Heading West

I write this as I am seated in row 43 on a westbound 757 en route to Portland, Oregon. Not much of a seat for a grand but it’s what you get when you have to go-- and go now.

“Heading west” is an old expression for those who have departed. And so it is that I am presently headed compass west, to gather with my family and pay respects to my dear sister Lois who passed away earlier this week.

Lois was my oldest sibling in the family of eight children in which I am the youngest. She was a generation removed from me, old enough to be my mother; she was out of the home and a teacher on her own by the time I tumbled onto the scene. In fact, she has always remained quite a bit removed from me. We took great joy in one another but we had a bridge between us that always stood in place. For me, as with several of my older siblings, she was a living testament to a past I never knew, the upbringing I never endured, the relationship to young parents I never knew. If I wanted a glimpse at what life might have been like had I been born in 1936, to young first-time parents married just 2 years, I needed to look no further than my big sister Lois.

There are lessons to be learned from a much older sibling, lessons in how to, or how not to, live life. Lessons easily ignored but never too late to revisit, to relearn. Lois was among the fortunate to have lived a life filled with friends and family, several of whom were able to sit with her as she slowly set off for the west. And a loving husband who stood by her literally to the very end.

So much life. So much joy. So much pleasure taken in being a participant rather than an observer. All good lessons. The very best. So much to teach me and those around her. Life lessons—in living and in dying.

I should be so lucky-- and so wise-- as to now take time, look within, and learn those lessons she so generously demonstrated.

Farewell dear sister.

Time and Change

Looking out my window at the early morning light it’s all about time and change: The light is bright yet altered by just a shade or two. We’ve tilted a bit. Lower, warmer.

It’s forecast to be in the 80’s today with a thunderstorm or two. Still 21 days left of summer, officially at least, but fall is definitely knocking at the door. The birds know it: they’re starting to flock up, discussing their flight plans. The squirrels know it: talking with their mouths full, scurrying about, diggings holes in lawns, acorns bulging their cheeks all out of proportion. The trees are starting to get the idea as well: perfectly airbrushed highlights in just the slightest, most subtle accents of yellow, just a touch of orange.

It’s really the most beautiful time of year and, at the same time, one of the most thought provoking. It’s all about change, the march of time, another year slipped between my fingers. There’s lots of time left, really, And yet, as the breeze blows in off the lake and massages free the first of the colored leaves from the trees along the street below, it’s undeniable: In these parts at least, all too soon we’ll be shutting down, bundling up, preparing to slow the pace and stay warm—the lucky ones will follow the birds lead and head south.

As for me, I’ll be here watching, working, participating and, in fact, enjoying the fact that I will once again have the incentive to stay inside and CLEAN OUT MY OFFICE!! Now that would be a change.

Drinking It In

Yesterday was one of those delicious summer mornings that begs a person—should he or she be so lucky—to spend an hour blasting along a country road with the top down, hair being blown about, grinning from ear to ear. Fortunately for me, I do have an old convertible and I did need to drive about 30 miles in the course of seeing patients on a Sunday morning. The road wasn't exclusively mine, nor the idea: There was a pretty stout representation of motorcyclists and a few on bicycles as well.

As I drove along I noticed just how perfect a day it was: 72 degrees. Not a cloud in the sky, low humidity, the roadway flanked by fields of corn, 6 feet high, a brilliant green. But every now and then there was a tree, a beautiful green leafed tree in full foliage, giving me a sign. It’s a blush really, just the top of the t-shirt showing from under a dress shirt, but it was undeniable: The leaves on a few of these trees were visibly hinting at a change. A gold cast to the green, a little edging in yellow: the message was clear, it’s getting to be that time. A bit premature on an early August morning but, as we all know too well, nature doesn’t always heed the calendar.

By late afternoon this beautiful day had turned to a hot hazy affair—one of those “lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer.” What had started as a cool and brilliant Sunday morning was finishing out a bit more in command of the season and, again, the trees reflected the time of year with a peculiar golden glow, leaves reflecting the lower angle of the sun. The message was being broadcast a little more clear to any who bothered to pay attention: We're winding down here. It won't be summer forever, Drink it in.

Nature has its way. And in this experience the message was clear: Our days are grand and life is full. And with that, the advice to drink it all in. Everyday moves a person a little further along that road, that calendar, that life. It can be such a gorgeous journey but one needs to pay attention—open arms, open eyes, alert and welcoming. In short: Drive fast, smile big, and keep the top down for as long as nature will allow.

First Day of School

First Day in OR

Remember all those "first day" photos? First day of Kindergarten. First Grade. The ritual kind of peters out after first grade, it seems. It falls to graduation photos-- daycare, kindergarten, high school, college. Last night I wish I'd had the camera at the ready: I went to dinner with my daughter last night because today is her first day of medical school. I won't be there to see her off, to pack her lunch, to give her a hug, a kiss, and a "good luck" wish as she leaves.

It amazes me to think of the ground she's traveled and where she's at today. I started that journey 34 years ago and it's passed in the blink of an eye.  When I look back at the road she's travelled, I realize she has done well. It's me, it's her mom, but mostly, it's her.

Before leaving her last night, I told both Kels and her roommate: pay attention. This is a privilege, an honor, an opportunity most will never have-- and the responsibility that comes with it is even greater. As with every other instruction you give your child-- look both ways before crossing, always fasten their seatbelt, wear a helmet, listen well, moderation-- one can only hope they hear you and remember your words, taking them to heart and understanding your meaning. That said, I wished her good luck and gave her a kiss and a hug goodbye.

My daughter, the doctor.

Life's Ups. And Ups, and ups, and ups

It seems my son may have an engineering bent. He loves building things that go: things that roll, and float, and fly.  This weekend he spent painstaking time assembling an lightweight Styrofoam airplane that he had received from a classmate for his birthday. A gift from a Chinese boy and made in China, it featured a battery powered motor and Ev was beside himself waiting for a first flight.

