Ooof…It’s been a rough couple years. The holidays weren’t for me this year. I just couldn’t get myself interested in sleepwalking through our family traditions. Gift giving, decorating, “cheering” with cocktails…it just didn’t feel right. Friends and family were understanding and so this Christmas, we ran away and “hid”.

No eggnog, no tree, no presents. No Christmas carols, no Christmas card. No ho-ho-ho. At times, it felt a bit “Scrooge-ish”, but I think Tiny Tim would understand.

So here we are…almost through the “holidays” and at the beginning of a new year. Of course, that brings me to looking forward. I admit that last year…I assumed we were through the worst of it. I mean, suffering the tragic loss of our son. 2025 had to be better…right? I don’t remember doing a lot of pre-reflection about 2025. I didn’t set goals or “intentions”. I don’t think I spent a lot of time musing about how I could approach the new year with “self-improvement” in mind. I watched Anderson and Andy and at 9:05 I went to bed thinking…okay. Time to move on. On New Year’s Day, I watched the parade and ate the snacks while watching all the football games. January 2, 2025 – just another day with a new number in the ones place. (Fellow first grade teachers will understand.)

I’m not going to review 2025. Though this did resonate with me…(sorry – I don’t have the credit.)

Obviously, there were great moments and events. And also, there were some serious lows. I will say that in these last weeks, I have been reflecting about life as it is today. And I mean…today. Not last year, not last decade, not yesterday, not tomorrow. Today. Life events have definitely impacted my reflections…I’m learning a lot about the effect of grief on a person. On me. I admit, a lot of my resources are from social media. There are some great blogs, videos, posts, podcasts…that are helping me navigate through my losses. I’m learning that there is no past tense for grief. Only the progressive tense – I am grieving. It will always sit with me…in my heart. In my soul. There is no “grief” in the past. It will always be my “present”.

Yesterday I ran across a post that really resonated with me. In a nutshell, it explained that with each loss of your “person”, the griever becomes a new person because you literally aren’t the same person you were when you had your person in your life. The griever changes…becomes a different person with each loss. Wow. That perfectly describes where I am sitting today…trying to figure out who I am in this new configuration of life.

Which brings me to the annual “new year” resolutions, intentions, reformations…I’ve never been much of a goal-setter or a resolution-writer, but this year feels a bit different. Can I use this opportunity to re-think/re-imagine how I walk through this life as a new entity? I’m not a wife. My “partner for life” is not going to be on the couch watching The Rose Bowl with me – screaming “Roll Tide”! I can’t say I’m not Niels’s mom and yet, he’s not here for New Year’s Day snacks, helping me in the kitchen. I’m not the same person without Glen and without Niels. (Did you know that when your husband dies, you’re a widow, when your parents die, your an orphan, when you have a child, you’re a mom, but when your child dies…we don’t have a word in the English language for that new role…and yet it’s one of the most profound roles a parent can experience.)

So I started the new year with a Danish tradition that I ran across yesterday. (Glen’s mom was 100% Danish so this feels right.) The Danes ring in the New Year by smashing crockery (dishes) on the doorsteps of friends and neighbors. They collect old dishes throughout the year and then they go smashing their way around their community. It’s the Danish version of caroling through the neighborhood! In the morning, you wake up and open your front door to see the shards. The larger the pile on your doorstep, the more loved and appreciated you feel. You can consider yourself blessed, shielded from evil spirits and filled with good luck for the coming year! I love this!

So yesterday, I went out in the rain and ran to the nearest thrift store to purchase some crockery. Don’t worry…I didn’t drive around the neighborhood terrorizing my friends with the sound of crashing plates at their front door, but at 9:05, after watching Anderson and Andy, I DID smash some at my own front door. The mere act of throwing the “crockery” to the ground and hearing the sound of them shattering was weirdly cathartic and rewarding. As I tossed each dish to the ground, I thought about Glen and Niels…about my grief and about my love. I thought about moving through life in 2026 in a new way. The crashing dishes gave me a strange sense of closure for the things that happened that “shaped me”. I also had a feeling of relief and openness to 2026.

