Last night was the final celebration in the house with the red door.
There were so many highlights, but one of my favorite moments was when we shifted gears from the party to a mass in the living room. “Make Me a Channel of Your Peace” or the Prayer of St. Francis was played on the piano by a family friend at the spur of the moment toward the end of mass.
Although I’ve heard this song a hundred times before, I actually HEARD the words last night.
“Where there’s despair in life, let me bring hope.”
My family has known despair. We have also been shown there is so much hope.
Our friends have surrounded us with light and love during the darkest times a family should ever have to face. Our friends have also been there during some of the most beautiful and wonderful times. As crazy and chaotic as it got over the years, our friends have lifted us up and have always been there. And they have shown me that that will never change.
Our six-year-old son has been humming this song all day.
And I cannot wipe the smile off my face.
My heart is at peace.
❤️
Make Me A Channel of Your Peace…
“Make me a channel of your peace.
Where there is hatred let me bring your love.
Where there is injury, your pardon, Lord
And where there’s doubt, true faith in you.
Make me a channel of your peace
Where there’s despair in life, let me bring hope
Where there is darkness, only light
And where there’s sadness, ever joy.
Oh, Master grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console
To be understood as to understand
To be loved as to love with all my soul.
Make me a channel of your peace
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned
In giving to all men that we receive
And in dying that we’re born to eternal life.
Oh, Master grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console
To be understood as to understand
To be loved as to love with all my soul.
Make me a channel of your peace
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned
In giving to all men that we receive
And in dying that we’re born to eternal life.”
my facebook newsfeed was flooded with images of families yesterday, as it was “national siblings day”. there were many pictures of brothers and sisters smiling at the camera, and, from the looks of it, all of them seemed to get along all of the time. well…at least that’s what it looks like from the pictures.
but anyone who’s ever had a brother or sister knows that’s not always the case.
in my own family, we were VERY close – in age.
before my 1st birthday, my little sister, julie, was born.
my little sister, bridget, was born before my 2nd birthday.
two weeks after my 3rd birthday, my little brother, brian, was born.
i was two years old when i changed my sibling’s first diaper. started doing laundry when i was eight. i cooked gourmet dinners of elbow macaroni with parmesan cheese and frozen pizzas by time i was nine. i was also disciplining my younger siblings ever since i can remember.
my sisters and brother were born into a family where the dictator (first born with strong leadership skills) took over from the very beginning. it was made worse by the fact that we had a LOT of unsupervised alone time. it was only natural that one of the kids would become the “alpha”.
i look back at some of those memories and wonder – who the hell did i think i was?
when they finally figured out that they could say “no!” to me, i was crushed. we’d fight like cats and dogs (although i should note here that our cat and dogs NEVER fought). after hours of fighting over clothes, food, tv shows, etc., we’d figure something out and rarely hold grudges.
we also had a LOT of laughs, fun holidays complete with silly string and good times with all of our furry pals. when we’d see each other at school, we’d try to pretend not to know each other, but always catch one another’s eye and smile.
no one knows us like our siblings know us.
our siblings shape us.
those first relationships shaped the way i saw the world and connected with other people. and, for that, i am so grateful.
today, we will gather to celebrate YEARS of family and friendship at the house with the red door. it seems appropriate that the gathering is the day after “national siblings day” because today we honor the importance of family – the one you’re born into and the ones you choose.
For the last couple of nights, we have been staying at my mom’s house while we make the final preparations for the big move. Because of the storms last night, I went to bed early next to our six-year-old son who kept asking, “Is it going to thunder again?”
We slept in my mom’s old bedroom and when I woke up in the middle of the night and looked around the room and out into the hallway, I was flooded with memories once again. My sisters, brother and I all spent a lot of time in there when we were little kids, especially if there was a thunderstorm, the occasional bad dream or when we were home sick from school.
The sick day.
It was almost immediately following my mom’s phone call to the school to report my absence and my siblings closing the back door behind them, that I actually started to feel better.
So, with an empty house and endless possibilities, I would get into my mom’s bed, get all snuggly under the covers and turn on the t.v. After HOURS of watching the Price is Right, Press Your Luck (No Whammies!) and a number of soaps, I’d get a little bored.
