Yellow Skies
Saturday, July 6, 2002 -- 3:36pm
Posted by Bar


It's Saturday afternoon and the air here smells like a fire is burning
somewhere.  Sure enough, way far away in Canada a forest fire is burning out
of control and its smoke is covering the northeast - at least where we are.
The air is a sort of yellow too.  Yuck.  I guess a natural fire is better
than some industrial smog, but still....

I don't feel great.  This whole week has been uncomfortable.  Lots of
emotions are coming up.  My mind is racing around trying to figure out the
universe.  My confidence is shaky in the area of God and purpose and what I
want my life to feel like.  I miss Forrest a lot and I just can't seem to
find a place of understanding this week.  All of the ways that I have
comforted myself so far are no longer working.  If I imagine a hypothetical
choice I might make between some great adventure here on earth and the
possibility of being with Forrest in some other dimension, I feel no
hesitation about the decision I would make.  I do not want to die, so to
speak, but if I were given the choice, I would choose to be with Forrest.

We visited some friends recently one of whom is facing death at this moment.
Peter commented to them that one of the best reasons for not knowing what
happens to us after death is that we might take our own lives more readily
if we knew that by dying we could see our loved ones again.  The desperation
for touching them and talking with them again is so intense that nothing
short of death seems capable of easing the pain.  In my case, I don't feel
suicidal.  I love my life.  I love all that I am feeling and I know that
living is what all of this is about.  At the same time, I understand the
logic of knowing that much would be gained (or forgotten) simply be leaving
planet earth.

Yesterday, Peter and I spent the day working on Forrest's grave marker.  I
think I told you that we found a great boulder to use.  We designed the
lettering etc and headed over to the stone cutters shop in the afternoon.
The task, we thought, would be easy.  We were ready and everyone seemed to
be on the same page about what we wanted to do.  Thankfully, the engraver
was gracious about our choice of boulders and he assured us that we could do
almost everything we wanted to do on the stone we'd picked.  However, he
wanted to do it his way which was not the way we had hoped it would be.
Doing it the way we wanted it done would cost more, and he didn't seem to
want to earn the extra bucks.  It was cordial but we had to be delicate and
so did he.  We were sent home to reconsider our choices and to perhaps come
to see things the way he did.  When I spoke with his daughter for
clarification later in the afternoon, she apologized for her father.  She
said for some reason he just wanted to do things a certain way and that she
would like to help us get it just the way we wanted.  (She also asked us if
Forrest was our pet or something.  I had to laugh.  Even stone cutters don't
run in to infant death that often.  She assumed that a 3 year old was a dog
or a cat, I guess.)  Anyway, once she understood that Forrest was a person,
she realized how important it all was to us and she went out of her way to
get things right.  She actually invited us to the shop this morning (in her
father's absence) and she cut out the smaller-than-he-wanted-to-cut-out
letters herself.  When gravestone cutters create a headstone, they use a
rubber stencil to mark the stone.  They cut the wording for the stone out of
the rubber, and then they glue that rubber stencil to the stone before sand
blasting it.  The blaster basically pulverizes the stone where it has been
exposed through the stencil.  Some of the letters on Forrest's stone (the
dates of his birth and death) were not that important to us and we had hoped
that they could be relatively small.  We picked a small stone and we didn't
want the dates to be as big as Forrest's name.  So, Madeline, darling that
she is, hand cut the rubber stencil so that the proportions would be right.
It looks great - or it will look great - when she sand blasts it later in
the week.  Her kindness was welcomed.  Her father was kind too, but he
wasn't going to do anything special for us or anyone else.  Can't blame him,
but I'm glad we met his daughter.

One of the reasons I had a rough time with the dad yesterday was that in the
course of our conversation, he asked us when we were going to start having
more children.  Under the circumstances, it was not a question that I was
considering at all and it put me over the edge.  I held my tears, but it was
a test of my strength.  There are times when people ask me that question and
the thought brings me considerable joy.  I realize at those times that
having a child is the most wonderful and fulfilling choice I could make.  I
loved being a mommy more than anything in the world.  But right now, and
yesterday in particular, I am so in love with Forrest that I am in no way
thinking about replacing him.  Even though I know that I would love another
child as deeply, I can hardly bear the thought of it.  There are times when
the thought of loving another child is so intensely perfect that I can feel
the joy that it would bring back into my life.  There are other equally
intense moments when I know that I have experienced love so deeply and so
completely that my heart is too full for any more.  Yesterday was one of
those days and the question about other children broke my heart wide open.