So 2024-25 – you can suck rocks. Good bye “evil spirits” and bad juju.

2026 – Look out for the evolving me! Not broken. Just “becoming”. (With a nod to Michelle Obama for the turn of a word.)

My “second mother” said three simple words to me. She said that they were the hardest words to understand – to absorb – to live…

LIFE GOES ON…

And as we close out 2025, a year I’d like to forget, I find myself reflecting on the truth of those words.

My sister, Chris and I were just talking about Y2K…26 years ago. How? My kids were in elementary school. We had everything to look forward to – hope was in the air. Our futures were bright. Life was good.

I always thought that i was the lucky one. That tragedy and sadness had skipped me. That I had led a “blessed” life – no thanks to anything I did…just lucky, I guessed. And then…when I started looking back on my life, I realized that there had been some serious rough patches…to say the least.

Eight years after Y2K, Glen was fighting for his life with a stage 4 cancer diagnosis and the 2008 financial crisis nearly did us in. After those devastating years, life slowly smoothed out with the usual bumps in the road as our kids made their way in the world…what I call the crooked path to adulthood. But life went on rather smoothly. We were grateful.

Until the mid twothousandteens…when my sister, Karen died in a tragic car accident.

And then one by one, our parents began to experience the effects of their age. First, Dad with the cruelty of Alzheimer’s and then each in their own way, each parent left this earth.

At this point, Glen and I began to look toward retirement and a life of travel. It’s also when Glen began to suffer from side effects caused by his cancer treatment that had saved his life. We had been warned that down the line there could be some negative effects, but wasn’t that for “other” people? Wasn’t he the “lucky” one who would be spared?

It was at this time that I retired and we started “living” in other cities – wanting to experience different places and cultures. We were racing to beat the age clock and experience life in ways that we had imagined and dreamed about through all of our hard-working years. We had already spent summers in Montana while we both worked, but when I retired and Glen could “work anywhere”, we went to Brooklyn for three months followed by three months in New Orleans…with more long term trips planned. In fact, we were in France when those treatment side effects began to take a serious toll on Glen’s health and our European adventure was cut short. .The clock was not being kind.

As Mrs. P said…life goes on…in ways that we don’t expect. As much as we think we control our lives…it’s not true. And as so many have said…it’s not what happens TO you…it’s how you react to IT.

I’ve had plenty of opportunity to react in the last year and a half. First the shock of Niels’s sudden, unexpected death, then the slow decline my mom took until her death in January and finally…Glen.

What a battle he waged. And yet…for at least three years (really more like five), he endured many new diagnoses and pains – so many disappointments as he figured out how he could best live his life. I’m in awe of how he found ways to find joy, to learn, to grow and to live his life in his ever-shrinking world. He read, he watched shows, he followed his footie passion – Liverpool. He didn’t complain or expect those around him to live their lives any differently. He knew…life goes on…So we found ways to carry on…to modify and adjust…to live differently…to have different expectations…

And through all of Glen’s suffering…life did go on. Until it didn’t. Until he looked at me with the clearest eyes and said…”I’m ready.” Until he knew that there was no “getting better”. There was no “soon we’ll go to…” There was no…just one more treatment, one more medication, one more appointment…one more doctor…There was only…his pain and his shrinking world.

And here we are…life has gone on…Seasons have changed. Birthdays came and went. Holidays were celebrated. The year on the calendar will be changing soon.

I’m changing, too. I’m reacting to what has happened “to me” in the best way I can…I’m making mistakes. I’m learning to ask for help. I’m trying to create new habits….new ways of seeing things…new traditions…new ways of being…and…

And…?

I no longer am experiencing a sense of living a life of “luck”. I have an intense understanding that tragedy is just around every corner. It may be a slow-walking tragedy or a shocking, earth shattering step-off-a-cliff tragedy. But tragedy awaits. How will I react?