Right around that time, Mr. Meow would typically walk into the room, jump up on the bed and keep me company.
The Tonight Show, starring Mr. Meow
Mr. Meow was the coolest cat and pretty much game for anything. My favorite sick day game was when I would pretend to be Jack Hanna’s assistant on the “Tonight Show with Johnny Carson” and Mr. Meow was a baby panther born at a local zoo. I would be interviewed, show off the baby panther’s latest tricks, and Ed McMahon and I would laugh at all of Johnny’s jokes (“YES!”).
On one of the sick days, I was super restless and tired of playing “The Tonight Show”, so I decided to try my hair cutting skills – on myself. I really wanted to transform my already too short haircut from the mullet I had into something more stylish. Faith, from my favorite soap, Ryan’s Hope, always seemed very put together, so I decided that’s the look I would go for.
Dr. Faith Coleridge from Ryan’s Hope
Scissors in hand, I stood in front of my mom’s bedroom mirror and started cutting.
Snip. Snip.
Two fuzzy, frizzy balls of hair on either side of my head just behind my ears were gone just like that. My heart started pounding as I started to realize there was no turning back. This haircut did not look like Faith’s. I went downstairs where there was better lighting and tried to “fix” my haircut. Maybe if my bangs were shorter, you wouldn’t notice the back?
Snip. Snip.
I begged my mom to let me stay home from school the next day. “Mom, I still don’t feel well…”. That didn’t work. After work, my mom had gone up to her bedroom to change only to find mullet remants on her dresser and floor. She knew I was feeling just fine.
Sick days were closely monitored for me after that day. I think my siblings learned a thing or two from my mistakes because they were able to miss several days in a row and were perfectly healthy.
I wonder if Mr. Meow and Ryan’s Hope were a part of their sick day too.
One of my favorite stuffed animals growing up, Le Mutt (aka “Buffy”)
Over the past 20 years, I have had a vivid reoccurring dream about moving out of our family home.
In the dream, I am just a child.
I am sitting on the floor of my old bedroom packing one last box and sobbing while I’m doing it. My room looks exactly like it did when I was growing up. The four walls are covered in the same flowered wallpaper that I tried to cover up with Shawn Cassidy, Scott Baio and Duran Duran posters over the years. The back of my door has the crooked pen marks and dates from my makeshift growth chart. Boxes are stacked up and pushed against the walls.
The contents of this last box are vague, but there’s my “Le Mutt” (Buffy) stuffed animal inside and a basketball trophy at the top of the box that usually catches my eye. The brass girl with the high ponytail and the basketball at the tip of her fingers pokes out of the box, so I cannot close it. Anyway, I don’t want to close it. I’m stalling and I don’t want to leave my room.
The whole time I’m there, I hear voices downstairs. Everyone’s busy and moving. Busy and moving. I ignore them. I am busy too. I am able to ignore the voices and commotion downstairs until they start shouting and their calls becoming more urgent, “BETH! B-E-T-H!!! We have to go! The new owners are here! The new owners are here! They are coming in the front door now! You have to leave NOW!”
And that’s how it ends.
I have had that dream or a slight variation of the dream four times since my mom died. In one of the dreams, I kept the key and went back in because I “forgot” something. The new owners returned home to find me there and I pretended to be checking the furnace because I wanted to make sure it was working properly. (That part cracks me up. I mean, what in the hell do I know about heating and air conditioning?) Anyway, their response was not exactly warm and welcoming and I slowly walked out the door.
Every time I wake up from the dream, I am sad.
The countdown is on and I have pledged that my old bedroom will be the first room packed up before the movers get here, just in case.
Besides, the room is different now. The wallpaper is gone and the walls are painted Navajo White. When we stay at the house, our daughter, Kate, has claimed it as her bedroom. It is no longer mine.
It is the memory of the room that is mine.
When I came back here by myself a few weeks ago to clean, clear out and pack up, I found a very real memory tucked away in the back of one of my mom’s dresser drawers.
She kept a small corner of the wallpaper from my bedroom.
In all of my dreams, I couldn’t have ever imagined this…and I am happy.
A few weeks ago, my former babysitter, Tina, joked that she would bring a sit ‘n spin to the last hurrah at our childhood home.
