June 1st
Sunday, June 1, 2003 --  4:24pm
Posted by Bar


Sunday the first of June

It's raining again.  In May there was not one full day of sun.  I
haven't missed it until this afternoon because I have been so busy,
but today I would like to see the sun.  Today I would like the clouds
to lift.

When I sat down to write to you, I wasn't sure if I had anything to
say, I just knew that I needed some company.  The last month has been
so crazy, that I haven't had any moments to feel anything, but today I
am feeling again.  We had friends for dinner last night and towards
the end of the evening, one of the women asked Peter and me how we
were doing.  The tone of her voice suggested that she wanted the long
answer - not the "we're ok" or "some days are better than others"
short answer.  We looked at each other and began to speak and spent a
good 45 minutes or so telling her and the other guests what was true
about our life.  It was a great gift to us for them to listen so well.
What came out was that both Peter and I are still hurting a lot and
that we are more and more private about our hurting.  We still miss
Forrest so deeply that we can hardly see straight.  We think about him
pretty much all of the time.  We experience ourselves as parents
without children.  We see ourselves still as grieving and trying to
find meaning and purpose when our greatest purpose is absent.  We
still feel a gigantic hole despite our greatest efforts to have
children in our lives, service in our intention and love in our
hearts.  We don't feel forgotten, but being remembered does not take
away the pain it just makes it manageable.  We shared some of our
hospital stories with them in more detail than these e-mails or
previous conversations might have provided.  It was very good for us
to share some of the thoughts and emotions that keep us up at night.
All in all we were very thankful to have ears to listen to us.  We
were also grateful when the conversation moved away from us and on to
life as we know it now.

I feel kind of tongue-tied this afternoon, I confess, because I am
reluctant to write about loneliness even when that is what I am
feeling..

...Our buddy Melody came for the night on Friday.  Her mother was
Forrest's music teacher and periodically she comes for an overnight
with us which is tons of fun.  She's 11 years old and is very dear to
both of us.  We went out for dinner, took a walk, went for a 4-wheeler
ride, stayed up too late and slept in too long before taking her to
soccer practice in the morning.  All I can say is that her presence is
a blessing, and when she goes home it is bitter sweet.  The house is
empty again and we realize again how much we miss Forrest.

Now, you're probably still wondering when and if we are going to have
more children or adopt a child or whatever...so, let me fill you in..

The answer is:  who knows?  We would love to have children in our life
and I suspect that some day we will, but we are not quite sure how
that is going to happen and we are once again in the position of
letting the universe design that for us.  I mean, sitting down and
preparing the proper papers to go out into the world and adopt a child
does not feel right to us right now.  Conceiving a child is somewhat
out of our hands at this point (I'm 44, almost 45, and this woman's
body doesn't necessarily want to go through pregnancy at such an
advanced age!)  Both of us are taking a wait-and-see attitude knowing
that we will create whatever we need and want when the time is right.
For all we know that little bambino/a is looking for us right now too
and somehow we're going to find each other if that's what's meant to
be.  I don't like the idea of forcing anything in life and in
particular not something as important as this.  It is important to me
to be in a stable and grounded emotional place before we take on
anything more and we are still not there.  I suspect if a child is
headed our way, we'll be grounded pretty darn fast and begin our new
life with all the gusto that we have mustered in the past.  The whole
idea is very, very moving for Peter and me, and we must have faith, I
think, at this point.

It's funny; I am really struggling with the word `faith'.  It's like
the word `God'.  Everyone has such a different reason for using those
words.  If they are not handled delicately, words like `faith' and
`God' can be very wrongly understood.  For some, `faith' has something
to do with religion.  That is not true for me.  For many, `God' also
has something to do with religion.  That is also not true for me even
as I understand how others may feel that way.