Last night we rented "I Am Sam" and that added to the emotion of the day.
Sean Penn is brilliant in that film.  Both Peter and I were a wreck by the
end.  It caused me to wonder what we human beings are thinking about when we
impose our will on others.  How is it that we presume to know what is best
for someone else.

That's a whole other subject and I'm not going there.  I guess you could say
that I wish we could all be kinder to one another the way that Madeline was
kind to us this morning.

The sky is even yellower now. Is that a metaphor for my state of mind?

I hope the sky is blue where you are.

With love,
Bar


PS Two things:

1. Sometimes people seem afraid to talk to me because they think they might
trigger emotions the way that Madeline's dad did yesterday.  My feeling is
that everyone should say whatever they want to me (or anyone else who is
hurting) as long as it is true and thoughtful.  If emotions are brought to
the surface, it's a good thing.

2. Many of you have asked about whether Peter and I are thinking about
having more children.  I have purposely avoided the subject because it is
very loaded for me, and because my feelings change radically day by day.  I
feel as though I should at least say that, like everything else, it is out
of my hands, and, that because I am nearly 44 years old, I am being
realistic about our situation.  Put another way, I wish I were 30 for that
reason alone.  In all other ways, getting older is doing me a world of good.

xoxo,
b

Blue Skies
Saturday, July 13, 2002 -- 3:10pm
Posted by Bar


It's Saturday.  A beautiful summer day.  The wind is blowing and the sky is
blue.  I've actually just hung out the laundry which I love doing.

This past week has been demanding and intense.  Today I am enjoying doing
nothing even as I prepare myself emotionally for a more intense week coming
up.

On Wednesday night Peter and I went up to Albany to go to his woodturning
class.  I had driven past Albany on Monday and thought about stopping at the
hospital to say hello.  The thought, however, was as far as I could go with
that.  Something about re-living our visits there was premature for me on
that day.  However, as we approached Albany Wednesday night, Peter said he
would like to stop at the hospital.  He thought it would be good for both of
us.  So, off we went.

Strange.  Strange.  Strange.  When we pulled in to the garage, the closest
spot to the elevators was exactly the spot we'd parked in when we took
Forrest there for the last time.  We walked across the pedestrian bridge,
went to the clinic, went up to our oncologist's office (she'd just left for
the day) and then up to the pediatric floor where we spent so much time.  We
met Forrest's social worker along the way, and one of the nurses he knew
well and who had come to his memorial service.  They were very glad to see
us and very emotional when we asked them how their day had been.  Someone, a
child with cancer no doubt, was having a tough time and you could see the
pain in their eyes.  These women do this day in and day out and are strong
as can be.  We did not ask the details because we basically already knew
them.

When we got to the floor, the first person we saw was No-no, the housekeeper
whom we had all gotten to love very much.  She held our hands the day
Forrest died and told us later that she too had lost a three year old.  She
hugged us long and hard on Wednesday afternoon.  After Forrest died, she
decided she wasn't going to do hospital work anymore - it was just too much
for her.  So, she and her family were going to Texas to start a new life.
She had told us that before and now she's made a plan and found a place.
The life and excitement in her eyes was intoxicating for me.

I guess the main thing that both Peter and I felt was the strangeness of
being relaxed while we were there.  Such stress before.  Now all of that is
gone.  That's a good thing.

We were also able to thank everyone more personally for caring for us.  The
oncologist that was on duty when Forrest died was there Wednesday and he
gave us enormous hugs.  He was very animated about our presence and that was
nice to feel.  It was nice to have some closure and feel as though we were
really done with that part of our life.