Ah, the sit ‘n spin…such great memories! The sit ‘n spin was a staple in every home in the 70’s, usually found in the living room, right in front of the t.v.
My siblings and I would spend HOURS on that little contraption. When it was my turn, I would stare down at the blue and yellow stripes and spin so fast, the colors blended together. What a trip! Sometimes I would close my eyes, throw my head back and knock into any sibling or dog in my way. I was like a mini-tornado and loved every minute of it!
A few years ago, I saw one in the basement at a friend’s house and asked if I could try it out. Two notable differences this time around: I got dizzy after the first turn, and 150+ lbs takes a whole LOT of upper body strength!
It was not the same.
Luckily, my babysitters (er, I mean former babysitters) and I have our memories…
Last summer when my mom died, I immediately called and texted friends and family to let them know the sad news.
Then I messaged my babysitters.
I still cannot really explain it, but as I sat in the tiny, crowded airport awaiting my flight back home, I felt a sudden urgency to let them know. And just as they had been there for me when we were all kids, they responded immediately and were there for me again.
I was about 8 years old when my parents got divorced. Within that same year, my mom went back to school to become an R.N. and she also went back to work full-time. Because of her long hours, she relied heavily on neighborhood kids to take care of the four of us. Tina, Erin and Anne were some of our regular babysitters and they were a part of our family.
When I reconnected with Anne and Tina via Facebook a couple of years ago, it felt like we had never lost touch, although it had been many, many years.
It felt like home.
They have memories of things that I only somewhat remember…favorite toys like the “Fuzzy Pumper Barber Shop” playdoh set and songs we used to make up and sing together.
“shave and a haircut…two bits”
I remember Kiss singing “Beth”, Stu, Kayo, the Christmas tree falling on Brian, Blarney shenanigans, Little Kings’ subs, Round Records and the rock fight incident…just to name a few…
They will probably never realize the influence they had on my life or how safe I felt when they were there. I know that we had the neighborhood reputation as being the “Benda Brats,” and we definitely lived up to the name, but they still showed up for us. Every. Single. Time.
My mom hired them out of necessity because she couldn’t be there. Little did she know that these kind, intelligent, beautiful, funny and accomplished women would be there for me again when she was gone.
Not only there for me, but willing to let me sit ‘n spin…
Our 13-year-old puppy, Bailey, exudes loving kindness. He’s also very cute – it says so right on his latest and greatest t-shirt – “I’m cute”.
Yes, it is a little bizarre for a golden retriever to wear a t-shirt. However, it is even more bizarre that his t-shirt serves as a bra, or as I like to call it: a “bro” (from one of my favorite Seinfeld episodes).
The “bro” became a wardrobe staple for Bailey a few months ago when the vet suggested that he wear a t-shirt because the tumor on his chest had grown so much and needed some support. Because Bailey is a “senior” dog and the tumor has grown between muscle, tendons, and is filled with blood vessels, removing it was just too risky. Providing support and keeping him as comfortable as possible is what we were told to do.
And so we listened to the vet’s advice and followed Bailey’s lead…
The first time Dave and I saw Bailey, we fell in love with the fuzzy little puppy. He came home with us on Christmas Eve – what a gift! Our very first baby, Bailey would lie in my lap as I rubbed his tummy, tickled underneath his chin and cooed, “Who’s a pretty baby?!” We invited friends and family to see our new “baby” and he pretty much captured their hearts too. Despite the uncontrollable sneezing, eyes watering and almost swelling shut, even our friends with terrible allergies still visited and pet him saying, “It’s okay because he’s so, so (ATCHOO!) adorable!”
Bailey taught me that there is joy in the most unexpected, simplest things.
He’s been there for us since the beginning…about 1 year into our marriage. He was the first one to learn that I was pregnant, and the first one to console me when we lost that pregnancy. He was also right there when I learned that I was pregnant with Emma. When I sat on the stairs in surprise, excitement and FEAR, he quickly tried to comfort me. For Bailey, consoling and comforting meant nudging my arm with his cold, wet nose until I finally pet him. My heart rate immediately slowed down.
Bailey taught me the simple, yet important lesson that making someone else feel better when you feel sad, makes you feel better too.