LIFE GOES ON…

Love leaves – yet never leaves…

I think of leaves, of the leaves of fall –

the golden, ruby leaves of fall –

That float away –

Only to be loved by another.

Another life.

Another form.

And then the stark, gloomy winter colors my sky…

all my days…

until…

until the greens arrive and struggle to show their color.

To show their strength –

their survival through the darkness of winter.

The greens, pinks, yellows and orange come for me shouting –

We’re here! We never left!

We were always here.

Deep in your soul.

All the colors.

All the leaves.

All the love.

We are here.

I read the devastating headlines of the day and I feel angry and numb. Then I listen to Bruce sing “The Land of Hope and Dreams” and I cry.

I cry for the dreams that were lost the day Niels died. I cry for the daughter-in-law I’d never have to cook with and laugh with, for the grandchildren I’d never hold, for the pride and joy I’d never feel when Niels became partner in his CPA firm of choice. I cry for the moments I’d look over at him and know that he understood my emotions, that he was supporting me and cheering for me. The moments when he’d say “Mom, I’ve got you.” I cry because I won’t hear his belly laugh, see his smile, feel his bear hug.

I cry. Still I cry.

And I cry for the dreams that were lost the day Glen died. Really, those dreams were slowly and painfully fading over the years as one-by-one we took those dreams off our list. I cry for the months that we will never live together in Rome or Portugal or Hanoi, for the perfect cup of espresso we’d never search for and enjoy together. I cry for the concerts we won’t hear and the plays we won’t see. I cry for that twinkle in his eye that he’d get when we were plotting our future travels. I cry because I already miss his wisdom and just-right question when I’m trying to figure out what to do. I cry for the conversations we won’t have about our future; our golden years. And I even cry for the arguments I’ll miss…yes even the arguments.

I cry. Still I cry.

Because really, all of it is a loss. A loss of “hope and dreams”. And per usual, Bruce nails it.

And yet, I know that hope and dreams cannot be lost. Sidelined for a bit? Revised? Transformed? Modified? Maybe. But always…there must be hope and dreams…it’s what keeps me looking forward, moving forward…

I’ll find my way on “this train”, the train of hopes and dreams…

Thanks, Bruce. You’re still The Boss.

Death is personal. No two experiences are the same. Duh.

It has occurred to me that in a very short period of time we have had two very different experiences with dying – the long journey and the shocking event. One is not better than the other. They both end with the same result and they are completely different experiences for the loved ones who are left to grieve and live with a shattered heart.

Niels’s death was announced when the police officers rang our doorbell at 9:06 pm on a Tuesday night. When the female officer asked if I was Niels Thomas’s mom. When I answered “yes” staring at her with the unspoken question in my eyes and she simply…nodded, “yes”. 9:06 pm.

That is the kind of arrival of “death news” that drops you to the floor. Literally. It leaves you gasping for air. Shaking your head. Screaming “no”. And then over time…time that seems to stop, the realization of the passing sets in…slowly, swiftly…all mixed up in a surreal non-reality that turns out to be your new permanent reality. And yet, this CANNOT be real.

And then there’s the long journey to death…years of struggle, suffering, pain AND the ability to make choices about how you live. And how you die. Glen had cancer in 2008. I’ve always said that they had to “kill” him to save him because the treatment was brutal. Many times, I know he considered giving in to death. After his long and slow recovery, he often said that he hoped for 10 good years. Lucky him. But now, he has said…enough. Enough pain and suffering. Enough fighting. He gets to choose…

So I’m sitting here with Glen in the quiet of the morning light, I pretend that the “chirping” of the oxygen machine is the birds outside the window. I can see hummingbirds. (I know they don’t chirp, but let a girl have her story…) He’s calm, resting well thanks to the nurses who meet his every physical need.

I’m here contemplating life…and death. A long life well-lived and a life cut too short and yet also so well-lived. Both so well loved.

And then I got a text that said that “Niels is already with Glen. He is with you all.”

