A Tribute For my Brother

Is it by accident or by fate that we end up where we are, sometimes getting lost in the possibilities of the roads that we have not taken along the way.  Thinking back to when, to where, to how we have come to settle upon the small plot of earth which we inhabit now, it is not always clear.  What brought us here to this place that we consider home?  The seemingly small or large life events that moved us to the point at which we now reside could have been earth shattering, or, they could have barely made a quiet rumble underneath the soles of our feet.  I know that the string of events which led us to this point on a bluff overlooking the Pacific ocean was part my own spiritual earthquake, so to speak.  They say that you should never make any life changes or major purchases or important decisions following the death of a loved one but we did, and by doing so, we followed our someday dreams to the place that we now call home.  

We were led here by the very sudden passing of my younger brother.  My only sibling.  The only other person in the world who knew the punchline of my childhood anecdotes and jokes.  The sudden end of my brother's life was like the abrupt ending of a long conversation that was only just beginning.  Stunted, hastily cut short, truncated by an early exit.  It made us think.  A lot.  It made us wonder if "someday" was too presumptuous and too far away in pursuing some of our dreams with a major one being a home near the beach.  And so, we did the one thing that we were told not to do in the months following my brother's death.  We decided that it was time to purchase another home near the beach.  We dove in head first without doing a lot of thinking(we might have thought ourselves out of it) or searching.  We opened the gate which led to the front yard of this place and knew that we had found it. Over the course of the past five years, I slowly began spending more and more of my time here.  I didn't want to leave.  We had a beautiful, large home that our daughters had spent over a decade of their lives growing up in, but after my brother died, it no longer felt like home to me.  Something about the peaceful call of the ocean was drawing me away from there.  I needed to be here.  

We never purchased this place as an intended full-time home.  I'm not sure why that was, and honestly, I do not really dwell on it.  With all of our children and pets, it is not really as large as what we have become used to over the years, but we do know that as our youngest two Angel Daughters get ready to fly off on their own, we will have more space than we need in the future.  We sold our large home last summer after our youngest daughter graduated from high school, and moved everyone down here for good.  I can feel my brother's presence, support and encouragement for our decision.  He has a favorite light upstairs that he has become quite adept at turning on and off at very appropriate moments and he visits us quite often even though he was never here in life.  I know that if he were physically here, he would definitely approve, yet I also know that if he were still here, we would probably be living someplace else.  It's one of those odd juxtapositions in life that needed a certain number of events to occur in order for the equation to work out as it did.  Would I prefer to have my brother still here and for us to live someplace else?  Absolutely.  Am I glad that his death lit a spark under our spirits which allowed us to make the choice that we did?  Absolutely, which is why I believe that there really are no absolutes in life, strangely so.  

Just after the five year yahrzeit(anniversary) of my brother's death a couple of weeks ago, Mark and I were in the car and it suddenly came over me that it was time to visit my brother's gravesite for the first time since his funeral.  I have considered going many, many times over the course of the past five years, but obviously, something(or many somethings) were holding me back from doing so because the thought would come and then just as quickly, go.  Mark said it was probably because I was not ready.  Maybe it was because my heart was still too tender, maybe it was because I knew what had(or had not) been inscribed upon his very simple tombstone.  The thought of my brother only being remembered as a "Beloved Husband and Father" and nothing else, is something that still stings me to the core, but I know very differently.  The sting is becoming easier to tolerate.  We located Rob's gravesite and placed three stones on top of his tombstone.  One for me, one for Mark, and one for our girls.  In Judaism, we place stones on the graves of our loved ones instead of flowers.  This is something that has been done for centuries as it is a constant way to keep building a memorial to the person that is more permanent than flowers.  When we arrived, there were no rocks on my brother's tombstone which seemed to break my heart more than anything.  It was the five year anniversary of his death and my sister-in-law had not bothered to bring his children to pay their respects.  Ouch.  I do know that others have been there in the interim since his burial and it is my belief that other mourners sometimes remove stones from other graves(as completely tacky and disrespectful as that is) because the cemetery does not leave loose stones just lying around on the grass.  It is customary to bring your own rocks, and not everyone thinks about that so whose going to tell if they "borrow" a stone from someone else's grave.  That being said, it struck me hard to view my brother's stoneless tombstone.  I knelt down to clean some of the dirt and bird poop from his headstone and then I looked up towards the sky and laughed through my tears.  Right above Rob's tombstone, there is a large tree with branches that hang directly over his site.  Something tells me that bird poop is not an unusual occurrence in this part of the cemetery.  I know that it will be much easier for me to return to the cemetery in the future and although I do not believe that it is where Robert's soul resides, it is where his body remains at rest and therefore, I will go back.  Robert Mark Sherman was my little brother and the sharer of my history.  He became a brother to my husband.  He was a son.  He was the most beloved uncle to my four daughters.  He was a storyteller and a comedian, oh what a comedian!  He could have me laughing until I could no longer catch my breath.  He was a loyal friend.  He wanted to make the world a better place by assisting the downtrodden.  He was a brilliant attorney who made very average grades in high school but when it came to passing the State Bar exam, he did so with flying colors on his very first try.  He was so much to so many.  His life was cut way too short by a failing heart which may or may not have been broken beyond what he could tolerate any longer.  