Peter's class was great for me.  It was the first time I'd gone with him and
it gave me an opportunity to experience his passion for wood.  The room was
filled with mostly older men who love wood and who love showing each other
what they have learned in their creative process.  Good stuff.

Then Thursday night we headed down to New York City.  The producers of the
show I am doing this Wednesday, wanted all of us to go down to Ground Zero
to meet the head of the recovery team and see the pit and generally absorb
the scene down there.  12 or so of us gathered at 8pm and were led through
security and down in to the middle of the foundations of the towers.  It was
intense, powerful, holy, enormous, emotional, beautiful and very, very
moving for all of us.  We stayed down there for a couple of hours and heard
the stories of the cops who are still working there.  They were very
forthcoming and cracked wide open with emotion.  Beth Nielsen Chapman and
her family, and Delores Holmes and her family, and Peter and me just
listened to them.  We sang.  We walked around.  We hugged (something that
Lieutenant Keegan has learned the value of in these last 10 months).  We
laughed and cried.  It was incredible and both Peter and I have not stopped
thinking about it since.  They were so grateful that we took the time to
visit them and share some of their pain.

Needless to say, all of this intense emotional stuff has drawn me inward
again.  I have been feeling so much better.  Not as desperate and not as
lonely.  Seeing Ground Zero put my own life in perspective.  And what I mean
by that is that I saw again how much pain life can offer us.  I was forced,
like everyone in the world, to ask why these things happen?  I want to know
what sadness a person could have suffered that would cause such anger and
hatred to erupt in something like that attack on The World Trade Center?  I
feel as though my own grief is far easier to understand and define and move
forward from.

Lt.  Keegan described the spirit of hope and determination that existed
between all of the hundreds and hundreds of workers that worked together on
search and rescue.  I knew that unless one had been there, there was no way
to fully understand the beauty of that comradery.  I told him that because I
had loved Forrest so much and had lived fully with him that I had some sense
of the greatness one can feel even in the face of unbelievable difficulty.
I am quite sure that the men and women who have worked so hard cleaning up
the 16 acres that once were the World Trade Center will forever be connected
in a way that I could only describe as Love.  So much goodness out of so
much sadness and destruction.  For me that goodness is way bigger and more
powerful than any sadness could ever be.

This morning I stopped to see Forrest and a funeral was beginning just as I
got there.  It was small - about 10 people including the funeral director
and the ground's keeper at the cemetery.  I wondered why so few people were
in attendance.  The deceased must have been old with friends already gone,
or else, perhaps, he or she was a nasty person with no friends.  I don't
know.  Probably just longevity in his line.  Anyway, I watched and listened
from a distance.  The small group sang beautifully and it was a great sound
to have as a backdrop for my own visit with Forrest.  At the end of their
prayers, the minister picked up the shovel and each of the attendees threw
in a clump of dirt.  I was proud of their courage.  When I re-thought
Forrest's burial, I was grateful that we'd actually lowered his body into
the ground and dug the dirt which now covers him.  Talk about closure!
There was no question in my mind that Forrest was truly dead.  That exercise
alone was very, very important to my understanding of his death.

Someone recommended that I consider medication to get through my grief and I
had to laugh a little.  I thought about how little that person knows me.  I
recognized for the millionth time that each person who speaks to me with
advice or encouragement is coming from a place of love and good-will.  I
thought about why our culture is so addicted to drugs of so many kinds.  We
are so lucky.  We have so much.  This week, I feel as though in many ways we
have too much.  Our comfort has protected us from the stuff of life.  I'm
not suggesting that suffering is the way life should be - quite the
opposite.  But I know that feeling loss, feeling the love that goes with
loss, feeling ups and downs as aspects of life, both of which must be lived
and loved, is what my life is all about.  I would not go so far as to say
there is never a time when medication is appropriate for some people, but I
would suggest that our culture is taking way too many drugs.  (And I'm
talking about alcohol as well as illegal and over-the-counter drugs).  I
hope this doesn't sound too political or offensive.  I only know what's true
for me.  I just find myself wishing that we were all better educated and
experienced in the business of death.  We all seem so uncomfortable with it.
We all seem to think that we will somehow not feel it if we turn our eyes
away.

