"How Am I Holding Up?"

Some parts are good, 

Some parts are possible.

And some parts are obscene in their casual cruelty.

But they are only parts

And I keep swimming until the waves quiet.

Grief

This is not a light-hearted posted, It is something I wrote early in the morning after a terrible loss. It probably does not "fit" here, but it happened. And I have to do something with it. So I put it here.

I will tell you what I am learning about grief --- it is so closely entwined with love that sometimes I cannot tell them apart. I cannot tell whether my heart is broken by love, or by loss; sometimes I think it must have been smashed to pieces because its former familiar shape was too small to hold the love that fills it now.

When the unthinkable happens--- when I am changed in that horrible moment from who I was into who I now must be, when by circumstance I am remade into the Angel of Death and I must then destroy over and over again, with each phone call, the carefully constructed normal lives of those I hold most dear. It is as if the one I love lived in a million different hearts and with call after call I end him all over again. I try to imagine ways to not tell my awful truth—I imagine there are some hearts that I can perhaps NOT tell, that he will live in those worlds intact and all will be safe and “the same as it was, Before.” But I know this is not true and so I make another call and the world ends, all over again. And it is now After for them too. I am the Angel of Death and it is a terrible thing to be.

Grief is a terrible thing, when it cracks me open and I am full of broken places and sharp edges and I am made suddenly immune to heat or cold, or hunger or sleep. And yet in that awful place of finality, in that place of no second chances, no do-overs, no one more I love you, no last good bye---in that dark place there is still a light.

It comes to me in the tears of others; when I am passed, literally from one hug to another, each one gathering up some of what is broken and piecing me back together again. When I read the words that others have written, when their hearts spill over with stories and memories and we laugh, oh God somehow we laugh and it is a true thing, it is a life raft in this flood of tears...and somehow, in this manner the hours pass, the days pass and the impossible thing to do is somehow made possible by love.

There have been calls and cards and casseroles, cookies and baskets of candy; texts and photos and memories shared. There are the acts of love, the gifts of service, the dear ones who come and find a million ways to take care of us and I am overwhelmed and humbled by the sheer goodness of people.

On that first of Most Terrible Days there was a time late in the evening when our home was full of people, when the sofas were full of boys and friends, and there was football on the television, and there was food --so much food! In that most terrible of terrible days, there was love and I thought in that moment how much Shane would have loved –did love—DOES love-- this. That this was exactly what was supposed to happen, now. That is how light is brought into a dark place, by people who have come to love on us—people who walk willingly into the dark place with us, who hold our hand, and begin to lead us out again.

I know that grief is not simple—that it is not only ONE BIG THING that overwhelms, I know that it will be a million little things that will cracks us wide open all over again, time after time. I know that we have a long journey ahead and there is probably a lot left to learn about this process. But in the dark, there is light, and I can see it.

Shane Sume 

June 29, 196Something--January 4, 2015

The Secret

Turning the Nearly Perfect Tree into the Best Christmas Tree Ever.

I am allowed three hundred words to tell you how turn turn the slightly flawed tree you are stuck with into to the prettiest tree you've ever seen, but I won't need nearly that many. I can sum it up in a simple phrase: lights, LOTS and LOTS of lights.

Most Christmas tree gurus will advise 100 lights per ft. Amateurs, I scoff, 200 lights per foot, minimum. You want that Oh Tannenbaum visible from space, trust me on this. If people have to squint at your Christmas tree to keep from being blinded by it's glow there is NO WAY they will be able to detect any imperfections in tree's trunk, branches or bare spots, or short comings in your decorating abilities.

Sume Tree 2004

Of course it goes without saying that you will want to follow all safety guild lines limiting the number of strands of lights you plug into each other and I recommend using a power strip with a surge protector. Last year I added a green extension cord with multiple outlets studded along the length of it to my decorating arsenal, running it vertically along the tree's trunk. Now I no longer arrive at the end of a light strand, miles away from the outlet and thinking un-Christmas like thoughts-- the outlet is right there on the tree.

Once you have the lights on you can decorate the tree to your heart's content. If you are planning on putting on a bunch of decorations--as I am fond of doing--be sure to apply liberal coats of SPF 15 to any exposed skin. We wouldn't want any skin damage to occur from long exposure to all that holiday lighting.

One last helpful tip for those of you who are fond of hanging a ton of what Shane festively refers to as "Christmas Crap" on the front of your tree and cramming the backside of the tree up against a wall. This will cause your tree to become susceptible to the whims of gravity. I highly recommend using fishing line to anchor the tree to the wall. That way you won't have to always refer to "The Christmas Tree Disaster of '09"...

Christmas Traditions

Sume Christmas Tree 2015

I have been thinking lately about traditions our family has, those that make Christmas CHRISTMAS. We can hunt down a tree in under 10 minutes, hang enough lights on it that you can tan yourself in its lovely glow. We prefer putting up the outside lights on the house on the coldest day of the season—probably because the hot coco we guzzle afterwards tastes all the sweeter.

My dad’s Christmas legacy is that we open the majority of our Christmas gifts on Christmas Eve. My dad loved Christmas and by Christmas Eve he was so over the anticipation part and ready to commence with the great ripping of paper and the ohhing and ahhing over presents.

My mom’s tradition of Santa putting an orange in the toe of our stockings continues, even if “Santa” has now switched to mini “Cuties”—Clementines instead. And I’m pretty sure my sister has continued her traditional stealth attack of early unwrapping and then re-wrapping of gifts with her name on them. “Do Not Open Until Christmas” is just so much white noise to her. Anyway, that’s the excuse I use if my wrapping job ever looks askew.

When my kids were small I thought it would be fun to start a tradition called “The 12 Treats of Christmas” wherein, over the course of the entire month of December, I bake or make a dozen different type of holiday goodies. It seemed like a good idea at the time—31 days, 12 treats...divide by...carry the one...ANYWAY—it seemed do-able. But, as with most things in life, putting it in to practice was another matter entirely. As December draws to a close I often find myself postulating that stirring hot water in to coco THAT I BROUGHT TO A BOIL constitutes treat #8.

This Christmas I wish you and those you love a season full of traditions, new or old. Merry Christmas!