When Emma was born and cried NON-STOP for three months, Bailey stood guard over her bassinet, crib, baby swing and car seat.
First night home
I think he felt just as bad as I did that we couldn’t stop her crying. When he wasn’t standing over her, he could be found next to me. We would both look over at the crib and he would gently nudge me with the cold, wet nose.
Bailey taught me that misery really does like company.
When my mom and step-father, “Papa John”, would come over, they would literally run over us to get to Bailey. When we saw them just before our big move to Connecticut, my mom hugged me and sobbed, “Oh honey…I’m going to miss BAILEY so much!” The last time she visited and I was taking pictures, Mom asked if her “granddog” Bailey could be next to her in the picture. In fact, he already was as he didn’t leave her side that entire visit, which was the last time any of us ever saw her again.
The day AFTER Kate’s First Communion when we realized we forgot to take one with Grandma the day before. Kate was such a good sport to get back in the dress and wear the wilted headpiece.
Bailey taught me the importance of being loyal and present.
These days, Bailey’s a little slow…slow to get up, slow to hear things…just slow. No doubt about it, it’s just plain hard to get old. When he is up, he walks around looking like he’s had a partial boob job, which is funny but a little sad too. He still walks around the kitchen while his little sister, Jane, balances dog toys on his head. He lets her go first when we open the door to let them both outside. Bailey now refuses to eat unless there a “chicken meatball” to spice up his dry food. Just like his “Uncle” Blarney did many years ago, he also pretends to shiver to get extra treats and it works every time too. (I mean, have you ever seen a dog shiver with chattering teeth and all? It’s sooooo cute!) The vet just smiled when I told him and agreed that he’s earned every single treat.
It’s no surprise that the tumor is right over his heart and it keeps getting bigger and bigger. Because Bailey has always had the biggest heart.
So, we continue to keep each other as comfortable as possible and the “bro” supports us all.
anam cara: “…you are joined in an ancient and eternal union with humanity that cuts across all barriers of time, convention, philosophy and definition. when you are blessed with an anam cara, the irish believe, you have arrived at that most sacred place: home.” ~john o’donahue
Early this morning, I received a text from my friend, Colleen. Because she lives on the west coast and we are on the east, many times I wake up to sweet messages from my “anam cara” or soul friend. In this text, Colleen messaged that she had just read “the gift” and that she had chills. She had never heard the story of the treetop fairy. However, a week ago, she had ordered this kit with the red door (pictured above) because “…if you couldn’t take the original, the kids could at least have a fantasy one in the yard.”
Coincidence? I don’t think so.
Ever since it became clear that we would have to sell our family home, Colleen has joked that she’s chaining herself to our front door. The red door. Only, if you know Colleen, you also know she AIN’T joking. I am fully prepared to see her, and others (Mary, Linda, Inga, Amy, Polly, Krissie and Cris to name a few…), shackled to the door when we close on the house in 17 days (not that anyone’s counting!).
I cannot stop staring at the treetop fairy’s red door. It makes me smile.
I imagine the fairy, who we’ll call A.C., would have had lots of adventures behind that red door. Some of those adventures might include an open phone book, a Garfield phone and HOURS of entertainment (they were the social networking site before there were sites!). There might also be a bottle of vodka and cream soda (“If they replace the vodka with water, no one will notice, right?” WRONG!) and more phone calls. AC might even decide that she doesn’t care if only men can be priests, because (dammit!) she’s baptizing Mr. Meow in the family’s antique christening gown, complete with torchbearers, choir (and claws!), before her mom gets home from work. AC and the treetop fairy crew might even have to knock on that red door at 11:00pm after being escorted home in a paddywagon for violating curfew (and possibly holding a wine cooler?).
AC’s one WILD AND CRAZY fairy.
However, behind all the craziness and shenanigans, AC and her ever-growing treetop fairy crew can also be serious, quiet and the best listeners. They are the most loyal, loving, fun and kind soul friends there ever were…
So…Colleen’s other red door will be placed on a big oak tree in our backyard. I’ll check on it regularly to make sure Bailey and Jane don’t get too curious about AC and her crew.
I will smile and remember.