Because I have been thinking about all of this, I returned to the scrapbook
for Forrest that so many of you added bits to.  The reason I looked there is
that I was reminded of Peter's cousin Kelly's offering.  She has a daughter
Forrest's age and she had to explain to Isabel why Forrest wasn't here
anymore and why our family was gathering in his honor.  I'll quote her
because she says things just beautifully:



4:30am Monday February 11th, 2002 (two days after Forrest's death)

This has been a process for me
I have a 3 yr old who is asking why a lot
I have had to quickly get in touch with what I believe
I have found I have strong faith, something I didn't know I had
This is what I have found to tell her

Forrest's body has died (cancer, sickness.  She understands the body
doesn't work anymore)

But

Forrest's spirit/soul is still very much alive.
Death is ok
Death is very uncomfortable.

Saturday, the day of Forrest's passing out of this natural world,
I showed Isabel an area on the ground where a tree had fallen many
years ago.  I explained to her how this soil had been the log of a
tree, and showed her the root fibers of living trees growing through
this rich organic matter and showed her the small evergreen seedlings
sprouting up out of this "log".  (I am a gardener and I find I am
always showing and telling her about these cycles of life and death
and how they work together and intertwine and about the order of the
natural world and the beauty of it...)

I told her when she asked "why are we going to the mountains to Pete
and Bar and Forrest's house?", because (and I named everyone in our
extended family) will be there.

"We are here to share our love with each other", was my answer.  To
share the love Forrest brought and remains even after his body

We are here, together, to adjust and cope, and help others adjust and
cope with the uncomfortableness of death

When a baby is born there is an expanding, a filling, a happiness.
When a person dies, there feels an emptiness, a hole in the fabric of
(my) life.

I am here to be with my family, in my adjusting to the
uncomfortableness of Forrest's death

May this be a drop of annodyne to you



*****Kelly's words have given me much comfort since the day she gave them to
us scribbled on a ripped-up brown paper bag.  Her lessons to Isabel in the
woods the day of Forrest's death preceded her knowledge of his death.  I
tell you this because for me, her parenting is excellent.  She has explained
death in a calm and right way, and she has done it at times other than when
death is present.  My sense is that Isabel will always be comfortable with
death and I am moved by her understanding.

Much love to you all,

Bar

Second Thoughts
Saturday, July 13, 2002 -- 3:12pm
Posted by Bar


I can't seem to stop my thoughts or my fingers typing.....

I have been thinking about the obsession we have to describe a person
dealing with cancer as being in some sort of battle.  Journalists and others
are constantly describing how a person "lost their battle with cancer".  The
metaphor makes me nuts (frankly).

What am I supposed to take from that??

Was Forrest a loser?

No.

Am I loser for not having won the so-called battle on his behalf?

No.

This is not a contest.  Life is life.  Death is death.  I can understand why
a person coping with cancer might choose to visualize internal battle scenes
as a way of overcoming their cancer, but when they die (and they will
eventually), they have not lost a thing.

I am reminded of a passage in "Emmanuel's Book" that has given me great
comfort over the last 5 months.  At the risk of sounding somehow morbid, or
perhaps even flip, I will include it.  I feel as though my mission with
regard to cancer is not finding a cure necessarily, but dissipating some of
the fear around it:

When Emmanuel is asked:

"I have been told that there is no illness that cannot be cured.
Trusting this, what can I do to regain my health?"

He answers:

There is an issue of will here.
When one says
"There is nothing that cannot be cured,"
there is an insistence that says,
"on my terms."

Is there truly a cure for all illness?
I would say yes, if you would be wise enough
to consider death a cure

The body knows, in its infinite wisdom,
What is needed for equilibrium.
You are your own diagnostician
and your own doctor, if you will but listen.

Let me tell you
that when the soul is ready to leave the body
you could be walking around
as a strong and healthy athlete
and the heart would stop.
If the soul is not ready to leave
the body will heal itself.

You need to recognize the power
of the liberated consciousness of the human being -
not the will, but the liberated consciousness -
that has the ability to reconstruct and heal
its own body.

