All It Takes Is A Little Love

It was New Year’s Day and we spoke of all that had happened in 2022, the births, the graduations, the illnesses, and the deaths. As we wished for peace, happiness, and good health in 2023 one among us commented that we don’t usually get too upset when one of our parents dies because that is the way life works. We expect our parents to die before we do so it is never that difficult to lose them.  

I jumped into the discussion insisting that this theory did not work for everyone, especially when a parent dies when a child is only eight years old as I was when my father’s died. I told our group that the loss of my father was the most traumatic moment of my lifetime that impacted virtually every aspect of who I am today. At times I have struggled to deal with the raw feelings that overwhelmed me in a time when most people believed that children were hardly affected by such things. At other times my experience allowed me to better understand my students who were struggling with similar disturbing life events. 

As an educator I observed that children who had endured the loss of a mother or father either through death or abandonment struggled to cope with grief that was all too often underestimated by the adults around them. This was particularly true if the event occurred when they were between the ages of eight and fifteen. I noticed that more often than not they had been left to sort our their feelings alone and they simply did not have the proper tools to deal with the sorrow they were experiencing, nor did they know how to convey their suffering to others. They simply felt strangely adrift and created their own coping mechanisms which were sometimes harmful to themselves and others. They were at times viewed as outsiders, trouble makers, delinquents, unlikeable little people even to themselves. 

Whenever I talked with such youngsters and conveyed my understanding of how they were feeling they more often than not opened their hearts to me, revealing the confusion and hurt that they had been afraid to make public. They felt a mix of emotions that included deep sorrow and anger that guided their seemingly erratic behavior. They longed to feel the joy and innocence that had been so uplifting before the moment when their lives changed so drastically. They felt different, withdrawn, and sometimes even remorseful for making a difficult family situation even harder for their remaining parent. 

Not everyone who loses a parent reacts in a negative way. Not every family of that child ignores the signs that they are in pain. Each of us is an individual, but there is a pattern of severe emotional distress among many youngsters who have lost a parent that takes form in undesirable behaviors or a kind of withdrawal from the world. If those young people’s feelings are not properly addressed they may eventually evolve into addictions, aggressions, anger, suicides, and even criminal behaviors. I can think of dozens of such examples from the pages of the news and from my personal interactions with troubled students.

As a society we need to be aware of such things. I applaud Harry Windsor for bringing his own story to the public. He was only twelve when his mother died. The attention was thrown on his grandmother, the Queen, and his father, the future King. Harry had to don a stoic face at a time when he was emotionally devastated. In the ensuing years he was sometimes said to be the trouble making prince. The press and the people around him made light of his cries for help that even he may not have realized he was making. Now that he is honestly addressing his pain and trying to help others in the process he is still being unheard, misunderstood and even shunned by many. I applaud Harry’s courage because I know quite well how important it is to face the emotions and fears that come with losing a beloved parent.

I am appalled whenever I hear adults criticizing a child who is struggling to be whole. We need not forgive bad behavior, but we would be wise to show the young person how much we love those trying to overcome a painful loss. If we only ignore or condemn them we run the risk of losing them to their fears and demons. Love demands that we let them voice their feelings no matter how toxic they may sound and then make real attempts to help them heal before the monsters inside of them become solidified.

Little good comes from having a stiff upper lift and carrying on as though nothing has happened when a child loses a parent. Often we provide comfort to the adults because we assume that they are suffering. We cannot forget the children as well. Their personalities are in the process of forming and trauma can distort them for the rest of their lives. Much of the trouble we see in the world derives from pretending that all is well and looking the other way. The poison toxicity of ignoring pain can lead to death of a soul. It’s up to all of us to make sure that the “might have beens” of a child are not damaged. Watch them. Encourage them to talk without judgement. Drain the poisons from their minds. Listen to the children.

When I came into the world my cousin Paul was already here. He has been an integral person in my life from the first memories that I have. Growing up we saw each other every Friday night at my grandmother’s home. Paul was the sweetest among my grandmother’s grandchildren. He always possessed a calmness and sense of humor that made him a favorite of all of us. For a time we even thought that perhaps he might become a priest or some kind of minister of God.