Peter and I were at Sloan-Kettering a few months ago.  Peter was
donating blood and I was hoping to.  I've spent so much time in
England that my blood is not acceptable because of mad cow's disease
(silly, but what can I do?), so I got to talking with oneof the nurses
while I waited for Peter.  Eventually it came out that Forrest had had
cancer and that I knew a little bit about life with cancer, which is
what Sloan-Kettering specializes in.  When I told the nurse that
Forrest's death had taught me about God and that I was grateful for
that gift, she became distant and basically ended the conversation.
My sense was that she didn't want me to go off on some evangelical
tirade about finding God or something so she found something else to
do.  What shedidn't know was that that was not at all where I was
coming from.  I just wanted to let her know that I was ok; that I felt
that there was something bigger going on and that loving Forrest was
the greatest thing I could ever have experienced and that Iwas
grateful to her for her part in taking care of all of us who live with
cancer.  She didn't want any part of my God business.  I was sad for
her and for me and for all of us really, because we don't know how to
talk about God without alienating or offending one another.  We simply
haven't cultivated that skill.  Seems to me that the ability to talk
about God with one another would be a worthwhile thing for all of us
to learn.

So when I use the word `God', I'm referring to the big mystery.  I'm
talking about the energy behind all that is; all that is seen and
unseen; I'm talking about Life and Love and Creativity - those
elements that exist in all of us.  And when I talk about `faith', I
mean believing in something Big.  I believe, indeed I have faith, that
something bigger than us IS going on.  I don't know what it is, but I
have faith in it.  I have faith that all is well.  I have faith that
there is a reason for all things including me, including Forrest and
his death, and even including things like this e-mail.

I feel as though I am not quite making my point, so I'll think some
more on it.  The English language and my ability to use it are
frustrating me today.

I'll leave you with this thought:

Earlier this year I talked about the madness that my over-busy brain
seemed to be leading me into.  I thought that I might lose my mind.
Well, when I really thought about THAT, I realized that losing my mind
would be a good thing.  I mean, wouldn't it be great if I could just
lose it for a little while the same way that I might lose my glasses
or my keys or my sneakers.  Wouldn't it be so quiet?  Wouldn't that be
such a relief?!

Don't worry, though, I'm really not losing my mind..at least, I don't
think so.

Love to you all,
bar

soggy, soggy night
Friday, June 27, 2003 --  1:05am
Posted by Bar


This is the third e-mail I've started this week after a couple of weeks of
needing to write.  My other attempts were so unsatisfying to me and so
unsuccessful in their efforts to communicate, that I didn't send them.  The
emotions that are coming up now are new and harder to put my finger on.

Fortunately good things are happening too.  A few weeks ago, Howard Shore,
who composed all of the music for The Lord of the Rings, hired me to sing a
demo of a song he's written for Annie Lennox to sing in the final film of
the trilogy.  It was a tremendous and challenging opportunity not only
because I was just a tad bit scared, but also because the music was very
difficult.  It spanned 3 octaves and was phrased in such a way that getting
a breath was nearly impossible.  And since breathing is hard when I'm scared
anyway, it added up to a demanding first meeting.  The second session 2
weeks later was far more successful.  The song had been re-written to
include breathing room and a less demanding melodic line.  It's a beautiful
piece of music and I am very excited to hear the final version.  The movie
should come out around Christmas I think.

Jen, Erica and I have been performing a lot including shows in Philadelphia,
the Adirondacks and The Clearwater Festival here in New York this past
weekend.  I'm also recording a collection of hymns in my home studio which
is nearly done, and I'm producing a benefit concert for The Ronald McDonald
House in Albany in July, so I've been way over-busy and so has Peter.  The
busy-ness and the excitement are good in most ways, but every now and then
the hurt overflows at the most unexpected times.

Thursday night I sang at a 6th grade graduation in the Adirondacks.  The
kids in the class have become fans and their principle wanted to surprise
them with a performance from me at their graduation ceremony.  You can
imagine how special an invitation like that is for me right now.  They were
glad to see me and I was very glad to see them too.  On the way home on
Friday, I went to Ronald McDonald's and to the hospital in Albany to hang
posters for the concert in July.  As I got off the thruway and re-traced the
drive we regularly took to the hospital with Forrest, I was a mess.  My
whole body remembered the anxiety of driving there; the terror of what we
might learn when we arrived.  With Peter and Forrest, hospital visits were
an opportunity for adventure.  We always enjoyed ourselves.  We always
explored new hallways and new people and new ways to keep the experience
from destroying us emotionally, but the truth was that Peter and I were
terrified.  This was my first visit back by myself and it was hard.

The doctors and the Ronald McDonald House staff were very glad to see me and
to see me "so rested" - HA!  I was glad to see them too.  The connections we
have are intense.  And as much as I love them and am enormously grateful for
them giving us 18 months of wonderful life with Forrest, I am very glad not
to see them so regularly now.