I will then look forward to many new adventures because “the crew” is already home.
the thing about memories is that once you remember one, there are usually about five more sitting just beneath the surface. very often, i have a hard time keeping up with the lightening speed that the memories play back in my head. i’m not sure whether or not i’m alone in this experience, but i know people have often looked at me strangely, as i go from one story to the next, and then try to remember, “wait…what was my point?”. most of my friends and family “get it” now and can help me re-trace my thought process without a second thought. there usually IS some sort of link between one thought or memory and the original story (it just might take a moment to figure it out). the speed in which the memories are triggered and played back intensify when i’m anxious. right now it really feels like i cannot keep up with the pace.
amy’s unexpected gift and the incredible timing of it have definitely opened up the memory floodgates even more and have me scratching my head and asking: are there ever really any coincidences?
reflecting back upon the accident the other day, i started thinking about a series of interactions that have been burned into my brain forever.
about a week before i had the body cast taken off, one of our neighbors, sheila, was babysitting at our house.
sheila was the youngest of five girls and she and her sisters were our parents’ go-to babysitters. because of that, our families became quite close over the years. only in 8th grade, she handled the four of us (and our runaway dog, grover) like a champ. she was very nurturing and kept her cool during the some very stressful times. one time when i skinned my knee, she had me sit down while she searched through the medicine cabinet for bactine and band-aids. instead, of bactine, she pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol. unfortunately, the top was not screwed on all the way, so when she lifted it out of the cabinet, the entire bottle poured right into my eyes. sheila rushed to helped me, and because it was before cell phones, she called her mom who came right over. my eyes were totally fine after some flushing, cookies and a good cuddle from her mom. her mom was thoughtful, generous, kind and caring and it was obvious that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. sheila carried that attitude with her every single time i saw her, even when i was acting like a big jerk…
so wait…now where was i? choosing grace…the necklace…amy…oh yes, the accident. still stuck in the body cast and my dining room bed, i was very irritable, itchy and annoyed, when sheila innocently came up to me and asked, “what do you want for christmas?” i responded very rudely that i wanted the treetop fairy doll that was very popular at the time. she got the specifics (like the name and that it HAD to be the blond one) and went off to play with my siblings.
about a week later, the body cast came off and i was sitting in the dining room for a final wrap-up session with my tutor when the phone rang. my mom answered it and screamed, “OH MY GOD!”, my tutor and i looked at each other and she said to me, “that doesn’t sound good.” my mom could be a bit dramatic, so i didn’t really think it was that bad, but when she quickly came over and closed the door between the dining room and kitchen, i was a little worried. even grover stayed quietly under the table. later that morning, i learned that sheila and her family were in a terrible car accident caused by a drunk driver. all but one of her sisters were in the car and everyone suffered multiple injuries. sheila and her father died instantly.
the days that followed were incredibly sad and quiet. this beautiful family was very well-known and so very loved – it was a huge loss for our school and parish. a few nights later, my dad and i were sitting quietly on the sofa listening to christmas music and looking at the tree. “silent night” was playing when someone knocked on the front door. my dad went to see who it was and returned holding a handful of wrapped gifts for the four of us. i didn’t know who it was from, but was excited to get a present, so i quickly opened up the gift.
it was the blond treetop fairy doll.
many years later, i was sitting in my office across from a student and we somehow made the connection that her mom and i both went to the saint ignatius. after a few more questions, it dawned on me that her mom was sheila’s oldest sister. she said she didn’t know much about sheila because she died so young and so long ago. i then asked her if she wanted to hear a story…she did.
Choosing Grace is our AFSP Team name. “B” stands for Benda, in honor of my brother, Brian “H” stands for Hanson, in honor of John and my mom
It’s from one of my life-long friends, Amy.
Amy (or Amelina, to me) and I will always have a special connection – not only have we known each other since kindergarten, but we were also hit by a car together in second grade. There is nothing like bonding over broken bones and body casts.
The accident happened back in the 70’s, when parents didn’t hover and kids had a little more time to explore different options. We explored the option, “Does it really make sense to cross at the light ALL the way at the end of the street when your house is actually in the middle of the block in the opposite direction?” The answer: Yes, yes it does. (And my kids and their friends get a daily street safety lecture from me, even though we’re the last house on a dead end street!)