****

Thanks for sittin' a spell with me,
Bar

Alive and Well
Tuesday, July 23, 2002 -- 12:30pm
Posted by Bar


Phew!

Last week was exhausting and exhilarating.  I spent all day yesterday going
through mail and getting my life sort of back together.  Now, this morning,
it's time to get back to the business of writing songs and e-mails.  (I
mention the business of writing songs because as I waited for my computer to
turn on this morning, I sat down at the piano and actually began writing the
lyrics to a new song.  It's been a long time and the single line that I
wrote gives me hope that my future includes at least one more song).

I can't decide whether this e-mail is "personal" or "professional".  There's
a very thin line between the two for me.  Steve and I decided to separate my
e-mail list in to two lists when Forrest died because, we figured,
new-comers who sign-up on my e-mail list at a show might be a little
confused about who Forrest is and what's up with all the Forrest stuff when
they get their first e-mail from me.  Truth is, most of you are on both
lists still and there are only about 10 people who are only on the pro list,
so, I'm sending this one to my personal list so that I don't have to write
two.  Does that make sense?

Mostly what I want to tell you about is the show we did at the Beacon on
Wednesday night.  It was:  Fabulous.  Moving.  Powerful.  Musical beyond
words.  Exciting.  Fun as all get-out.  New.  And just plain good to be
involved in.  The theater is big and sort of like what you might imagine an
opera house to look like except grungy due to years of rock 'n' roll wear
'n' tear.  When I got to the stage door, I saw my buddies Dave Cook and
Chris Andersen who had recorded and video-taped our show in Woodstock on
June 8th.  They were hired to record the Beacon show as well, and it was
great to see them.  When I got on stage, I was assigned a guitar tech named
Jimmy who basically took care of me and my guitar all night.  He tuned it,
he changed the batteries in my peripheral gear, he made sure I had water and
whatever else I might need and was generally supposed to make my job as easy
as possible.  WOW!  I liked Jimmy a lot.  He was serious about his job and
he made me feel like a million bucks.  At the end of the show, he told me
how much he liked my music and that meant even more to me.

We did our sound check at 2pm and then ran all of the songs we'd be
performing that night, many of which sounded like they weren't fit for human
consumption.  We all knew, though, that that was a good sign:  good dress
rehearsals often mean disastrous live performances.  Something about not
concentrating when you think you know everything backwards and forwards -
who knows?  When the dress rehearsal is lousy, everyone tends to be more
alert for the real show.

My first shock was that I was going to have to stand, by myself, way out
front on that rather enormous stage - away from Jen and Erica and away from
the band which was far behind me at the back of the stage.  I sort of felt
like Ms America, if you know what I mean, and I wasn't sure if I liked that
feeling, but this was the Beacon and I had to do the rock concert thang and
put myself out front.  What I discovered when we actually ran my songs was
that I kinda liked being out front like that!  It was really kinda like a
dream come true.  I have been going to concerts my whole life wondering if I
would ever have a chance to sing in a big concert hall, and there I was
doing it.  Yeehah!  The coolest thing was that the monitors worked and I
could hear myself really well.  That makes an enormous difference and is
something that I rarely experience.  What it meant was that I could actually
play well because I could tell where I was in the song and I could tell what
I sounded like and adjust my performance to suit the song.  It was a thrill.

The other mind-blower was that there was a big screen across the back of the
stage with my face (or whomever was performing) projected gigantically onto
it.  EEKS!  While I was playing, of course, I couldn't see myself (and
that's a good thing), but it certainly was exciting to see everyone else up
there while they were singing....

Anyway, all I can say is that I wish the whole planet had been in
attendance.  The feeling in the room was wonderful.  The Port Authority
Police, the NYPD, the EMTs, the iron workers and Firemen and their families,
were so grateful for the opportunity to be there.  They were overwhelmed.
They were so glad to see each other and to hear the music and to applaud
themselves and to be applauded.  The producers, Lisa Luckett and Rick Korn,
had done interviews with many of the rescue workers and some of that footage
was shown at the show.  The audience was very responsive to their buddies'
words and to their sweaty faces speaking honestly from Ground Zero about
what their lives had been like.