Paul had the largest collection of comic books that I have ever seen. He never threw an issue away and they were stored in piles wrapped with string in the back of his home. He seemed like an only child because his siblings were much older than he was and had gone to live on their own from the time he was quite young. His parents doted on him but did not spoil him. They modeled the kind and easygoing behavior that was his trademark. Just being with them was enough to lower one’s blood pressure several points. 

Paul and I both attended the University of Houston in the late nineteen sixties. His education there was interrupted by the Vietnam war. He enlisted in the Air Force and spent time in Oklahoma and Germany where he matured and honed his wisdom and compassion. He would be incredibly proud of his university and his time in the military for the rest of his life. His loyalty to God, family and his country was unshakeable. 

Paul married and went to work. His mother and father both died when he was still a very young adult. When his daughter was born he focused his loving nature on her and his wife. He was a success at work mostly because he was indefatigable and had such a generous personality that everyone loved him. He rose through the ranks and life was good until it wasn’t.

During hurricane Harvey Paul’s home of many decades flooded. It was a total disaster and for the first time in his life he was completely overwhelmed. He was nearing retirement age, but realized that this setback would force him to continue working well into his seventies. Once he got over the shock of what had happened he returned to his determined survival mode and did his best to be optimistic. He repaired his home, continued working at his job and enjoyed talking long walks in the park next to his abode. He often posted lovely stories on Facebook of his life in the military. His sense of humor became ever more delightful. 

Paul finally retired a couple of years ago. I went to his retirement party and he seemed to be exhausted. He made a speech extolling the symbolism of his wedding ring and his Air Force ring, two of his most cherished possessions because of what they represented. It was apparent that his family and his country had always meant everything to him. The people who worked for and with him praised his goodness just as those of us who are his cousins have always done. Kindness is his most lovely character trait. It is what makes him “our Paul.”

I would see Paul again at the funeral of another of our cousins in late 2021. He was looking better, as though retirement was agreeing with him. We enjoyed the usual cousin’s banter complete with his great story telling and a few wonderful jokes. It was good to see him looking so well, but that was not to remain the case.

In the spring of 2022, Paul had a heat stroke while walking. Even though he appeared to only need more hydration on his daily journeys through the park, his condition continued to deteriorate quickly until he was diagnosed with advance stage dementia. The one time my brother and sister-in-law and I saw him he was a shell of his former self, but he was still laughing and enjoying a good joke. I am glad that we were able to tell him how much we love him before he reaches a point of no longer knowing who we are or understanding what we are saying. 

When a loved one has dementia it is a long goodbye. The grieving for that person begins even before they die. We remember all of the wonder of their lives, but they forget. It is terribly difficult to watch such an incredible person like Paul dwindle away. Somehow we never saw this coming or we would have made more effort to save his stories, enjoy his jokes. We would have spent more time with him and told him more often how much we have always loved and respected him.

Paul’s wife and daughter tell us that he is quickly nearing the end of his life. It’s difficult for me to imagine a world without him. He has been the anchor of goodness among us cousins. He has been the exemplary role model and voice of wisdom that we have needed. We all pray that he will not suffer too much. We know that he will immediately go to heaven. He is one of God’s angels who came down from heaven to live among us. We have been blessed by his presence. We hope that somewhere in his heart he knows just how important he is to us. We hope he realizes how much we love him.

According to the Chinese calendar the new year will begin on January 22, and it will be the year of the rabbit. For those who believe in such things 2023 should bring twelve months of peace and hope. How wonderful would it be if we might all just sit back and enjoy the fruits of positive horoscopes or ancient signs! Sadly such superstitions are just another attempt by humans to explain the complexities of the world. We can’t rely on such predictions to determine how this year will affect us. Instead we all know that life is a complex mix of events over which we have little control. How we choose to face the ups and downs that are an inevitable aspect of our journeys from one moment to the next. is the key to what life feels like to each of us. While there is uncertainty from day to day in any year, we can prepare ourselves to meet the challenges that most surely will come. Reading tea leaves or visiting a fortune teller might be fun, but in the end our choices and actions will determine how well we will adapt the the world as is actually is. 