That impulsive decision greatly impacted our young lives and we both wear the scars of the accident to this day. She has a permanent bump on her forehead and I still have the indentation in my leg, which has actually lessened with age and weight loss and gains (who says there aren’t benefits to cellulite!).
While Amy and I can joke about it now, it really was no laughing matter. Amy still remembers the whole terrible incident; I was knocked unconscious. I have always believed I was the lucky one for that.
When I was hit, I flew up into the air and then slid under a parked car. Neighborhood legend has it that a bunch of neighbors came out and literally lifted the car up, so that the paramedics could get me out. I have no recollection of it and my parents told me that when I woke up in the hospital, the first words out of my mouth were, “I’m bored.” I only remember being upset when I learned that they had to cut off my brand new jeans from Winsbergs to get to my leg and that I wouldn’t be wearing any jeans until I was out of traction and the cast – about three months.
After about six weeks in the hospital, I returned home. I had a full body cast and a sweet bedroom in the dining room, complete with t.v.
We also had a new dog named, Rover.
Just as we never mastered “JAAHCKK”, we never quite remembered “Rover”, so our newest addition became known in our Sesame Street-obsessed family as…
GROVER! Grover was a friendly, low-key stray dog and there are a couple of pictures of me leaning on him when I somehow figured out how to stand in the body cast. Because he was more of a wanderer than a family dog, Grover walked right out of our back yard just a couple of short months after we found him. He probably knew that we were settling in and was just looking for another kid who needed someone to lean on…
And speaking of leaning…back to my friend, Amy, and all of my life-long and new-found friends, who I have been leaning on especially over the past few years…
With everything that’s been going on, I’ve been flooded with so many memories, but I also keep thinking about the story/poem, “Footprints in the Sand”. My favorite line is, “…The times when you have seen only one set of footprints, is when I carried you.”
I was about 13 years old the first time I heard that story and remember feeling profoundly moved and hopeful that God would have my back during difficult times. I still believe that, but in my life the story looks more like this…
When I look back at the footprints in the sand, I notice that during the most difficult and darkest times of my life, there have been several sets of foot- (and paw!) prints in the sand. It’s during those times that my friends and family have carried me.
They are the only reason I have the strength to continue choosing grace.
alf. i never would have imagined that a harmless facebook post with this fuzzy little alien’s mug on it, would trigger so many memories. although the show was cancelled 25 years ago and i only watched it a handful of times, i always liked alf because his voice was funny, he was quick-witted and obsessed with cats, and his cute little face reminded me of a dog we had when i was little. our dog’s name was “jacques”.
this is jacques’ clone.
jacques was an airedale terrier. because we were so young when we got him, my memories of jacques are a little fuzzy. i remember that he was very soft, fluffy and full of energy. i also remember my mom saying that he was very expensive and, if you knew my mom, that was very important. the only other things i remember are that he liked to jump, and my mom, who gave him his french-inspired name, constantly corrected my siblings and me (we were 6, 5, 4 and 3 years old), “his name is not ‘JACK’, it’s pronounced ‘JAAHCKK’!”. we were a very cultured crew.
unfortunately, jacques was not with our family for very long. one day when my mom went to the back door to call him inside, she noticed that both gates were closed, but he was nowhere to be found. jacques was gone for good. i’m sure we were devastated, but i honestly have no recollection of our response. although we’ll never know exactly what happened, my mom always said he was stolen “because he cost a small FORTUNE”. we had several dogs after that, but jacques was the last dog my mom ever paid for and the only dog taken from our back yard.
as we’ve been clearing out our childhood home over the last several months, we have come across many photo albums overflowing with polaroids and our family dogs are very often front and center with the four kids. i haven’t found any pictures of jacques yet.
while there’s no record of jacques, a picture of his doppelganger, alf, and the friend who innocently posted it, have inspired me to start writing. so, i freely admit that i am spinning with everything that’s happened over the past several months and what will happen over the next several weeks. it feels like my mind will spontaneously combust if i don’t tell my stories and the stories of those who lie under the radar. there is gentle kindness to be found even (especially) in these moments.
choosing grace 