We have been here a week—feels like much, much longer. The rains kept us from going straight to Big Sur as we had planned, but that turned out to be a good thing. We were made to live inside the moments we found ourselves in. We did things we hadn’t planned to do: see Malibu and Beverly Hills and Santa Barbara and Miles-and-Jack country.
..and just a flutter of, like a nutty Edam cheeseSpirit Bear for Caitlin and for Gary Richardson
Strange, small-world, meaningful fact: our wonderful neighbors from Pittsburgh, Mary and Ralph, actually own a place just down the beach from where we stayed in Santa Monica. All this time, when they would go to CA, I thought they were somewhere else. (Never having been here, I didn’t have much of a map in my head.)
So we got to visit with them a bit. And that was surreal and healing and very, very good. They are kind friends who will always be in our lives.
Another Pittsburgh–now life–friend, the wonderful writer and soul, Jane McCafferty, has been so supportive with her words and thoughts and the other day wrote, “If you have a favorite saint, or a connection to Jesus, try calling on that now— in my experience this can be real medicine.”
I liked that advice and realized I’d already taken, like Caitlin, the stoic Mary as my own. At the last minute, I had packed the tiny glow-in-the-dark Vierge Marie that I purchased at Chartres when I visited there with Caitlin in 2004. After another 2am bad dream last night, I’ve decided I’m going to keep her glowing figure on my bedside table from now on.
I have a feeling that the real Mary would not have taken herself too seriously, and thus wouldn’t mind this version of herself.
Light inside darkness is always a good thing.
La Vierge Marie
As soon as we arrived here last week, I realized I had to buy a stronger chain for Caitlin’s bird ring. I didn’t trust the one I had, but I did trust that I would find the right thing at some point, and as Nick and I were walking up the main street in Santa Barbara the other day, I glimpsed a store that looked to be full of necklace chains. Nick walked in and bee-lined straight to the perfect one. The right length, the right color. “Look up,” he said.
I began to see her everywhere, of course. Even in the most unlikely places.
And also in very likely, lovely places, like this stunning stucco church in Santa Barbara called Our Lady of Mount Carmel.
St Francis and his birds and MaryMary and 65 Roses
“Like the Madonna,” her Irish great-gran would most definitely have said.
It’s Christmas Eve, a night for faith and hope, no matter what your faith, no matter what you hope for.
Last night, a visiting friend said he was angry, said, “That’s where I struggle with faith. How could any God allow that to happen?”
“No, no, no!” I said. “Please don’t think that. I need to remind people not to think that.”
Caitlin would not have changed the fact of her cystic fibrosis.
Let me underscore that: Caitlin would not have changed the fact of her cystic fibrosis.
Caitlin believed, as do I, that earthly struggles make you a better, stronger, and more loving and compassionate person.
I’m no super-strong saint. I’m missing her terribly. Horribly. Unbearably. I fall down on the floor. I curl up and cry. I walk down to the river and pace the lawn and wonder how I’m going to live the rest of my life. Today was the hardest day of all—denial and shock setting in, remembering that just one week ago we were filled with relief and happiness, knowing she had one more chance at transplant. But at the same time, I know certain things to be true: pain and struggle are terrible but all of the mess contributes to the growth of your soul.
When Caitlin was little, she required that I sing “Silent Night,” no matter the season, to put her to sleep. Even though, to me, it was supposed to be a special, once-a-year Christmas Eve song. My entire life, I’d loved Christmas Eve more than Christmas. I loved it to be silent and quiet and sacred—-dark but with a sky full of stars. Caitlin made me realize, from her earliest years, that all evenings could be sacred.
It was raining today and it’s still cloudy tonight. There are no stars to see, but I know they are there. And although I know Caitlin is there, somewhere, in the form of bright, loving energy, I will just miss her so much. Her face, her voice, her charming, lovely human presence. But I want to remind everyone of her own words, just one month before her passing, on November 20, on this blog:
There is so much suffering in the world … so much. My belief though at least is – the world was not meant to always be fair or fun or easy. The world is teeming with life, and death, and pain, and Donald Trump even haha. We just have to keep living. Step back. We are just tiny beings. There are lobsters living at the bottom of the ocean for over a hundred years. They have just been sitting down there through all of our lives and wars and lives before us. We aren’t that much different from lobsters really if you pull back a little. All part of this teeming painful wonderful world where so much is just luck. But we can choose to be kind, and to keep trying — we have the power.
“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in. ” Leonard Cohen
—Caitlin, November 20, 2016
And her very last words, texted to me to post on December 3, right before she crashed:
I love my mummy for everything she does – there are no words. Nor for andrew and my dad. They are all so caring. focused their lives directly on me. it is hard to reconcile how that can possibly be ok. But I guess it’s what we do as humans.
Heart and humor, and humility he said will lighten up your heavy load. Joni Mitchell refuge of the roads.
So much outpouring of love and attention makes humility a challenge, but I am so grateful for it. Heart and humor are easier. They feel like the only directions to go right now. Joni Mitchell’s words feel like permission to let go.
I do realize that not everyone who reads this blog is experiencing a big emotional moment in their lives …that sometimes life skates around on top where things are delightful and easy. And I’ve been there and hope to be back, even though I love to cry (with happiness!). I couldn’t be further from the road right now in Joni’s song with its literal talk about the refuge of anonymity, cold water restrooms and and a photograph of the earth in a highway service station. I am consumed with myself and it’s boring and uncomfortable and embarrassing to have so much attention. And I LIKE attention. At the same time I can’t stop – in order to keep going I have to focus on myself. Self self self. It feels so anti human. It is. I rely on others completely and ultimately, finally will rely on another person to keep me alive.
My thoughts these days aren’t the skate on top kind of normal life thoughts. They’re up and down and trippy and depressive – and we have a lot of laughs. And lots of crying. And weird creative urges. I just want to say thank you for listening to what sometimes must be very emotionally over the top sounding writing. And to reassure you I don’t take myself too seriously. I do take life seriously though, I’ll be honest …. because it’s a seriously wild business.
Thank you for the support – I know I wouldn’t survive at all without it. It’s such an easy thing to say. But truly, i’d be dead by now! I am so very grateful even if I am a bit off the grid lately and I’ve faltered shamefully in my thank you notes – I don’t think I’ll ever get to some of them. But – I’m here, and thank you. And I love everyone very much and love hearing from people even if I am not able to write back.
9 Lives Notes 