Over the decades I have learned that every aspect of daily life described in a typical horoscope or superstitious prediction can be made more positive by individual determination and will. The happiest people that I know work at being so. A positive outlook on life comes from within. It is often a choice to find joy even on the most horrific of days. It does not require exciting trips or conspicuous consumption. It is instead a quiet and unassuming determination to find contentment in the smallest of things. 

Truly satisfied people spread kindness wherever they go. They focus on others rather than themselves. They meet hardships with an understanding that each of us will face challenges and some of those difficulties will feel almost unbearable. They take small steps each day to find tiny moments that keep them optimistic. They deal with pain and sorrow by allowing themselves to grieve without becoming cynical. They accept that bad things happen to good people and that they are not immune to the vagaries of living. They trust in God, their friends, their families and themselves to push through the darkest moments. They see more good in the world than evil. 

Successful people work hard to be so. Of course some people are born in the right country to the right parents so that they will always have wealth. Most of us have to work for such things. It takes time, effort, energy to achieve a level of comfort and satisfaction in one’s work. Those who rise to the top never quit learning. They are willing to enroll in continuing education courses, spend time training for new skills, work to achieve advanced degrees. They accept challenging tasks, are willing to put in extra hours when needed, become known for their dedication. While most of us are spending our free time watching television or escaping from reality with gaming, they are like the tortoise. They slowly but surely make themselves more skilled, more valuable in the workplace rather than complaining that they are not earning enough or being appreciated as they should be. 

The same is true with relationships. The people who appear to have the best friendships take the time to communicate their feelings to those that they love. It only takes a few minutes to let people know that you are thinking of them and that you understand their needs. The most beloved among us are like angels on earth constantly spreading comfort and understanding.

I am lucky to know some incredible people who have carved out amazing lives for themselves by doing the type of things that I have just described. They seem to call with encouraging words at the exact moment when a friend or family member needs them. They are constantly watching for signs that someone is in need. They quietly make a three minute phone call to remind people that they are loved. They meet suffering with calm. They work hard to support whatever cause is important to them. They go an extra mile when others have already left the race. 

Their names and faces flash before me. They inspire me to be better, to try harder not to devolve into pessimism. They show me that feeling sorrow for myself is a waste of my energy. they help me understand that true miracles come from the soul of a determined individual, not from a crystal ball or a winning lottery ticket. 

I watched my mother being bombarded with hard times for most of her life. It was as though she could not catch a lucky break and yet she was one of the happiest people I have ever known. Just enjoying an ice cream cone was an exciting experience for her. So too was my Grandpa Little who lived to be one hundred eight years old. He lived in a rented room and was essentially destitute when he died, and yet the richness of his life was profound. He was indeed the wisest person I have encountered. My friend Pat Weimer’s door was always open. She’d make some coffee, set out a plate of emergency cookies and listen intently to anyone who needed to be heard. She was an amazing friend. Zerin Sahai may live in India but she has an uncanny talent of knowing exactly when I am in need of a call to comfort me. So too does my friend, Carol, who is the glue holding together our very diverse group of friends. Scott Scheffler earned at advanced degree in oil and gas law while in his fifties. He has worked tirelessly since he was a teen and success has followed his efforts. 

Knowing how to live well runs in families. Scott’s mother, Linda, is known far and wide for her generous and loving spirit. Zerin’s daughter, Ruchika, delights us with her upbeat spirit. Pat’s daughter, Lisa, has followed her mother’s lead by being a true friend to all who know her. None of these people found the secrets to living well from predictions. All of them put positive effort into each day. Perhaps in the year of hope and peace according the the rabbit, we might all make the world a better place by following the example of the people around us who seemingly have found the keys to happiness, success, strong relationships. Learn from them and I suspect that 2023 will indeed be one of peace and hope. 

