded together by light blue ribbon that was tied into a neat bow. They were all handwritten, addressed to Helen Dempsey and written by my father, Manoucher. Both were in their early 20's, and going to school and Cal Berkeley. My father was a Persian immigrant living at the International House embarking on his adventure to start a new life in America.

Wow, reading through this letter exchange was an overwhelming journey of voyeurism of my parents relationship. They were kids! They were in love! They wrote daily. (Remember in those days phone calls were expensive) Since I could only read my from my father's perspective, at times I had to guess what my Mother wrote to him. Nothing changes. She, like most women, addressed all the "regular' issues and concerns, and he being a normal "guy" and a foreign one, who did not have a consistent father figure at home, wrote all the "normal" guy responses. Awwww some things just don't change.

shortly after these letters started, my father enlisted in the Army. As I was told by him he did so to get a better command of the English language. As a foreigner with English being a second language he did not feel confident to enroll in higher level classes necessary for his degree in Political Science. Apparently my Mother was not too happy about this. The letters were written and sent daily. The dialog continued and obviously the relationship evolved.

I read most of these on the plane trip coming back home to Belgium. I'm sure I was the only one with a 1940's shoebox on her lap, reading through a stack of old "airmail". while perusing through the other contents in this "pandora" box, I came across a few other noteworthy saved writings. Scribbled on one of the calender day entries was "he asked me to marry him"..Reading that made me smile and secondly the letter to both her and my father from HER father titled "Honeymoon" where he gives his blessings and asked my father to always take care of my mother. That one was beautiful. Lastly, One from my Father's mother (translated into English) with a note in Farsi on the other side, welcoming her into the family. Oh, such a time gone by.

Reading these was not only a glimpse of monumental events in my mother's life but a reminder of how fast time elapses. I sat there reading these as I am twice the age now that they were when these events occurred. How can this be? It seems like only yesterday I was 25. I'm sure that never changes. Really this is just another reminder how fast it all goes by and to appreciate the moment, the people and goodness of this fleeting existence. However, no letters will be discovered for me. Just emails and old blog postings. That is however, if these things still exist....

letters

The most beautiful thing about the written word is just that! it is written, it is documented, printed, and saved on a format that can be read once or even a thousand times.

Not much more than 50 years ago, writing was the most common form of contact. People wrote letters routinely. Phone calls were expensive and of course, there were no text messages and no emails. People wrote letters and patiently waited for the postman to deliver the reply.

Last year I blogged about my Mother's death and the love letters my sister discovered while going through her belongings. Letters written to and from my mother and father while they were "courting" in the 1940's. It was heartwarming, eyeopening and definitely surprising to read them and see my parents in another light. They were young, they were just starting their lives, and looking at the future together.. So sweet.

I then blogged there will be no love letters to discover for me, just old blog posts and emails..Well this evening, I found the emails. Somehow in my organized way, I did what My mother did. But instead of placing all the handwritten letters in an old shoe box and tie a beautiful ribbon around it, I made an email folder within my "inbox". Naturally, it is hidden in the menu bar, so even I forgot it existed. So, this evening as I was on my quest to clean out my email box I stumbled across the folder....Ok, they are not long handwritten letters but they are beautiful scribblings of love and romance written in broken English with lots of heart. The first written in June 2009 a few days after we met. The last one a week before I moved here...

It may sound trite, but I am so thankful for these emails. It justifies it was not a dream and solidifies what I want to remember. You have no idea what is like see your new dream shatter in just a few minutes. It certainly makes you appreciative of the little things.

I was lucky to have a true 'old fashioned' love story...In some ways, I was very very lucky and in others well, let's just hope the luck changes.