And my heart swelled and broke simultaneously. I have felt Niels’s presence here as Glen slowly leaves. I hadn’t been able to put my finger on my strange sense of peace, but that’s it. “We are four” again, if only for a few hours or days. WE ARE FOUR.

And..

We’ve established that life is full of twists and turns. – throughout our lives we experience so many unpredictable events – joys and sorrows, curiosities and questions, fun times, dreamy times, scary times.

And then…there are those events that you maybe were expecting, but the unpredictability is in the timing. Not the “if” it’s going to happen, but the “when”.

Like…you always knew you’d go to college, but would it take you 4 years, 9 years, or maybe you actually changed your mind and skipped it all together? And then you figured that someday you’d get married, but would you still be in your party years, your college years, your career years, your later years…or maybe never after all? And kids? Sure? Maybe? Yes, absolutely! Or no thank you, I have a dog.

And then a friend once asked me…why do I think about life in that order? Remember. It’s full of twists and turns. Be ready…Maybe it’s kids then marriage, then college? Maybe it’s career, another career, and another career, skipping all the other “steps”? Life is unpredictable.

And of course, we all know that we will have an end. An expiration date. A “use by…” date. As Mrs. Bruce, my Home Ec teacher at Clark Junior High used to say…Only two things in life are certain…You will pay taxes and die. (Of all the things I must have learned in junior high, why is that the only thing I remember?)

So in the meantime, from the time that we are old enough to understand the unpredictability of life and we learn the skills to just go with it, to manage it, and flourish through it all…I’m thinking about how we actually spend our lives – the days, years, decades…or maybe better said…how do we experience the unpredictability of our lives?

I was chatting with Dr. Trudy, a wise doctor, the other day and we talked about life and death and our paths through life to death. We agreed that there will always be hard times, unbearable times and the “easy” times will often feel like a fleeting moment in time; often viewed through rose-colored glasses in our memories. And she said, “We can hold hope and worry at the same time”. Huh? Hope and worry?

As we talked, it occurred to me…it is a truism that how we experience this unpredictable life really depends on how we approach it – what we do with it, how we think about life and how we share our life experiences with others – specifically how we build relationships and share our emotions with others in times of hope and worry.

And how we might carry them together. Hope and worry – they seem so separate?

That phrase that Dr. Trudy shared with me has really stuck with me and it reminds me of something Glen used to say all the time…”It’s a paradox” meaning that two disparate things can be true at the same time. It used to irk me so much every time he said it…I always heard, “blah-blah, blah-blah, blah-blah…”

So when Dr. Trudy said…We can hold “hope and worry” at the same time…I had a lightbulb moment…Glen was right…again, darn it.

In this moment – at every moment…life can be scary and also filled with gratitude and hope. Lately, I’ve found hope in every conversation I have with friends and family – with every offer of support and encouragement. And with the hugs felt from everyone near and far. Hope.

And I worry. Glen’s health is tenuous, at best. There is a certain predictability that we are facing…together. And as I sit with my worry, I hold it in one hand and I squeeze it, seeking answers …At the same time, I am also holding hope in the other hand. And I squeeze it, too. i squeeze HARD. Hope.

Life is a paradox.

Happy birthday, Niels. Life’s just not the same without you here with me. And I celebrate your life…every day…keeping you as close as I can.

My maternal grandmother was born in Minnesota near where Laura Ingalls Wilder began her story in Little House in the Big Woods. Mimi, as we called her, grew up in Des Moines, Iowa – I’m not sure when she moved there, but I’ve found records of her Minnesota family continuing to make crop payments to the Iowa family from the farm in Janesville, MN.

The story goes that Ferne (Mimi to us), moved to Los Angeles to get away from a jilted pursuer, but when he followed her to LA, she agreed to marry him so as not to look like a hussy living as a single woman in LA.

The marriage was not successful, though two daughters were the outcome. Mimi and her husband, a devout Irish Catholic, were divorced…during the Depression.

Without airing too much family dirty laundry…suffice it to say that the Catholic husband could not come to grips with the divorce and spent his weekend visits with the daughters begging them to save him from spending eternity in Hell because of his divorce from their mother. Suffice it to say, the daughters did not look forward to their “adventures with Dad”.