When I left the area, I got lost in Albany trying to get to another
appointment.  It's easy to do.  Albany is just one of those cities
out-of-towners get lost in.  By the time I found a pay phone and postponed
my meeting, I was fried.  When I got home late in the afternoon it was time
to get ready for Clearwater, which is a weekend-long festival at which we
were scheduled to perform 3 shows.  We had a great time.  I haven't laughed
so hard or sung so much for a very long time.  We camped in very rough
cabins and we giggled like schoolgirls until we fell asleep one-by-one late
Saturday night.  Unfortunately, it rained hard the entire weekend, so one of
our sets was cancelled because the stage was under water - so much so that
ducks were swimming in the lake that formed in front of the stage on
Saturday afternoon!  The two shows we did do were a blast and seemed to be
well received.  It was tons o' fun and very satisfying.

When I got back to Woodstock Sunday night around 8pm, the sun broke through
as I drove into town, so I decided to visit Forrest.  The cemetery was empty
and wet and very green.  The mountains and clouds were spectacular.  Usually
I am comforted by my visits there, but Sunday I wept the moment I saw
Forrest's headstone.  I cried harder than I have cried in a very long time.
I can't explain it.  I kept thinking that surely an angel or a messenger
would appear in my hour of need.  I kept thinking surely I am not this alone
in the universe.  Surely there is someone listening.  But there was no one.
The aloneness was absolute.  I got angry for deluding myself that there
might be listeners.  I wanted proof that someone was listening and I wanted
it right then.  None was forthcoming.  I realized that the proofs that have
been given me over and over again these last few years were not enough.  I
wanted more but it was quiet, still and profoundly empty.  When I finally
got home, Peter was blissfully immersed in Harry Potter #5 but when he saw
me he stopped reading.  He understood.  He knew that there are no words for
what I was feeling.  In retrospect, and with distance from that intense
emotion, I suspect that the absolute sense of being alone is yet another
layer of grief that everyone goes through when someone close to them has
died.  I just haven't ever felt it before and it startled me to the core.

The rain throughout the weekend meant that Forrest's would-be graduation
from Supertots was postponed twice.  I was thankful that Clearwater had
given me an excuse to miss his graduation even though I had been looking
forward to it for weeks and months.  I figured Peter would go and then tell
me about it.  To be honest, we weren't sure if our presence would be
welcomed or not, but because we love Forrest's friends and we love his
school, we certainly wanted to be there.  Anyway, it was rescheduled and we
did go on Monday night, and I'm very glad that I got to go.  The kids were
adorable.  So grown up and so full of life.  Several of them decided that
our laps were the best seats in the house, so we had a little group of
kid-lets surrounding us throughout the ceremony.  They whispered secrets in
our ears and told us their stories and practiced their songs and the whole
thing was very touching for Peter and me.  And of course it was bittersweet.
We missed Forrest tremendously.  And of course people didn't know what to
say to us.  And of course we felt somewhat left out.  And of course we felt
entirely welcome.  It was all of these things.  It was wonderful.  It was
hard.  And it was important to go.  Bottom line is that we love those kids.
Forrest loved that place and his death does not change any of that.
Undoubtedly we will watch that particular group of children with love and
attention for many years to come.  They might not remember Forrest 20 years
from now, but we will remember them.

It's the middle of the night.  Melodie is here for the night and is crashed
out in my bed after 3 hours of soccer camp in this very hot, sticky weather.
As always it is great to have her around.  Children are the greatest.  I
wish I could sleep but my mind is over active.  Now that this letter is
written perhaps I can settle in to a nice sleep.

As always I am grateful that you are there.  I am honored to have such a
group as you listening to my sorrow and my joy.  I know I've said it a
million times, but I don't know how I would have coped without this outlet
these last three years - yes, three years!!  It's hard to believe but I am
glad for the passage of time.

Peter and I had therapy earlier this evening and we talked a lot about hope.
We realize now that our hearts are full of hope for our future and I am glad
for that.  I am also grateful for therapy!  Our therapist is a wonderful
example of someone who loves his work and cares deeply that he does it well.
It is time well spent, no doubt.

Buenas noches, amigos. And love,
Bar