I often think about my brother when I gaze out at the rolling Pacific ocean, but most especially at night when the skies are clear and the stars are at their brightest.  Something about the constellation Orion brings me to immediate thoughts of my brother because I believe, that for some reason, he is probably  viewing it too, just from a different angle in the universe.  I am home, for now, and he is home, for now, and somehow I believe that someday we will see one another again in a different place.  And if nothing else positive came out of his sudden passing, I do hope that he knows that because of our sad loss, we learned to take the "somedays" more seriously in the now and that the love that we had and still have for his beautiful life was something which led us home.

Agapanthus and Imprints

Welcome SkyWatchers!  Please say hello.  I enjoy meeting all of you!

I stepped out into my yard the other day, and found that this long stalk which had mysteriously shot up out of the ground seemingly overnight, was sprouting babies!  For several days before this happened, I watched this plant with interest as it stretched its long stem up towards the sun.  I was both amused and fascinated by its magical appearance and its will to be different.  Its desire to stand out amongst all of the other plants and flowers in my garden.

For me, its sudden emergence was like a smile from the Universe.  A sunny, little hello.  As I spent some time staring at this magical plant, the name Agapanthus suddenly rose forth from the inner recesses of my mind.  An Agapanthus.  And as quickly as the name made it to the forefront of my mind, I knew that that is what this unexpected visitor was called.

We are not the first owners of this beautiful little beach house.  We purchased it from a lovely couple who had spent at least ten years enjoying this healing space.  And when my brother died, two years ago, and Mark and I decided that there was no time like the present to live out a dream, we came to this lovely couple and put a bid in on their home.  We were sure that the place would be ours.  That was until we discovered that another couple had put a bid in on the home at the same time we had.  A bit of a bidding war ensued until I decided to write a letter to the owners telling them why I felt that the home should be sold to our family.  I put it out there and then we waited.  And waited...Until I received a beautiful letter from the homeowner telling me what this place meant to her, and how much she and her husband loved it.  She told me about healing from cancer and getting married.  She told me about the weddings of her two daughters that took place right out here on the bluff.  She told me about the ashes of two fathers(hers and his) which took flight right in our front yard overlooking the Pacific.  And I knew, in the moments that it took for me to read her letter, that somehow, someway, this place was meant to be passed forward to us.

There are two of these Agapanthus stalks standing side by side.  This is the second one.  I read someplace that they are perennials, meaning that they reappear each year, and I can't help but wonder if they were planted in memorial for something.  The landscaping on our bluff is breathtaking, but it is purposeful.  And yet, sometimes things seem to pop up out of nowhere, and I think to myself that someone in the history of this beautiful home must have planted those there.  A singular sunflower, two lanky Agapanthus stalks, things that reach over space and time.  Things that had a particular meaning to someone gone, yet they are still here.  They are still here.  They are still here.

We leave behind an imprint of who we are, who we were.  Oftentimes, the imprint is soft and quite subtle, the lingering touch of a hand brushing past another hand, a word which hangs in the air creating ideas and then thought.  The imprint can be that of the words in a letter long tucked away somewhere but not forgotten.  Or the reemergence of a flower planted to commemorate what we felt at a certain time in our lives.  What we left behind for them, what they left behind for us.

Gazing out at my bluff overlooking the Pacific ocean, I am reminded that even when we leave, we always leave something behind.  And I am left to wonder, what will I leave here?  In this place?  That will someday be someone else's healing spot.  And suddenly I have the urge to head down to the nursery to purchase some flower bulbs.  Some perennials might be nice.  Something strong and hearty and healthy enough to stand up to the Pacific's winds.  

To Life

To be alive.  

To be able to express the feelings of love that we have for one another.  

To take a deep breath. 

To know, somehow, that there is something which is much larger than ourselves.  