I think that perhaps we are all still a bit reluctant to celebrate a new year after the events of the past three years. I know that I am a bit hesitant to believe that I can plan without disruptions and losses. So much has happened since we all spent the New Year’s Eve of 2019 so unaware of what the world would soon face. Nothing in my rather long lifetime might have prepared me for the events that ensued, not even my fascination with books talking about the Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918. I had listened to warnings from public health experts that we were bound to face another worldwide medical emergency, but I tended to believe that even if it happened it would not affect me. How wrong I was!

As I write this blog I look across the street where I partied at the end of 2019. The theme of the gathering was” life through the decades.” We danced to music from the forties, fifties, sixties, seventies, eighties and nineties of the twentieth century. As midnight approached we switched to current music while laughing and enjoying our good fortune. 

In the new year I remember preparing split pea soup for luck and tossing in a side of black-eyed peas for good measure. I had plans to travel to Scotland in the spring. I had signed up for a continuing education course at Rice University. Life was full and wonderful even in February when I spent an entire day laughing and playing games with my brothers and their wives. We had a ball talking about all of our plans for the coming months, plans that would soon enough fall apart. 

A friend invited me and my husband to the Houston Rodeo Cook-off in early March. It was packed with people having a great time, not realizing that in only a week or so life as we had known it would change so drastically. I remember feeling just a tiny bit leery because I had read a small article about a strange disease beginning to show up in different parts of the world. I had asked my husband if we needed to prepare in case we got sick. I thought he would laugh at me but he too had heard about this virus from a man that he follows on YouTube. So, I purchased some extra cans of food and set aside a bit more toilet paper and some cold medications, then went out and had fun as usual. 

We all know that it did not take long for the rollercoaster ride to begin, along with the politicization of everything associated with how to respond. Not only did one million people die in the United States and millions more around the world, leaving children without parents and grandparents, wives without husbands, but friends and families began to argue over who was right and who was wrong. Doctors and nurses morphed from heroes to villains in many people’s minds. We lost friends over disagreements about masks and lockdowns. Many became depressed. Some turned to suicide for relief. We all wondered why we were unable to draw together rather than apart. New Year’s Eve 2020 ended with a whimper but still some hope.

The months of 2021 went by and we adapted according to our beliefs. My household became accustomed to avoiding large groups, mostly staying home, a situation that was perhaps somewhat easy for us because we are all introverts. The hard part was watching friends and family members suffer and even die. We went through one day after another hoping to see an end to the sorrow. That came in 2021 when the vaccines became available. Suddenly we saw a dim light at the end of a long tunnel and I cried tears of gratitude when I finally got my first jab. It felt glorious. 

Just when we all believed that the worst was behind us the aggressive Delta variant began to attack the world again. Those with updated vaccines mostly did better than the people who had refused to get vaccinated. There were more deaths and more divisions. A huge rift developed that became ever more ugly. Those who were vaccinated got together in small groups wearing masks. Others tempted nature by eschewing all precaution. My husband and I were careful. We had elderly relatives who needed our care. We had to stay healthy and not bring a virus into their homes. We had learned how to enjoy our restricted lives, but it seemed so very long since we had felt free to do whatever we wished to do. Then came another New Year’s Eve without parties or bells or whistles and 2021 came to a close. 

The dawn of 2022 brought a bit more optimism than we had felt in a very long time. Nonetheless it also heralded the end of life for many of our most beloved friends and family members. It seemed to be the year of the funeral or the horrific medical diagnosis. Even one of the neighbors who had been at the party of New Year’s Eve 2019 died. The husband of a dear friend who was fully vaccinated caught Covid and did not make it. My mother-in-law succumbed to heart failure at the same time that my father-in-law had emergency surgery and later contracted Covid at the hospital and almost died. One of the dearest and most incredible friends that I have ever had left this world far too quickly in 2022. Somehow all of the hope that I had felt drained from my heart. 

I know that I am not alone in my anxieties and lingering feelings of sorrow. It is a worldwide side-effect of the pandemic that has shaken people all over the world. We have dealt with unprecedented loss of life and health for three years and even though our ordeal appears to be over, we are somehow not yet willing to believe that the worst is past us. We are only very cautiously optimistic as 2022 comes to a close. Will 2023 become the year of celebration as we move beyond the horrors that have had an effect on all of us? 