Walking down the sidewalks of Chicago to the school with the big open field, he literally skipped along, holding his big plane up. People would comment: “Wow, nice plane!”  “Thanks! I built it myself! It has an electric motor.” His joy and excitement and pride were obvious and uncontainable.

First attempt at flight the plane went down into the grass within just a few feet. Anxious to demonstrate proper technique, I retrieved the plane, started the motor, and gave it a firm thrust into the breeze. Wow!! The plane took off like rocket. It circled back and then climbed. Circled back a little less and climbed some more. Did I mention there was a slight breeze? It circled and climbed some more. This was great! And then I started to realize the plane was getting pretty high, going pretty far, nearing the fenced boundary of our big field. I really began to feel an urgent awareness of the fact that this battery powered Styrofoam airplane that appeared to have every intention of leaving the perimeter, climbing over a road filled with traffic, and heading toward power lines, had absolutely no means of control.

Poor Evan. What had first been a laughingly exciting first flight was rapidly turning into a nightmare: a nightmare filled with the potential for property damage and personal injury as well as loss of an extremely well-loved electric motor powered airplane. "It's from China! I can never replace it!"

The good news: The plane continued to climb. It cleared the power lines and did not drop from 50 feet onto the hood of someone’s nice vehicle. No pedestrians were injured. At least not to our knowledge.

The bad news: There was an explosion of tears and sadness as the plane cleared the roof of the school about 200 yards away across the street and disappeared from sight. A search of the perimeter found no remains of the Falcon or any evidence of accident or injury.

Poor Ev: He choked over tears and sobs to ask, "Dad! Why are you laughing?!!"

Mother's Day

I noticed a lot of Facebook profile photos going to mother-daughter shots today. Looking back through a long catalog of photographs, I was unable to find any of just my Mom and me. I have to say, I’m not too surprised. I didn’t have that kind of mom. My Mom was a worker bee. She wasn’t about telling me she loved me, throwing an arm around my shoulder and grabbing a quick snapshot. She loved me, but not like that, as the saying goes.

My Mom was about the business of childrearing and running a household: Three meals a day, laundry, ensuring her kids didn’t swear or deteriorate into civil disobedient deviates or otherwise embarrass our family or the larger family of man. She felt an obligation to ensure her kids knew the difference between “knew” and “new,” “seen” and “saw,” the use of “I” and “me,” on which side of the plate the fork was placed, the proper use of a soup spoon, the definition of appropriate dress, and the importance of a clean face, combed hair, and well brushed teeth. If you had an interested in learning to bake or cook, she could accommodate that as well.

Unconditional love was not in vogue in her era. Children were to be seen and not heard. Children were born to assist, not to be assisted, entertained, coddled, or excessively adored. There was work to be done, a future to be lived; in short, there was both a timetable and an agenda.

Within that construct there was approval and disapproval, and the child’s task was to win and maintain approval. And that didn’t transpire on a soccer field or baseball diamond; it didn’t transpire in karate class or by excelling at any other form of game or recreational activity—and if it didn’t have a concrete measurable productive value and useful application for the immediate needs of the family or applicable to one's future life in the eyes of my Mother, it was just that: recreation. Fine for playtime but only after all other tasks of home, family and education were first complete.

There were plenty of upsides to this upbringing of mine although it did lend itself to a child developing a sense of performance-based esteem as opposed to well-centered and grounded self-esteem. Not that she would have given a wink of concern about such matters. Being born in 1910, my Mother’s perspective was of citizenship and productivity. Her children needed to do well. And to her credit, we have to a large extent. And maybe that is the greatest expression of a mother's love: her legacy in a child who thrives, respects, and embraces life.

All that said, I wish I could post a photo today of my Mom and me. All in all, I think she "done me good."

To the rest of you: Happy Mother’s Day to all those moms out there who work hard, sacrifice, and do everything they believe is right to ensure their little ones survive and thrive. It seems like impossible work but, somehow, and thankfully, more moms get it right than wrong. And for that, we can all be grateful.

Graduation Day

My daughter graduated from the University of Michigan yesterday. It must be a really powerful in institution of higher education and held in the "highest" esteem: It rained in the morning and skies were heavy with a solid overcast of threatening rainclouds throughout the ceremonies, yet not a drop fell.

A lot of people had or will have children graduate from colleges this year. Fortunately, most of those graduates will leave their college experience a little older and a whole lot wiser about who they are, where they're headed, and what constitutes a responsible adult. Most, but not all.

As for me, I've been incredibly fortunate in that my daughter has managed to keep her paddles in the water. Even through a squall or two she has managed to maintain her forward momentum and has now reached the other side of that big pond. She did all the work and, somehow, I feel pretty satisfied with that-- as if it were I that was just now graduating.

In a way, it is we as parents, role models, financers of education large and small, we parents who rightfully feel a deep sense of satisfaction at this milestone. And it's a well deserved sense of satisfaction: I look around every day and I see potential that has been untapped, unappreciated, misappropriated and I feel sad for those who cannot or will not take advantage of their personal intellectual resources.

Like my daughter, I had good fortune on my side: My parents never told me I had to go to college. My parents never told me what career I had to pursue. My parents told me only this: You have an obligation to do your best. You have the great good fortune to be in possession of a healthy body and a capable mind. You have a duty to put them to good use. My daughter has certainly taken that advice to heart. In her short life she has successfully crossed puddles, streams, and now a big pond.

Note to daughter: There is still a large river that lies ahead. If you can successfully navigate its rapids, eddies, and falls you will find yourself sailing confidently and contentedly on the ocean of life.

Congratulations and full speed ahead!