To trust.  To feel.  To laugh.  

To observe another sunset.

To live with deep gratitude.

To share great sorrows, but know that there will always be more joy.

To embrace and share the Life Force which connects us all together.

To soar without knowing what might be ahead, but trusting, with all of your might, that the flight will take you where you are meant to go.

To life.

My wish for you is that your list includes an infinite amount of "to's".  It would be such an honor if you would share some of yours here.

With love and deep gratitude,

Debbie

Leaning on Acceptance. Leaning on Faith.

Life is unpredictable.  With the ebbs and flows of our days, we can either become swept up in the force of the waves or we can gently allow ourselves to be guided, understanding that acceptance is also a form of freedom.  

Exactly two months ago, today, my husband and I were standing in the icy cold sterility of an ER examining room.  As my husband spoke quietly with my sister-in-law, I stood stroking the hair of my deceased younger brother.  Disbelief mixed with utter sadness and confusion coursed through my veins.  Acceptance came slamming, head first, into my life and I was forced to acquiesce to the fact that I would now be living the rest of my life without my brother.  It was a horrible day.  Not only was I loosing someone whom I thought would always be in my life, but my husband lost his brother-in-law, my daughters lost their beloved uncle, my parents lost their son, my nieces lost their daddy, and my sister-in-law lost her husband.  So much loss, so much pain.

As I have explained here before, my extended family chose to remain securely fastened within the grips of anger, blame and hatred.  I will not honor their psychosis with a detailed explanation of the more than thirty year history that remained cemented inside of their minds.  I will only go on to say that my little family of six had no other choice but to separate from the very destructive energy which my extended family chose to remain stuck in.  Thinking that tragedy tends to bring people closer is sadly a fantasy when it comes to people who have caused division for most of their lives.  Luckily, my husband, our angels and I, also have my father and my step-mother to round out our lives.  They have been loving, supportive and attentive throughout this entire ordeal.  

I began writing this with the attitude that it would be uplifting, but the mind wanders where the mind wanders.  I am still muddling my way through all of the changes in which my brother's death affected my life.  But, here is where I was originally headed when I began writing this.  Mark and I have always held onto the dream of owning a home on the Pacific Ocean.  It was one of those "some day" or "when the kids are grown" types of dreams.  Someday came a lot sooner when we experienced the untimely passing of my brother.  Mark and I looked at each other and wondered, what are we waiting for?  Ocean front property is limited and the prices will only go up.  Life is unpredictable, and so Mark began searching for a beach home which would help to heal our spirits.  Somehow, things lined up exactly and he found this little charmer.  When he brought me to look at it, I could feel my spirits lifting just a little bit.  Something about it felt right.  Something about it felt like we had been "guided" to this spot.

And so, the process began.  At first, we didn't allow ourselves to become too emotionally vested in the place, because my intuition told me that the owners really didn't want to let go of this property.  Slowly, things began to fall into place, and we opened our hearts up to the possibility that this home would soon be ours.  There is more to this story which I will share with you later, but for now, I will just tell you that the couple who will be passing the keys along to us have been through their own shares of ebbs and flows.  They are grateful that they will be passing this magical place along to a family who will love it as much as they have.  We will not be living here full-time, as it is a bit small for our family, but it is only about twenty minutes from our home so we will be spending lots and lots of time here.

Here it is.  A spot in which I feel that much of our healing will begin to take place.
This is the front view of our magical beach home.  That is my dear husband who you see taking measurements.
This is our master bedroom.  The previous owners were in the process of moving out, so that is why there is furniture and boxes still in the room.
Our master bathroom.  Not exactly the colors I would choose, but now that I look at them, I am thinking that I could really do a lovely Zen motif in here.
Another view of the master bath.
Yes, this is our "frontyard".  Our home rests on a bluff which is about one hundred feet above the sand.  
I had to take a photo of the "SOLD" sign in order for it to sink in!  It was kind of like pinching myself.
Another photo which is off of our master bedroom patio.  Heaven on earth.
Angel daughter number three is sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter.
A view of the living room and kitchen sitting area.  The complete wall is open to the ocean.
The homeowners recently redid the kitchen.  It is very cute and cozy.

When the heart is broken, it can take a drastic leap of faith in order for it to begin the healing process.  Although this process began several weeks ago, it is going to take a very long time to overcome the hurt and betrayal which was created by my family.  This little home helped to heal a very dear woman of cancer.  Knowing this fills me with the faith and the acceptance that will bring my family back to a place of wholeness.