It's hard to describe an event like that one.  It's one of those
had-to-be-there sort of things.  But today, looking back, I wish I could do
more and more of that sort of feel-good kind of concert.  When Peter and I
were waiting for a cab after the show, Lt Keegan - the man in charge of the
night crew at Ground Zero this last 10 months - saw us waiting and asked if
he could get us a patrol car to take us to our hotel.  He was so moved by
the offering that we had made that he wanted to give something back.  Peter
and I were thrilled.  We jumped into the patrol car with Rudy and Steve, two
Port Authority Police Officers, and then went on a short tour of NYC before
they dropped us at our hotel on 50th and Lexington at about 1am.  Rudy
talked the whole time - answering all of our questions and telling us all
about his experiences on 9-11.  He told us everything he could about the
Port Authority and its history and about how he came to be a police officer.
He was very proud and he opened his heart for us to hear.  What a gift.  I
don't think that kind of gift could have been given by Rudy before September
11th and that's remarkable.

I could go on and on.  Suffice it so say that I had a great time and so did
the audience.

We left NYC the following morning and went to the Allentown area for Peter's
nephew's wedding on Saturday night.  Both Peter and I were suffering
physical and emotional exhaustion so we slept for nearly two days straight
when we got there.  Last week was the 2 year anniversary of Forrest's
diagnosis and our minds and hearts were racing with memories of that very
awful time.  I realized that in those first couple of weeks two years ago,
these e-mails had not yet begun and that many of you don't really know how
all of this began.  I don't have it in me to recount all of that now, but I
assume that one day I will need to.  Of all of our memories, the first week
was by far the most difficult.  Even Forrest's death was easier to cope with
than that first shock of cancer.  It was so sudden and there had been no
indication of its presence.  In retrospect, of course, we can see the clues
we missed, but even those ones were obscure.

Being with Peter's family is always good.  This time was the first big
family event without Forrest and we felt his absence.  All of his
Schoenberger cousins were there and we played with them a lot.  He has a new
cousin named Gavin who I loved holding.  Naturally, Gavin reminded me of the
cycle and wonder of life.  I was touched by the fact that my body
experienced the familiar let-down that women often feel when they have long
since been breastfeeding.  The sensation was bitter-sweet.

This morning I had a great series of moments with a dragonfly.  He was an
unusual color - indigo and silver as opposed to green and bronze.  When I
finished my yoga and was lying on the floor hoping I could eventually get
myself back up, I noticed the dragonfly crunched up against the bookcase
obviously taking his last breaths.  In that moment, I was reminded of two
things:  first, the story of a young Indonesian girl who stayed with a
beached whale through the night as he took HIS last breaths, and second, a
line of the prayer that my yoga teacher recites at the end of every class:
"may you be a healing source for all beings".  I decided to stay with the
dragonfly while he died.

It was magnificent to watch.  After I carried him outside and lay him on the
step away from the sun, he pulled his long tail up to his body and seemed to
want to use his teeny pinchers to ease his aching head.  His wings were
motionless.  He stretched his tail up and then inward maybe 6 or 7 times and
then he lost his strength.  I talked to him a little bit.  I told him that
death was ok.  I told him that he would be taken care of; that he was being
taken care of right then.  His motions were so similar to Forrest's in the
last moments of his life that I was able to say to the dragonfly all of the
things that I had not had the presence of mind to say to Forrest.  It was a
great thing to do.  I felt better.  When he died about 15 minutes later, I
lay down in our hammock and had a peaceful feeling in my heart.  I don't
know why.  I don't think it was silliness.  I don't think it was a waste of
my time.  I felt very grateful.  I lay there feeling like I had been given
much in this life and that I didn't need any more than what I had.  I felt
safe and protected.

It's time to get to work.  I feel as though I have much to do and that
somehow it will all get done if I just slow down and do things when the time
is right.  The heat makes achieving too much almost impossible, but I should
at least make myself ready.

I love you all very much. Be well.

Bar

For those of you who are still waiting to hear about a possible show at
NJPAC this Thursday night, it is not happening....but may someday....I'll
let you know