We cannot answer that question with assurance, but what we have learned for certain is the value of each person in our lives. We know without doubt the importance of cherishing each moment of happiness that comes our way. We now understand how we must support one another and offer kindness with every opportunity that we get. We have made it for now. Let’s make every second of the new year count.   

I grew up in southeast Houston during the fifties and sixties. It was a quiet, family oriented suburban area back then that boasted post World War II homes as well as high end designer houses that were featured in architectural magazines. The area was the home of the first shopping center in the city and later the first air conditioned center filled with everything from dime stores to elegant department stores, bowling alleys to boutiques. It was a little slice of heaven for those of us who lived there. 

My family had been shopping for a new home in a part of town that was the mirror image of southeast Houston back then. My father and mother were leaning towards purchasing a new home in Braeswood on Bluebonnet Lane, but my father’s unexpected death put that house out of my mother’s new economic range. She instead moved us to a small but sturdy wooden house in a neighborhood called Overbrook nestled long Simms Bayou. 

It was a wonderful place for being a child. Our church and our school was within walking distance of our home. There was a neighborhood grocery store at the end of our street. Children were everywhere and it felt as though we knew everyone who lived there. It was a place that might have been featured in shows like Happy Days or Wonder Years. While there may have been darkness or sorrow hidden inside some of the homes, for us kids it felt like the safest happiest place on earth. Indeed most of the people there were good hardworking and loving souls. 

People stayed put back then, so the kids I knew in fourth grade were still attending classes with me when I was a senior in high school. We spent our growing up years riding our bicycles up and down the streets and across the bayou on a bridge that led to Garden Villas, a tree lined haven of older homes with huge yards and a beautiful park. A bookmobile came there often enough for me to have a constant supply of books to entertain my love of literature. Classes at the park introduced me to art and dance. 

On Saturdays we traveled a short distance to Telephone Road where the Santa Rosa movie theater hosted a Fun Club just for children. For twenty five cents we got admission and were able to purchase popcorn and candy. There were games and a double feature that kept us having a good time for hours while our mothers went shopping or just enjoyed some quiet time back home. Sometimes my brothers and I would meet our cousins there which made the event even more fabulous.

Just down the street from the theater there was a bakery called the Kolache Shop where my mother purchased our birthday cakes and some of the delightful Czechoslovakian pastries filled with apples or cherries. In travels all over Texas I have yet to find kolaches as delicious as the ones we purchased there and I recently heard that it is still open and run by the same family. I suspect I will have to return there soon.

As is often the case in Houston one day a particular area is in and the next day it’s out. When I was a child my cousins who lived in an old home in the Heights were envious of our new bustling neighborhood in southeast Houston. Today the place where I lived is old and mostly unwanted while the Heights has experienced a renaissance making it one of the most sought after areas of town. If I tell the untutored about growing up in southeast Houston they can’t even begin to imagine how vibrant and beautiful it once was. 

My city has grown by leaps and bounds, becoming the fourth largest metropolitan area in the United States. It is also the most diverse city in the nation with citizens who came from virtually every corner of the world. That neighborhood where my father had found a house on Bluebonnet Lane is prestigious while homes of the same kind in southeast Houston have little value. It is the nature of real estate to choose some locations over others. As the city stretched farther and farther out, my once thriving neighborhood was ignored and even forgotten. When I speak of it now, only those who lived in that part of town understand my rapturous descriptions of the once enchanting place. 

Those who were our parents are mostly gone now and the rest of us have traveled to the seven winds. A few like me live only minutes away from the old haunts in little towns like Pearland and Friendswood or out by the NASA Space Center in Clear Lake City. The rest are spread across Texas and the rest of the United States. We have moved on from our childhood homes, but we still retain the precious memories of growing up in a magical place. That part of Houston became part of our DNA. It molded us and made us strong. It was a very good place to be.