That’s the background to the rest of the story I’d like to tell today. Though Mimi conformed to the societal norm of marrying the man who proposed to her, she was otherwise an independent and determined woman. As a divorcé and the mother of two daughters, she took an office job in downtown LA with the County of Los Angeles. I recently found her application for the job. She did not graduate from high school and she had little to no prior employment history, but she got the job and she stayed with the County for her entire career.

Mimi and the girls lived in Watts, but she was determined to give them a secure life and she scrimped and saved until she could purchase a lot in Glendale on which she would build a house. As a single woman in the 30’s, she needed to have a male partner on the project and her brother complied. Likely, she also needed him to supplement her finances. I’ve found documents indicating she paid him back for a loan and she eventually owned the property and home outright.

So in 1939, Mimi purchased a lot, had plans designed, and built a 2 bedroom, one bath home with a garage at the back. It was on a suburban street in a developing neighborhood in Glendale. She planted an avocado tree in the back and a lawn in the front. My mom was 13 and my aunt was 11 at the time.

In the mid 1960’s as she was preparing to retire and travel the world, she decided to sell the house and move to a condo where she would have less maintenance to worry about while she was away. And that was that.

My sisters, cousins and I have memories of cold lemonade on the back porch and I also have a great photo of Mimi with her siblings on the same porch. I recently found a photo of Ferne and her “lady friends” in her living room. Likely they were work friends enjoying a celebration or lunch together.

And here we are in 2025, some 60 years after the house was sold. As we prepared for a celebration of my mom and dad’s lives, I found myself drawn to memories from my childhood and that brought me to wondering about Mimi’s house. So I google-mapped my grandma’s house and saw that it looked much the same today as it did in my memories. I wondered how it had changed and about the current inhabitants.

Since I am my father’s daughter, I decided that I wanted to visit the house and see it with my own eyes; sort of a pilgrimage, if you will. I bought a card and wrote a note to the current resident/owner. I explained who I was and why I was writing. I shared a couple memories and added the photos of cousins on the porch, Ferne and her siblings on the porch and Ferne and her lady friends in the living room. I included my email address on the off chance that the receiver might want to contact me. I bought a small plant and off I went to see the house for myself.

When I arrived, it was just as I remembered except for the color – it is now a beautiful bright and happy yellow instead of white. There were new plants down the center walkway to the front door and more plants at the sidewalk. Other than that…from the front yard – it was the same home; it was a beautiful sight to behold! I walked up to the front door, dropped the bag with card, photos and plant, took a couple photos on my way out and as I went back to my car, I felt a sense of comfort and closure. It was a full circle moment.

But that’s not where the story ends. The next day, as I was seated with family at my parent’s celebration, enjoying a plate of lunch, I checked my email. You know what I found – an email from the current homeowner. I read it aloud to my family, with a big catch in my voice. I could not have anticipated his response. And rather than “translate it”, I’ll just share it here:

Hi joyce, I was deeply moved by your letter. I have heard good stories from the grandson of the person who I believe bought this property from you, I moved here in 2009 . I’ve always wanted to move in to a modern house, but when I saw this one in 2009, I was immediately drawn to it for some reason. This wasn’t even for sale. When I walked in, I got the weirdest feeling . Till now, I cannot forget it. The moment I walked in the door. I  felt as if I went home, as if I used to live here before., so I really pushed hard to get it even though it was quite expensive at that time. I have made a lot of changes in the house. Thank you for reaching out and for sharing your memories and pictures. I love this house.

So Mimi, your well-loved home is safe. It’s in loving hands and it’s appreciated. For over 80 years, your home has been a part of many lives though only three owners, which seems a bit unusual in today’s times. Your little house has been witness to countless celebrations, sorrows, and joys. And its journey is not done…

I am content to know that it will continue to be a place of comfort – a home for its inhabitants.

Thank you Little House Not in the Big Woods.

You are a keeper.